It took everything Rachel had to turn around and walk back towards the waiting room. Rachel didn't walk away from her problems. She stampeded towards them, pouring all of her endless perseverance on them until they melted down into something completely manageable. But Quinn wasn't the problem.
She was... confusing. And mystifying. And brilliant.
But she wasn't the one keeping her from storming into that room and staying there. Not really. Because after sitting down in her chair, there, just coming back from his bathroom break, completely unaware that the doctor she just talked to had broken about ten rules by letting her see her wife, was Russell Fabray. His hand was wrapped iron-tight around his just-purchased copy of today's New York Times. She watched as he double-checked Quinn's hospital door was firmly shut, and then sat down in the chair right next to it, that he had pulled from the waiting room. He looked so... formal. Stiff collared shirt, ironed pants. Wearing the tie that he told people Quinn got for him on a Father's day, but was really handpicked by his assistant probably days before. He looked like he was going to a business meeting. But no. He was...
Rachel didn't want to think about it. That's all she had been doing the past 24 hours, ever since she-since Quinn- she held in a slight sob, and took a deep breath. Stay calm. All she could do now was write down everything. She had so much she thought she had a lifetime to tell Quinn, and the idea of just sitting here and twirling her metal band around her finger until a burn formed was unacceptable. And so, she looked down at her simple black and white composition notebook, one of three that she bought at the pharmacy just in case she wrote more than expected, and began to write.
Anyway, right when Brittany, Santana, and I walked into the Fish Aquarium, I could tell that they were bored. We walked close to the class, and they were interesting to look at, but as seconds turned into minutes, Santana started fidgeting and Brittany started whispering to her about the fruit bats ("I wonder if they're called that because they eat fruits or they are fruits?") that were just over at the next building. At first, I decided to ignore it. But when it got to the point where their very prescense was interfering with my attention, I just snapped slightly. "I have my emergency whistle. Come get me when you're done." At which point, Brittany grabbed Santana by the pinky and pulled her away fast as you please.
After a few minutes, it was quiet again. There was a part of me in the back of my mind that was slightly afraid that me saying anything to them ruined my chances today, but after realizing that probably, they just wanted to be left alone together and didn't care what I said, I relaxed and enjoyed the view. The clownfish looked familiar, but I couldn't place exactly where the orange and white reminded me of. The glass distorted the view, making them look strange, so I took a step closer, closely inspecting them as they went by.
"Oh, look you found him."
I turned around, confused, before gasping slightly. There you were. Your cheekbones were a little more defined, and your voice a little more sure, but after two years of thinking about less than five minutes of a conversation with a girl I barely knew, part of me thought I imagined the entire thing. But there you stood. You were holding a copy of a book in your hand, and you moved slightly from your left foot to your right for a few seconds until I realized you were waiting for me to reply. Did you recognize me? Should I re-introduce myself? Did my hair look okay? And so I didn't say anything.
"I mean... Nemo. Because he's a clownfish." You pointed towards the fish I was just seconds ago looking at with so much intent, and if I knew any better, you were blushing slightly. "From the movie?"
"Yes!" She flinched slightly at my sudden outburst, so I explained. "I was just thinking about why clownfish sounded so familiar to me. I like fish, but I don't normally remember all of their names that well. But I remembered this one. Because of the movie!"
"Oh... okay."
You were still fidgeting, so I took a step closer to you, smiling when you didn't look uncomfortable talking to me more. Your hair looked soft. It was longer now. If we were close, I probably would have asked to braid it at least a dozen times. But we weren't, and so instead we both just stood there, waiting for the other person to make a move. Part of me just wanted to say something, anything, and before I could curb myself words were leaving my mouth and I just kind of let it happen.
"I'm here with some people from school. It's her birthday."
"Oh, tell your friend happy birthday for me."
"She's not my friend. Or maybe she is now, I don't know."
Your eyebrows furrowed. "How don't you know if someone's your friend, Rachel?"
