"What the fuck do you mean she cancelled our session today?" I scream from my bedroom.
I was in the middle of putting on a shirt when Lauren's voice traveled down the hallway and into my open bedroom.
"I just got off the phone with her receptionist; she's cancelled your appointment today."
She yells from the living room area. I hastily throw the shirt on and walk down the hallway to meet her.
"Just mine?"
"I don't know, Miss Berry."
How could she not know? Lauren knows everything.
"Why the hell not? Why didn't you ask?"
She's better than this.
She clears her throat, "I did, there seems to be a confidentiality clause and she wouldn't—"
I grab the phone from Lauren's hand, redialing the last number she called.
"Dr. Fabray's office, this is Er—"
"This is Rachel Berry."
"Miss Berry! How are you?"
Ohh no. No time for pleasantries today Erin.
"Pissed. Where the hell is Fabray?"
"I'm sorry but she's not in the building," she stutters out.
Likely story.
"Where is she?" I demand
"I'm afraid I don't know."
Not only am I beauty but I'm brains too.
"Give me her cell phone number."
"I'm afraid I don't have that."
Of course you don't. Why would you? It's not like you're her receptionist or anything.
"Give me the emergency number that she gives to the crazy patients"
I know she has one of those, and while I'm not one of the crazies—yet—I'm willing to take on the label for the afternoon so I can give Fabray a piece of my mind.
"I'm afraid—"
"Oh, you're gonna have a reason to be afraid if you don't give me what I want"
The phone is yanked from my hand before I can really lay into the receptionist.
"My apologies, we'll see you on Friday," my assistant says into the phone sweetly, I start to pace the hardwood flooring, mumbling obscenities, "Ah, I see. Yes, thank you very much. Miss Berry will be very grateful to you Erin, yes of course, goodbye."
Lauren hangs up the phone and throws it into her bag. Probably a smart move on her part.
"If you tell me that she's cancelled our Friday session too, I'm going to lose my mind," I tell her as I whirl around.
Lauren rolls her eyes, as if I'm being dramatic. She has no idea how dramatic I can be, "She cancelled all of yesterdays sessions as well, you're not the only one."
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"Doesn't it?" she's got a hint of amusement behind her voice.
I ignore her.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now? I clear my schedule for an hour every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for her head-shrinking ways," I fall back onto the couch.
Lauren's phone chimes and she's too busy doing her job to pay attention to me.
"This couch is uncomfortable," I comment. It doesn't matter, she's not listening.
Lauren looks up from her phone, "I have a meeting with your publicist in 10, do you want to come along?"
I stare blankly at her, was she being serious? "Does it look like I want to go?"
She chuckles to herself, she knows I hate my publicist, but it was nice of her to offer, I guess.
"Well you need to let me know what you're going to be doing so I know how to reach you."
"You're not my keeper."
She laughs again, "I kind of am."
"Stop answering me, everything I say is rhetorical."
She shakes her head before she answers the phone call that's coming through. She sure is busy.
I start to twiddle my thumbs because that's how bored I am. The remote is too far away for me to reach, and going to this meeting between Lauren and my publicist is out of the question. My publicist makes me want to go swimming in barbwire and lemon juice. She's awful.
This news that Quinn cancelled our session has me enraged. Since when is she the one that gets to call the shots? I could go for a run to blow off some steam but then I'd have to deal with the burly and slow moving bodyguards that insist on following me everywhere just in case I decide to physically assault another photographer. Ironically, I'm so mad that I—for once—want to lash out to a therapist. That idea seems like a good one, I should have two Psychologists, should one of them piss me off and I need to vent to someone about it.
"Lauren!" I scream, "Where is that marble notebook?"
She stares blankly at me for a few seconds, my patience is wearing thin.
"Not rhetorical," I state.
"It's on your nightstand" she answers, before turning towards the door, "I'm leaving now, I'll be back in an hour, please stay out of trouble."
"Please stay out of trouble" I mock her as she closes the door.
Quinn Fabray wants me to reconnect with my high school self; well she's getting a true Rachel Berry strongly worded letter with new Rachel's hateful vocabulary.
"Is there someone in there with her?" I ask as I storm passed the receptionist desk.
Erin begins to stand to greet me but I'm long gone.
"I don't believe so," she attempts to call out as I open the door to the office in a haste.
Quinn is there, standing near the window and looking out over the city. She does have a nice view, if you consider nice views to be buildings.
She turns around to greet me.
"Just be quiet," I demand.
