May - High School Senior Year

Should we stop and ask someone?

Two weeks until high school graduation and Quinn still couldn't wrap her head around it. She figured it would be very different than it was. She would be partying with the Glee kids. She would be planning with Rachel. She would be buying things for her new dorm with excitement, not dreading it.

She would be out somewhere, celebrating, and not sitting at their dining table with her mother staring at her like she was a zombie.

But alas, life was full of surprises.

"Quinn, honey," her mom started, just like every night for the past three weeks. The concern continued to grow tenfold. First, it started with shock and respect; she'd given Quinn her space. Then it transitioned to worry and meddling; she'd called Hiram Berry, part one of the Berrymen- as Quinn called them- and quizzed him right and left. After that, when Quinn blew up at her, it morphed into fear and reluctance.

Quinn had literally watched the grief process for her own relationship manifest itself on her mother's face over the past six months. Hell, it kept her on track with what she was supposed to be feeling at what time in the so-called process.

But now, graduation was two weeks away, which meant Rachel Berry was three weeks away from leaving her life completely, which also meant Code Red in her mother's mind. Code freaking red and Quinn was just about tired of it.

"What, Mom?" she muttered and pushed a few potatoes around her plate. Her mother eyed them and the abundance of other food being pushed around the same plate.

"No appetite again?"

"Just not hungry," she responded without an ounce of tone that meant the door was still open on that topic. Her mother pursed her lips and nodded her head. Quinn forced a potato into her mouth just to get that look to go away.

"Maybe we can go to breakfast in the morning. It's Saturday. Would you like that? Chocolate chip pancakes?" she offered with a hopeful smile.

"Mom, I haven't had chocolate chip pancakes since I was eleven."

"Then it will be a fun blast to the past! Don't you think? You love them!"

"I guess." She flicked a piece of chicken across her plate and her eyes defocused, landing somewhere in the middle of the table. The image of Rachel in second period flooded back over her for the hundredth time that day. The girl had clenched her arms around herself in such pain. Quinn knew it was due to her. It always was, just like it was always Rachel for Quinn. She wanted to march across the room, wrap her in a hug, cry with her, and sleep so it would all go away.

But her feet took her to her desk instead, her desk next to that desk to her right. It sat between her and the wall, leaving them lonely together. It smacked Quinn in the face daily, so often in fact that she learned to cry out of only her right eye. Maybe her left was just tired. Maybe it'd run out of tears. Who knew?

Judy took in her lifeless daughter before her, begging God above to send her Little Quinnie back. She'd exhausted her ideas, books' ideas, therapists' ideas, Rachel's father's ideas, and Russell's ideas. Nothing fixed the broken Quinn, nothing at all. She watched the miniature version of herself stare off into space, absent mindedly pushing her food around. Those formerly bright eyes stayed frowned and reddened and Judy found herself curious, yet again.

"Quinn, honey."

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"What I'm always thinking about, Mom," she muttered. Judy took a deep, sullen breath and raked her eyes over her daughter's still-despondent face.

"How about you tell me about it this time?" she pushed. Quinn brought her red eyes up to her mother's and debated how to proceed. Her usual, knee-jerk response was always not today. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Quinn liked to pretend nothing was happening anywhere ever. It helped her put Rachel Berry in a box with everything else in the world if nothing was happening across the board. Rachel wasn't happening. Life wasn't happening. Nothing was happening.

But after seeing Rachel practically curling into herself to avoid crying in second period, something changed. Unsure what exactly that was, Quinn felt a small click, as if the just bearable unbearable constant pain they felt had notched up into the "too much" territory.

She could see Rachel drowning. And it hurt.

It hurt more than normal.

"Quinn?" her mother pushed again. And to Quinn's surprise, something inside her thanked her mother for being persistent.

"I saw Rachel today," she whispered, immediately clearing her throat afterward. The illusion of control was not missed by her mother.

"Don't you see her every day, honey?"

"Yeah. Yes, ma'am. It was- it was different today."

"Good different?"

"Yeah, good different. That's why I'm sitting here pushing chicken across my plate and trying not to vomit."

"Sorry. Stupid question," Judy apologized with a twitch. Quinn sighed and steadied herself.

"I didn't mean to snap at you. Sorry."

"Just keep talking, okay? Where did you see her?" she carefully asked and refilled Quinn's water from the glass pitcher on the table.

"Second period."

"Math. Right. Well… what, what happened? How was it different? Did you talk?"

"No. I still can't talk to her."

"It's been months, Quinnie."

"And I still don't forgive myself."

"You don't have anything to forgive yourself for," she pleaded and reached a hand across the table to grip her daughter's.

