Chapter 3

Annalise

I guess it was a tradition when my Uncle Kurt was growing up that Fridays were their family dinner nights.

It's crazy thinking back to it, because I'm pretty sure we had one of those, too, once upon a time. Ours were on Wednesdays. My mom and dad had a two bedroom loft in New York and before their first Thanksgiving together, they bought this antique wooden table. Everyone that had eaten there that year signed their names on it. When we ate at it, my mother felt like all of her friends and family were around us and it was a true family dinner.

Uncle Blaine left a seat open for my mom tonight, which almost had the same effect. But Sam was doing those stupid impressions during the entire meal that I didn't even notice the seat was open. I think that was his plan.

We talked lightly about the itinerary for tomorrow before my father and Uncle Blaine got so frustrated that they left it up to my Uncle Kurt and I to plan. Sam was wrapped up in glee club assignments for the rest of the evening, so after a much needed shower and a change of clothes, I joined my uncle back in the kitchen to work tirelessly to make tomorrow perfect for my mom.

"No calories," he says, pushing a piece of the chocolate cassata cake in front of me. He had paired it with a large glass of milk to wash the moist flavors down with. "Thanks," I smile, as I put my reading glasses on and straighten the messy bun on top of my head. "It smells delicious. I've been eyeing it up since before dinner."

"I know," Kurt chuckles. "You're just like your father — you both have enormous sweet tooths."

"That's for sure," I say, as I cut off a piece of the cassata cake and stick it in my mouth. Kurt watches me, as I marvel over his creation. My uncle had really outdone himself. "Tastes even better than I remember."

"I'm glad you like it," he smiles. "It was your mom's favorite, too."

I nod my head. "Yeah, she attempted to make it a few times — each one was worse than the last."

He chuckles softly. "She definitely was not a cook nor a baker. I don't think your dad really knew what he was in for when he married her. Rachel was definitely not ready to be someone's wife."

"That's very true," I laugh. "Dad was normally best when it came to cooking."

"Wasn't a very good cleaner either," Kurt replies. "But your dad loved her. He loved her very, very much. More than I think they both knew sometimes. Watching them fall in love was like... a dream. A beautiful, sometimes crazy, dream. Things were not always perfect — they both had their faults and it was hard at times. But that is what made it all worth it."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I reply, as I take another bite of cake. "The way that the two of them interacted was almost like they were the only two in the room. That is what is making this a whole lot harder for him. My dad put so much effort into their relationship and they were finally in a good place and then, well, then the cancer diagnosis happened..."

"I know," Kurt says, exhaling sharply. "I know exactly what you mean."

"She was gone a lot. I think it made them grow stronger. But now she's gone, forever, and she isn't coming back and I think that is what is making it harder on him."

"Your father takes everything to heart, too," Kurt replies. "He feels everything. Whether you know it or not, he does. All of the pain that you are feeling right now — he's feeling it ten times more, I guaranteed."

"Yeah," I reply, as I take a large gulp of milk. "I know he does. He's always been like that."

"Always," Kurt smiles. "And how are you doing since everything happened? And I'm not talking about your mom's passing either, Annalise."

I take another large swig of the milk and tap my fingers on the table. I haven't really talked to many people about the incident, as my father so subtly calls it. The incident that forever changed my life, shortly before the death of my mother had rocked my world. "I'm doing okay. Better, I guess. I had a psychiatrist appointment a week ago, and a counseling appointment a few days after. The medicine seems to really be working a lot. It's kind of like trial and error with all of that..."

"Yeah," Kurt says, nodding his head and stealing a piece of the cake from my plate. "Is the medicine making it... better?"

"With bipolar disorder," — the card that I was so kindly dealt — "there's no cure. It's just lithium. But it calms me down. It makes my brain feel at ease."

"That's good, honey," Kurt says. "I know it's still a little complicated..."

"As long as I don't drink, smoke marijuana, or go off of my medication, we shouldn't have another repeat of the rooftop..."

"No one faults you for it, you know," he tells me. "It's just a chemical imbalance in your brain."

"I know. That's the same thing everyone keeps telling me."

"Well, it's true sweetie," he says. "It'll get better. I promise you. With the right work and the medication, it'll get better. There's a lot of people with bipolar disorder."

"Yes, I know," I reply.

"Keep your head up," he tells me. "When it rains it pours, but, there's a rainbow coming soon. I just know it."

"Thanks, uncle Kurt," I tell him, taking another large mouthful of cake. "So, I guess we should get started on tomorrow, huh?" I ask, as Kurt opens up the spiral bound notebook placed in front of him. He grabs the nearby pen and scribbles the date and time on top of a new blank page.

"Do you have any ideas?" he asks, as his turquoise eyes meet my chocolate browns. "I want you to have as much input as possible."

"Well," I say, as I cross my right leg over my left. "I don't know, really. I'm not entirely sure how these things work."

"Hmm," Kurt says, staring down at the blank page. "We could open with a poem. I know your mom was Jewish..."

"Yeah, but dad and I aren't," I reply. "And no offense, uncle Kurt, but I don't think either of us are feeling very... prayer-like right now."

"Fair enough," Kurt huffs. "Well, maybe your grandfather could say something. I know he's been wanting to. We can have him do that."

"Okay, great," I reply, finishing off my cake and milk, wiping away and excess crumbs from the corner of my mouth. "What does that leave for dad and I?"

"You guys can do whatever you'd like. Did you have something in mind?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

"Do you still have the eulogy you read at her wake?" I nod my head in reply. "Then you can read that if you feel comfortable doing so."