Her mouth snaps shut and she moves from the window.
"I have something I want to say," I tell her, she nods with an amused expression as I pull out the marble notebook.
"Go on," she gestures. I think she's surprised, and a little happy that I'm actually using her book.
I clear my throat and begin to read the words that I wrote down on Wednesday, "Quinn Fabray, how dare you cancel today's session. Do you have any idea who I am? My time is valuable and precious and it's certainly worth more than you consider it worth. You should be lucky that I take time out of my demanding day to come and see you. I don't appreciate being the last to find things out, I get that enough from the people on my staff. You at least could have called me to tell me that you weren't going to be having our session, and what's this about cancelling Tuesday's sessions? If you're sick, I'm going to be seriously upset that I was unaware and unprepared for Monday's session. I could have arranged to have a gas mask or some kind of vaccine before I went to that office. If you're not sick, what the fuck? My memory is failing me at this moment in time, I don't remember holding a grudge against you when I woke up this morning but I can't remember what we discussed on Monday. We were talking about the magazine and insecurities, and then we began talking about Beth. Ah, yes. Now I remember. Quinn Fabray, if I find out that you cancelled our session because you were mad that I brought up Beth, you'll be in a world of trouble. I might be less inclined to kick your ass if I find out that you spoke to your daughter, or even if you gave serious thought to what I said earlier in the week. Even if it was wrong of me to bring it up like that. Regardless of your reasoning behind cancelling the session, it was rude," I finished reading and looked up to see Quinn with a smirk on her lips. "Oh wait, there's more. It says that if you keep smirking like that, I'm going to slap it off of you," I finish before throwing the book towards the general area of the couch, missing it by a landslide.
"Did I sense that you were slightly worried about my wellbeing in there?" she asks.
I ignore her. But I can't ignore the fact that she now has a coat on.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Would you like to go for a walk today?"
"A walk?" I deadpan.
She shrugs, pulling her hair out of the coat.
"I like to change things up sometimes; we could get lunch or something after."
She looks unsure and I've never seen Quinn Fabray look more unsure in her life.
"Why would I want to get lunch with you?"
"Well since you were so obviously upset that I cancelled Wednesday's session, we can have it today."
Oh, she must have misunderstood my letter.
"That's not how this works. I'm not about to endure two hours of you because you couldn't handle my truthful words on Monday."
"Fine, we don't have to get lunch," she begins walking towards the door, "I'm going for a walk; you can join me if you'd like, or you can sit in here for an hour and write in your journal."
I think she's making a joke but I can't be sure. I'm going to treat it as a joke because I need a reason to spite her even more.
"Erin, you can leave after you finish filing everything. See you Monday," I hear her in the lobby.
I walk out after her silently. She has a small smile on her lips as I reach the elevator.
"You decided to join me?" she asks as the elevator door opens, she doesn't seem surprised. Like she knew I'd join her all along.
"Only because I can wear my sunglasses and there is nothing you can do about it," I reply.
She nods.
I lean up against the gold railing and listen to the piano playing that's coming through the speakers. Normally I would be mad that it's the same damn song on loop but because I've been writing lyrics in my head that go in sync with the song, I welcome it.
"Are you talking to yourself?" she asks as the floor dings.
"Shut up."
I wasn't talking to myself, I was singing to myself.
"Nice Mom jeans," I fire before she can further inquire about my singing, it makes me feel vulnerable when people ask about the lyrics I write that aren't supposed to be heard by others.
She looks down, "Mom jeans?"
They are nowhere near Mom jeans, in fact I've never seen jeans look so good on someone but she'll never know that.
I realize the bigger picture here, "Why are you wearing jeans anyway?"
"It's Friday, sometimes I dress down."
"That's unprofessional," I state but she lets it go.
We walk out of the building and I stay a few paces behind her.
She stops every once in a while and I have no choice but to walk next to her for a few strides before I slow down again.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm keeping my distance," I tell her.
"Why?" she's fully stopped and instead of continuing on, I cut her a break and stop as well.
"You really want to be seen with me? It's like a death sentence. Besides, if someone takes a photo of us, it's only a matter of time before they figure out who you are and that you're my shrink. You'll never escape it."
She rolls her eyes and grabs my arm, "I was aware of the risks before I asked you to go for a walk."
She pulls me along for a few steps, she drops my arm after she's sure that I'll stay in stride this time. In fact, she's also slowed down her walking to ensure that I'll have no choice but to keep up. I smile before I realize it and luckily she doesn't see it. People would normally rather have me walk behind them than with them.