"I do. I ruined it."

"But you also startedit all. Your bravery started it."

"Mistake number one."

"Don't say that. You don't want to be that way. Rachel wouldn't want you to be that way," she enforced with a stern grip. Quinn shot her fiery eyes to her mother for daring to mention what Rachel would or wouldn't want. Her brutal tone unleashed before she could contain it.

"You don't know anything about-"

"Don't you dare tell me I don't know anything about her, and you, and your relationship with her. I gave you girls more effort than anything in my life because I wanted to be a part of it. Do not throw a seemingly small statement like that back in my face because it is untrue and I do not deserve it, however off-the-cuff you may think it'd be."

Quinn gulped down the rest of her statement and thanked God her mom didn't pull her hand away, instead gripped tighter. The warmth and support poured through her and she felt her daily battle with tears raging up again. She felt them start to pool as her chin took off quivering. She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and nodded her head slightly at her mother.

It was all the apology and show of regret Judy needed. She pushed out her chair, walked around the table and sat next to her daughter. Quinn immediately curled into her side, laying her heavy head on the shoulder that was constantly there. It took years, but it was there, steady and sure.

"You're good. You're strong. Okay?" she assured, running her palm down Quinn's hair. Her daughter took a shaky breath and nodded. "There you go. Good. So come on, tell me about class. What was different?"

"Rachel sits across the room. She used to sit beside me, but she, well she doesn't anymore obviously. When I walked in, she had her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her head bowed and her eyes clenched tight."

"Was she crying?"

"Fighting it, I think."

"Okay."

"That's all, really. She looked up and I happened to be standing there. I try not to be. I try really hard not to get in her space or view or world or anything. I know it hurts when I'm there and noticeable. It hurts me, too. But sometimes it's unavoidable. And today, it's like it slammed into us. It caught her off guard."

"What happened?"

"She looked at me."

"Okay," Judy dragged out, trying to fill in the details on her own.

"No I mean like, she really looked at me. She hasn't done that in months. She refuses to. But she did today. And then, well it looked like someone shot her dog. She looked helpless and letdown, kind of."

"What did you do?"

"I couldn't stand it anymore, her looking at me like that. So I sat down. And then I cried because her stupid old desk still sits empty beside me."

"Weren't you going to change seats a couple months ago?"

"I never did."

"Oh," she said and squeezed her arm tightly around Quinn's shoulder. "Well, here's what I think," she paused. "Do you want to know what I think?"

Quinn released a slight giggle at her mother's fears and nodded.

"Yes, please. I always care what you think. You know that."

"First, I love you for that. Just throwing that out there. You are such a good daughter."

"Mom."

"Sorry, I don't get these moments too often. Let me revel," she growled with a smile and Quinn smirked, following it with a sweet nod.

"I love you, too."

The grin plastered across her mother's face brought back all her comfort. She said another thankful pray for the woman cradling her and awaited advice.

"Okay. What was the first line out of your mouth when you and Rachel sat me down that Sunday afternoon after church your sophomore year?"

"When I told you about us?"

"Yes."

"Umm… gosh, I don't know. It was years ago."

"Two and it's one of the most important moments of your life! Come on, Quinn, you should remember this. What did you say?"

Quinn dug back through her brain trying to recall exactly what came out first, so to speak. She remembered trembling as they sat her mother down to tell her the news. She remembered being fearful, but hopeful that her mother loved her enough, loved Rachel enough, to not do something irrational. She remembered fearing her father's reaction most, but praying her mother could help with that later, which she had.

But how did she start? What did she say first?

"Seriously, Quinnie? You don't remember? You're teasing me, right?"

"Just give me a minute!" she retorted with a smack and a laugh.

That afternoon, she'd sat down on the couch in the study, her mother in the arm chair and Rachel to her right. Rachel's thigh was warm against hers, too warm. It made her want to take Rachel upstairs to see just how warm she could get it. She remembered blushing at the inappropriate thought when she should've been focused on coming out to her mother. Thoughts of taking Rachel to that next level were all that plagued her mind during that summer of their lives after sophomore year. She'd kissed Rachel four months earlier and the explosion never stopped. They got their licenses and would be getting cars soon. It would be even worse.

It was getting harder and harder to keep it under wraps, under control, out from under her mother's nose. It was completely overwhelm-

Oh. That's right. She felt the smile cross her lips and her mother leaned forward to get a glance at her face, the smile apparently contagious as it splayed over Judy's as well.

"You remember."

"I do."

"So tell me. What did you say?" Quinn's chin picked back up and her eyes flooded for the second time. She gulped back the sobs and smiled at her mother.

