Her slender fingers shakily dial the number as she bites down on her lip to keep herself from crying. The hot, salty tears are not what she needs right now; they'll choke her and catch in her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe .The dial tone on the other end of the phone, usually calming (it reminds her that nobody wants to talk to her, that she has successfully alienated herself and that she will forever be alone), creates a balloon of anxiety that needs to be popped. Sam is asleep on the couch, arm falling over the side and drool slips from the down-turned corner of his mouth. The dial tone continues, ringing. Ringing, ringing, always ringing.
"Hello? Quinn, I'm so glad that you called. I was beginning to be genuinely worried that you were mad at me, and I couldn't fathom the reason why. I'm so glad you called. Have you talked to Noah yet? I'm assuming you read the letter, because that's what we talked about last…" The voice on the other end of the line is familiar, and unfortunately so. Even though the girl can't possibly see her, Quinn forces a smile onto her face, hoping it will give her a peppier tone.
"It's alright, Rachel. It's alright."
"Are you sure? I hope that he's been okay to you – and have you met Beth, yet? Isn't she such a beautiful little girl? Isn't she …"
"My daughter? Yes, she is. It's amazing just how much she looks like my side of the family." A bit of poison slips through Quinn's lips as she speaks. She no longer cares if Rachel is offended by her words. Beth is her daughter. Not Shelby's. Not Rachel's. Even Noah Puckerman only has half of a claim to the young child. Quinn, on the other hand, carried that child from conception, became a social outcast, gave up everything she cared about, just for Beth's safe delivery. The fact that her child was put up for adoption no longer matters. Beth is her child, and her child alone. Nobody else, in her eyes, will ever be able to sacrifice enough for the blonde babe.
"She does, doesn't she?" Luckily for Quinn, Rachel has picked up on the message and now has is speaking warily, as if Quinn's bite will soon follow her infamous bark.
"Why is she here? Why did he bring her here? It's one thing to track me down, but to bring her" Quinn asks aloud.
"Beth has a picture of you by her bed. Noah talks to her about you nonstop. He wanted her to meet you. You to get to know her. She's a good kid, Quinn, even if she's young. She's a good kid, and she deserves the chance to get to know her mother. I don't think that you can argue that he's got both of your best interests at heart." The words are surprising; Quinn never expected her daughter to have a connection to her, never expected Noah to want the three of them to be a family. He had so many other things he could worry about. And Quinn? At the time, she couldn't possibly handle having a child on top of everything else.
"Is he trying to guilt trip me or something?"
"Or something. He's not a bad person. He's trying to build a family for all three of you. Even if it's not in Lima, even if it's not a dream situation. He wants Beth to know the people who helped bring her into this world, and he wants them to be there for her."
"And what if I don't want to get to know her? Who said I want to be her mother?" Her own words sting, worse than the feeling of being slapped and worse than the time that she'd skinned her knee and broken her arm when she fell riding her bike. Nothing feels worse to Quinn than telling someone that she has no feelings for the two people that make her feel most complete.
"She'll still have female role model. Noah won't let her be abandoned that way; he cares about her; he wants the best for her … he's a good father." A good father. This version of Noah seemed so much more glorified than the one that she remembered. When she left, Noah Puckerman was a football player, a jock, a man's man for a lack of a better term. It seems highly unlikely, to Quinn at least, that he's given up on his old self entirely simply to raise a child that he originally didn't want in the first place. She takes another breath and tries to not mince her words before speaking again, though all of her efforts to keep calm are in vain.
"And who would this role model be? Is he seeing anyone?" And then a horrible notion dawns on her and she prays that it isn't true. "You're highly invested in this – why? Why do you care so much?"
"You're being a bit too hypocritical, aren't you? You just said that you don't want to be her mother. That you don't want to get to know her. I don't know much about how other people go around getting what they want out of people, but I'm pretty sure that they don't say one thing and then take it back." The knot in Quinn's stomach tightens. She knows that she's been caught.
"If anyone is going to be a role model to my daughter, I want it to be me. Not you, not some –" Quinn takes a moment to pause, unsure if she wants to use crude language or not, "bitch that he picks out. She's my daughter, and I want to be her only mother. You – you don't know what it feels like, what it's like to have someone so close to you that doesn't even know you exist, do you? You have no idea!"
A tear falls down her face and she looks down into lap, short pink hair falling into her eyes. The color of her own hair surprises her; though it has been this way for a good time now, since she has been talking to Rachel, Quinn reverted so much into her old self that she forgot she no longer is a senior in high school. She isn't the prom queen. She isn't the head cheerleader. She's Quinn Fabray, the lonely. Quinn Fabray, the sad. The girl with everything has become the girl with nothing and is only an echo of the person she used to want to be. And she knows that her words have been harsh and uncalled for. Rachel grew up without a mother, but with two fathers instead. They loved her, as far as Quinn knew, but nothing could replace the person who Rachel wanted to know so badly. She's being overly critical, not taking anyone else's experiences into account. Quinn knows all of this, but at the moment, she couldn't care any less.
"Goodbye, Quinn. This was a mistake – I'm sorry I called – I won't be contacting you again. Just take care of yourself, alright?"
"Rachel – wait, don't –" The realization of just how biting her words have been comes to her and Quinn wishes she had just nodded and yessed the girl. Things would have been much easier this way. They would have reached the point of this conversation sooner, Quinn would have been honest, and Rachel would help Quinn get back in her daughter's life. Now? There is almost no chance.
"I have to go. There's … I have a performance tomorrow morning, and I can't …"
"You were right." The words hang between them like a glider in mid flight.
"I was … what are you trying to say, Quinn?" For once, she knows exactly what she means and exactly the words that she wants to use to accomplish it.
"You were right. I want to meet my daughter." There is a short pause that Quinn will not allow to stay, a silence that she knows that she must fill. "Beth. I want to be her mother."