"That was nice of you to let Erin have the rest of the day off."
It comes out before I can catch it. It's completely out of character for me, she knows it too.
She turns to face me, hoping to figure out if I'm being sincere or not. I was being sincere but she can figure it out for herself if I was or not.
She blows some hot air out of her mouth in order to see her breath.
"There was no reason for her to stick around."
It's dead air between us as she looks around the sidewalk, occasionally smiling at people as they walk by, other times just walking silently by my side.
"You don't have any more patients?"
I'm genuinely curious and I wouldn't know the answer to the question, normally I'm long gone before her next session is supposed to start.
She smiles and turns to look at me, "I thought you didn't want to be referred to as a patient."
I roll my eyes but she wouldn't know. The luxury of sunglasses.
"Fine. You don't have any more sessions?"
She shakes her head, "Cancelled."
I want to ask if she cancelled her earlier sessions as well but I think I already know the answer.
We walk for a few more quiet minutes before I can't take it anymore.
"Why did you cancel all of your sessions this week?"
She takes a few long seconds to answer; if it had been someone on my staff I already would have demanded an answer already.
"I needed some time to deal with my own issues before I took on everyone else's."
That's fair. I'll give her that. There's still one question haunting me though.
"So why me?"
Her lips quirk, "You know the answer to that."
"I don't."
She doesn't answer and too much time passes for me to ask again without being a nuisance.
"I called her," she says as she sits on a park bench.
She doesn't have to specify who, I know who she called. She reached out to her daughter and my heart is beating wildly at her confession.
I take a seat next to her, "When?"
She sighs, "Monday night, I finally read all the letters she's sent me."
It's weird; I almost feel better knowing that she only just read them. In a way, it doesn't make her completely heartless.
"How did it go?" I find myself asking.
"Okay, I guess. I don't know. How is it supposed to go when you're talking to your daughter for the first time since the night you gave birth to her? It's been ten years," She says, as if I didn't remember.
Of course I remembered. Regionals. Sophomore year of high school, I made the mistake of staying to watch Vocal Adrenaline beat us. I've never regretted it more than when I met Beth, only wishing I could have held her when she was a newborn. Not that Quinn would have let me anywhere near her perfect baby.
"Was she excited?"
I was eternally grateful to Quinn's suggestion that we go for a walk today, had we been in her office, my sunglasses would be on the coffee table and she'd be able to see my eyes welling up with tears. I wonder if she anticipated that. The thought of Beth on the other end of that phone call almost has me breaking down in broad daylight. Words can't even express how excited she surely was.
"I think she stopped breathing at first, and then well she talked non-stop for 20 minutes," Quinn laughs as she runs a hand through her hair, I laugh with her, "It was hard, but I'm glad I did it."
"I'm proud of you," I tell her in a moment of rare honesty. It looks like she could use all the praise she could get.
"Thank you. She asked me to come visit her."
I feel like I'm on the edge of my seat.
"What did you say?"
"I told her that I'd have to see what my schedule looked like."
I frown. If she was able to cancel four days of sessions on the drop of a hat, surely she would be able to fly out for a long weekend.
"Do you want to?"
I know she does.
"More than anything, I just don't know if I should."
I slump back against the park bench.
"You know my thoughts on the matter."
"It's not that simple," she replies.
"You're making it that way."
"You're not the only one that put Lima in their rearview mirror, Rachel. It would just drudge up bad memories if I were to go back to Ohio."
For once I agree with her. Ohio is just filled with horrible memories that need to stay there. But I refuse to allow her to be like me, and to regret not going back.
"You're making excuses."
I would know because I've made the same excuses. She doesn't respond for quite a while. It's silent between us.
"Tell me about her," she says suddenly.
It's the quietest I've ever heard her speak.
"If I tell you about her, you have to promise that you'll reach out to her more, that you'll consider going to see her. You don't deserve to know about her unless you're going to make the effort to actually be in her life."
"I will, God I will. I just need to know what she's like."
"She has your eyes," I start, it was the first thing I noticed after all, "She has wavy brown hair, and the last time I was there, she insisted I teach her how to braid it so she could pull it back. That's how your hair is in the picture she has of you. She's got a voice that threatens all the billboard number ones I have and will have, she's very musical and she's starting to take dance lessons. Which I can assure you, if I had been in her life sooner; she'd of been dancing before she was walking," Quinn chuckles as I think of some more things to tell her, at least to get her smiling more, "She has Noah's smirk, especially when she's doing something mischievous, like lying about finishing her homework. She'd rather practice singing than do school work. Her newest thing is putting her hands on her hips, especially when she's making a point. She's extremely eloquent but has no problem talking back to authority figures, she's one hell of a charmer when she wants something, she wears dresses to school and it's slightly terrifying."