"It's complicated." It was hard to explain, even at twelve years old. My relationship with Brittany and Santana was sometimes useful, sometimes close, and sometimes chaotic, but it was never easy. "They're nice to me sometimes, but mean when they have to be. I don't think they mean to be, they're just... that's how they are." It did sound weird saying that, I remember that. Like I was defending myself for being so excited that I got to hang out with people that acted like they didn't like me very much. They didn't really know me. To be honest though, I didn't know them either. At this point, they were just two of the popular girls, two of the only girls who looked like they were actually friends with each other instead of fake friends like everyone else who sat at the popular table.
Wait... "You remember my name?" You remember me?
"Sure I do. I have a good memory. Rachel Barbra, as in Streisand. Right?"
Would it be cheesy to say I fell in love with you then? At the very least, I knew that you weren't just some quiet girl who was nice to everybody, but that you actually remembered what I said, word for word. It was... "Right. As in Streisand." I smiled, and you smiled in kind.
"So wait, where are they now?"
I straightened my back. "Next door, with the fruit bats." You looked like you wanted to say something, but kept hesitating. "Yes?"
"Well-" You looked around, biting your lip, before locking eyes with me again. "The fruit bats are on the other side of the Zoo. I come here all the time, whenever my dad has meetings in Columbus, so I know it. I don't even need the map." It didn't look like you were bragging, just stating fact. You always brag about the wrong things, Quinn.
"Oh." I wasn't naive enough to think that they would be waiting for me outside, but at the very least, I thought they would come get me once they realized they had their facts wrong. I tried not to frown, but it was kind of hard. We had been walking around for a few hours by this point, and my muscles were sore enough that the idea of walking around the park until I found Brittany's parents seemed exhausting. I looked down, sighing at my plight. I knew I would have a ride home (Brittany's parents weren't so bad as to leave me stranded.) But I didn't have a phone, or a way to reach them. I doubt they could hear my emergency whistle Daddy had bought for me from so far away. "Well, then, I suppose I'll just wait here until I am sent for. Thank you for telling me, I would have been worried if they hadn't shown up."
Silence.
"... Do you like carousels?"
I did, so off we went. I haven't been to the park ever since that one day, so I could very well have just had an over active imagination, but from what I remember, the park was huge. People surrounded us from every corner, and no matter how many times I tried to stand up on my toes, I couldn't see past the large looming shapes of the adults that were being pulled by their children to different areas of the park. When we first left the building, the idea of so many people around me was slightly claustrophobic, but once you put your hand around mind and gently led me towards where you said they would be, it didn't seem so bad. You seemed concentrated enough for the both of us on how to get there, so I just spent the few minutes looking around and enjoying the scenery.
The treetops provided enough shade for most of the park, but it was still warm enough outside that the jacket I brought was pretty much useless, still tied around my waist. Every such amount of feet, there would be a long line of people blocking the path because they were standing in front of an ice cream truck (or pretzels, or drink, depending on the season) and then just across a few benches filled with exhausted parents keeping an eye on their sticky-fingered children. Seeing the other kids with sweets made me slow for a bit, and even though I was trying to be as suave as possible about the sudden need to have water, my throat parched as I looked over at the people resting on the bench. If I was alone, I would have had no problem with sitting down and enjoying myself with the five dollars my dads gave to met to let me spend just in case Brittany's parents didn't buy me lunch (they did) and on anything else if they did, but I wasn't alone. I was with someone, and Daddy always said to be polite, and if I couldn't carry those behaviors with me through middle school, then I wouldn't be able to be the kind of person I wanted to be.
"Do you want one?"
I was so busy in my own head that I didn't even notice that I didn't just think about stopping, I actually stopped, and so did the girl who had been leading me. Her hand was soft, and didn't feel at all sweaty like the one time I had held Noah Puckerman's hand when he helped me up a staircase earlier that year when I sprained my ankle during dance class. His hand felt tough, like what beef jerky looked like it would feel like. After, he pushed Jacob down because people were staring at him for being nice to me.