"Okay," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "That works."

"A few other people are going to want to say something and dedicate songs..."

"Wait," I reply. "You guys are going to sing?"

"Of course!" Kurt chuckles. "What else would your mom have wanted? There's no better way to honor her, in my opinion. Blaine and I have already chosen our songs and..."

"And what?"

"We were hoping maybe you would like to sing something, too?"

I laugh a little under my breath. "You want me to sing?" Kurt nods his head. "You know I can't sing, right?"

"What are you talking about?" he asks. "Annalise, you're the daughter of Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson. I've heard you sing before a thousand times."

"Yeah, in the shower and the car! I have never stepped on a stage and sang before."

"Would it be something that you'd like to do?"

"Huh?"

"Think about it," Kurt smiles. "What better way for Rachel Berry's daughter to honor her than singing?"

I shake my head. "I can think of a million other ways," I reply, mumbling under my breath.

"Come on," Kurt says, as he stands up and tucks in his chair. He extends his hand out to me. "I want to show you something."

Kurt

The music room is my absolute favorite room of our home.

I insisted that we had some place where we could express what we were feeling while Blaine and I were going through our re-modeling process. He had given me total control of the interior design and allowed me to splurge just a bit when it came to the instruments and tools needed to make sure that the songs in our hearts never disappeared.

"Where are you taking me?" my niece asks frantically, as I lead her down the carpeted basement stairs. "This is really weird. Do you guys have some sort of dungeon down here?"

"No," I reply, trying to hold in my laughter. "This," I tell her, as I let go of her hand and turn on the overhead chandelier, "this is our escape."

"Holy shit," she replies under her breath.

"You like?" I ask, as her eyes begin to marvel over the room in front of her.

"I love," she smiles. "This is insane."

I give her a moment to take it all in. Inside of the enclosure is everything one would need to create a musical masterpiece. There are red satin couches formed in a v-shape that accentuate well with the grey, soundproof walls and matching carpet. Off to the side rests a drum-set, two electric guitars, a Baby Grand Piano, and two acoustic guitars. An array of microphones is set on a small painted stage on the far right corner of the room. There are several matching patterned throw rugs scattered on the floor to match and pull together the rest of the room. On the walls are various pieces of sheet music — songs that mean the world to us. Amongst those are posters from our catalog of Broadway successes carrying from shows that Blaine and I assisted in to shows that our Rachel was the star of. A gray oak bookcase sits on the opposite back wall and is sorted by musical genre, artist, and preferences.

"Your mom had something very similar to this in her basement growing up," I smile. "It was important for us to always keep the music going."

"I'm in shock," Annalise smiles. "This is... wow. I thought the rest of the house was amazing but... this is really the cherry on top."

"I knew you'd love it. You are just like your mom when it comes to loving music."

"Yeah, but I'm a little more tractors and yee-haw and she was a little more glitz and glam."

I laugh at her response. She had grown up her whole life mostly around Sam and Finn, so I know her love of country music stems from them. It definitely does not come from Blaine and I. We tried to take her to many musicals during our time in New York, but, most of the time she ended up falling asleep. Broadway was something that oddly, did not interest the daughter of Rachel. "You want to see what song I was thinking of?"

Annalise takes a seat on one of the couches and crosses her legs Indian style. She straightens the reading glasses on her face, as I make my way over to the bookcase. I find the sheet music that I was hunting for in no time, before joining her on the couch. "You can read sheet music, right?"

Annalise nods her head. "Yeah, I can read sheet music. I am Rachel Berry's daughter after all," she smiles. "She was able to teach me some things during her short time here on Earth." Perplexed, she glances over the title of the song and says, "I've never heard this song before, though."

"I figured you wouldn't," I sigh. I'm really ashamed at my brother and sister-in-law for not educating her more on Broadway musicals. "It's one of mine and your mom's favorites. It's a very difficult song to sing — but I think you can do it."

"I don't know about that," Annalise stammers. "It looks like a hard song to sing. There are a shit ton of high notes. I'm more of an alto..."

"We can change the key," I insist. "Why don't I play it for you, and then we can decide if it is something that you'd like to do?"

Annalise shakes her head. "It's kind of sad, don't you think?"

"It's not necessarily a sad song," I shrug.

"It's not a very happy one either."

"Annalise, if you don't want to sing, you don't have to."

"Why this song?" she asks. "I know it was one of yours and my mom's favorite musicals, but why this one?"

I close my eyes for a moment, and it's almost like I'm back. Back on the stage of the Gershwin Theatre in New York, spring of our junior year. We had snuck in there, and Rachel confessed that she didn't have to choose between love and Broadway and that theatre would always be her first love — there was no changing her mind. "This song got your mom and I through some hard times. She was my duet partner, respectively, and with the both of us being total divas," Anna belly-laughs at that one, "we were always at each other's throats to get solos in glee club. In that moment though, we really knew we were going to be best friends for the rest of our lives. Whenever we were feeling down, we would play this song and just start belting it at the top of our lungs and just... all of our worries went away."

"And you're sure you want me to sing this with you?"

I nod my head. "Your mother would love for me to pass the torch down to you. What do you say, Hudson? Do you want to sing it with me?"

Annalise nods her head and wipes a stray tear from her eye. "It would mean the world to me."

"Alright," I say, getting up from the couch and waltzing over to the piano. I knew we had a long night ahead of us. But I didn't care. In that moment, it felt like I had a part of Rachel back — a part of Annalise back.

And, it feels like I have a part of myself back, too.