"I said, 'Mom, have you felt something so overwhelmingly right that it feels like everyday your heart could burst with love?'"Quinn finished, the last words trembling out. She swiped at her defiant eyes.

"That's the first time I ever saw you passionate. And I think that's really telling. Don't you?" Quinn could only nod. "You didn't open that conversation with, 'Please don't be ashamed of me.' You didn't say, 'You might not be happy.' You didn't apologize. You didn't falter. You gave me no room to judge because you were overflowing with happiness and love and you knew it. You knew. You knew exactly what you'd found because it felt right from the beginning and none of your fears, peers, or us as parents could argue with it."

"I know, but-"

"No. You knew. And you still know. And you're being a coward because you still know. And if you don't fix it, if you don't wake up, she's going to walk away and she's not going to look back. She's meant for things, Quinn. And she will go after them."

Quinn gasped at the abrupt change.

"You don't think I know that? That's what this is all about!"

"You used to think you were meant to be where she was. It's why you applied to Columbia in the first place. You got everything you wanted. Stop being a coward or everything, Rachel, all of it, was pointless, meaningless, and worthless."

Quinn shot forward, releasing herself from her mother's grip.

"Mom!"

"You graduate in two weeks."

"I'm aware!"

"Then grow up!"

"Mom!" Quinn wailed again, willing her to shut up. Her mother stood, cocked the token Fabray eyebrow and started out of the dining room. "Mom!" Nothing. "Mother! You can't say that to me! You can't say that about her!"

Judy padded up the carpeted stairs as her daughter wailed from the dining room. Her head shook right along with her nervous hands. She hated being the devil's advocate, but somebody had to do it. Someone had to fix her and nothing, not one of their ideas had worked yet. She didn't know if this one would either as Quinn continued to yell.

"I make my own choices! It's over! You need to accept it! I am a grown woman! I, I, I make my own choices!" Judy shook her head again, turning the corner into her bedroom. "This is MY life!"

"So you got her to scream, at least," Russell muttered from the desk in the corner.

"I figure it's a change, right? We'll see if it's positive or negative."

"What happened?" he asked as Quinn continued screaming in the background downstairs.

"She's scared."

"Of?"

"That's she hurt Rachel beyond recovery. I think that's one extra layer of guilt she can't handle. The last straw, if you will."

"And what do you think about all this now?"

"I think they've both lost themselves and a time when they're supposed to be finding themselves," she answered and ran her hands over her husband's shoulders, massaging lightly. "Rachel's not attending the summer program anymore."

"Is she still going in the fall? Does Quinn know?"

"He assumes she'll go. Well, he hopes. And no, Quinn doesn't know."

"It's Juilliard. Hiram should force her."

"She's not singing, Russ. You can't force a girl to go to a music school when she won't sing."

"She'll be fine when she gets there."

"Will she?"

His eyes met his fearful wife's and she arched a sad, questioning eyebrow. They had no idea what the future held for their daughter and her ex. It used to be bright. They had plans. They were happy. And then it crashed. They still didn't understand why and Quinn wouldn't talk about it. And Rachel would only give her dad a few syllables here or there on the matter. As a parental team, they were incredibly in the dark. Russell was never in the dark. It drove him crazy that he could only stand by and watch his daughter flounder.

She had promise, still did. But he was watching it drain away right before his eyes and because of a situation he still worked to understand. He tried, he tried very hard. And to see it implode into this, it was too much. As his attention turned to the open door where sounds of Quinn wailing wafted in, he found himself with no lifeline or clue.

They were utterly helpless. And Judy's new solution was to rile her up. He could only pray it worked to deter their current path. Otherwise, his daughter would be heading to community college in Lima Heights instead of acting on her acceptance to one of the nation's top schools.

That, he knew, was unacceptable.

He jerked his head toward the door and Judy shrugged.

"She started this passionate. Maybe she can find her way back this passionate," his wife justified.

"She's screaming like a seven year old."

"All the more reason to think it's working. Yesterday, she was practically mute. I'm calling this progress," she voiced with a smile.

They listened to Quinn hurling insults and demands and proclamations at them up the stairs. He shook his head and turned back around in his chair. She would either calm down, returning mute, or she'd take that fire to Rachel. Either way, they weren't regressing.

"What exactly set her off?" he asked as Judy stretched out on the bed and flicked on the TV to drown out their daughter.

"I used the words 'Rachel' and 'worthless' in the same sentence," she smirked. Russell chuckled and grinned affectionately.

"That'll do it, Judy."

"Yep. That will definitely do it."