Your hand felt like what I thought a cloud would feel like. "Excuse me?" I really hope my hands don't feel like sandpaper. I should put lotion on them, add that to my nightly ritual. Or wear gloves. Or both. I heard that Joan Crawford did both, and even though Mommy Dearest will probably be terrifying when I read it, at least my hands will be smoo-
"Rachel?"
"Yes?"
You pointed towards the cart, at the people who were getting the cups filled with flavored ice. "Do you want one? You were staring."
"Oh... no, thank you."
"Really?"
"... no, not really. I do want one. But it's six dollars and I only have five."
People walked past us as we stood in the pathway, blocking them. You rolled your eyes, and pulled me towards a bench with room for two people and firmly pushed my shoulders down. I opened my mouth to issue a protest, but was quickly silenced by the look on her face. I had only met you once before, but you seemed so demure then. I don't know if it was because we were so close to your family, or maybe it was because you weren't comfortable with the hotel whereas you seemed to know every crack and crease of this place. But this was the first time I saw your commanding face. It was a frightening contrast from the soft face I had seen on you before, and my eyes widened slightly as I shut up before you did anything.
A few seconds later, your eyes softened. "What flavor?"
"... Grape."
A nod. "Save our seats?"
I don't remember if I responded at all, but I must have, because you left and waited in the line.
Memory is a strange thing.
I can remember the exact shade of your eyes, or how soft your hair looked on our wedding day. I can remember to the second the first time you called me Rachel after all of your walls built back up in high school. Or the blue dress you wore the day you told me you didn't hate me, when I was so blinded by jealousy that I didn't see that what would hurt Finn would hurt you more.
But I can't remember anything else about that day. I can infer, of course. I must have eaten the ice cup. Knowing my own self, I probably didn't eat all of it because I still can't finish those. You did, because you don't like wasting things. Maybe you took me back right after we finished. Maybe you took me to the carousel that I've heard they're famous for, and you held my hand while I went up and down the horse. But when it comes down to it, I can't remember every detail of a day that happened when I was eleven, however great the day was.
But I do remember this much:
The day was ending. I could see Brittany and Santana by the exit, getting scolded by her parents for ditching me and then forgetting to look for me. Brittany was of course ignoring them, paying more attention to a huge stuffed giraffe in her arms, and Santana kept half-glaring half-curiously scanning the people who walked past them to find me. Brittany's mother looked slightly panicked. But I had no urge to walk over. Because I didn't want to not see you again for another year. I knew you didn't live in Lima. If you did, I would have seen you before now.
I turned towards you, trying to memorize every detail in your face. You stood completely still, letting me, and once I was done, I finally croaked out some words. "Is this the end?"
You smiled slightly at how dramatic I was being, and asked me for a piece of paper and a pencil, turning me around with a spin of your finger so you could use my back to write something down. I'm sure your eyebrows were furrowed, and that piece of hair kept falling into your eyesight so it took you a few minutes. When you tapped my shoulder, I turned back around and saw nothing in your hands. You pointed towards my book bag.
"Don't read it until later, okay?"
"Okay."
For a brief moment, your arms wrapped around my waist. And then you were gone.
It was only until later that I remembered the note. You had scribbled down a phone number, and an address.
And, a message.
I held it close to me, reading it at least ten times and then after that just staring at the swirls and loops and curves of your handwriting. Brittany and Santana pretty much ignored me the ride home, and for that I was grateful. I was preoccupied enough, and if they had tried to talk to me, they would have not liked the vague answers they would have gotten as to where I was all day.
Of course not. It's only the beginning.
You always did know how to make an exit.
A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for not giving up on me with this story. For a while, I didn't know where I wanted this story to go (well, I did, but too many options!) but now I have a handle on everything, so expect quick updates! And if not, bother me until I give them to you. Guilt always works best. And chocolate. Anyway, please review if you'd like and I can't wait to hear what you think! Expect the next chapter this weekend, sooner if possible.