"What is?"
"How much she reminds me of you."
Quinn gasps.
"Boys are all over her, too. She's quite the catch," I muse, "But don't worry, I assured her that the cootie rumor was true and she won't be accepting any of their lunch money offerings anytime soon. And she's been instructed to stay away from any boys that sport a Mohawk."
"Thank you, Rachel," She replies as she grabs for my hand, holding it firmly in hers.
She realizes what she's doing and instantly drops my hand.
"Sorry, I forgot that you don't show affection anymore," she replies sadly as she clasps her hands together to keep them occupied.
"We won't tell anyone," I reply before pulling her hand free and wrapping mine around it, "It's only because you look pathetic," I add before the moment completely chokes me with a heartwarming rope.
She smiles and relaxes into the back of the bench.
It's silent. So incredibly silent between us but for once it's kind of welcoming. Even as people pass us by, it's as if they're on mute. One particularly courageous dog walker allowed us to pet the dogs he was watching, and the way his eyes were raking over both of our bodies was unsettling. Even if we were both wearing jackets.
"Could he have been more obvious?" Quinn whispers once he's out of earshot.
"If he walks back this way, you have to give him your number."
"Um, no!" she giggles, "Why can't you be the one?"
"I'm charitable, but not that charitable."
She laughs as I soak in the warmth of the sun before it hides behind another cloud.
"Ya know, Beth adores you. I'm starting to see why." She says playfully, causing me to turn to look at her.
"You mean…you—you don't already adore me?"
I still haven't lost my acting skills.
"I mean it, she talked about you nearly the entire time on the phone, I should have been jealous."
"Old Quinn would have been," I comment.
"Old Quinn was stupid."
"So what's the difference between old and new Quinn then?" I ask, waiting for her to catch on out of the corner of my eye.
She thinks about it and I see the realization on her face, "Not funny."
She thought it was funny; her smile is evident of that.
"You're not nearly as bitter today as you are when we're in my office," she comments after even more silence.
I've noticed that too.
"I still resent you though."
"Then why are you smiling?" she asks.
I really do hate her.
"I'm not smiling, I have a nervous twitch."
"You know, it's okay to let your guard down every once and a while," she tells me.
I take some time to study the boots on my feet as they cross at my ankles. I consider her suggestion.
"That's how I get hurt."
She also takes some time to answer. The entire conversation is happening in slow motion.
"I wouldn't hurt you."
"I don't know that."
"I'm telling you that I won't," she replies almost instantly.
"A lot of people have told me that."
It's not that I'm bitter about it, it's that I'm really bitter about it. This town could make you or break you and they certainly love to break you every chance they get after they make you.
"You're making good progress, you know, but we're going to have to talk about some of those things at some point if you're going to continue."
I chortle a laugh, "Is that your expert analysis, Doctor? You really think I've made progress?" I turn to look at her with a raise eyebrow, interested in what she has to say about this matter.
"Last Monday you couldn't even look me in the eye, now look at us," and she holds up our locked hands for extra emphasis, as if I already couldn't feel her palm burning into mine.
I turn away from her to watch a few joggers pass, "Well I'll start to tell you stuff when I start to trust you."
"What can I do to earn it?"
I shrug, "I don't know, no one has ever bothered."
She frowns and the moment is increasingly getting more serious, too serious for me.
"C'mon," I tug her as I stand up.
"Where are we going?"
"Lunch."
She smirks, "I thought you couldn't possibly endure two hours with me."
She thinks she's funny. I hide my smile.
"You owe me for the cancellation and you're paying."
"Whatever you have to tell yourself, Rachel."
Her smile is wicked and it's unsettling. It's like she's aware of something that I'm not. I look down to see if I have toilet paper attached to the bottom of my shoe, there's nothing more mortifying than that.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I finally ask as we walk down the cobblestone pathway towards the café I have in mind. They have the best salads.
"I think you secretly like spending time with me," she sways, nudging into me in a rare moment of friendship.
I go to insult her or at least attempt to refute her statement.
She holds up her hand, "That's just my expert analysis, but what do I know, huh?"
You know a hell of a lot more than you think, Doc.