Quinn woke up to in an unusual way—her mother picking up the young girl's dirty clothes off the floor.
Rubbing her eyes violently as if trying to make sure it wasn't a dream, the artist mumbled softly, "Mom?"
The svelte older blonde stopped from her tracks, looked at Quinn and smiled. "Good morning, sweetie. Slept well?"
The artist blinked several times, still unsure if she's in the middle of sleep. But when she felt her bed dip after her mom sat down and kissed her forehead, the younger blonde found herself fully awaken and conscious. "Not really. What are you doing here?"
"Last time I checked, this is still my home. Unless, you kicked me out without notice," Judy joked. Her laughter, however, died down when she noticed the miserable state of her daughter. "Quinnie, you've been crying. What's wrong?"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "Question is, is there anything right about me?"
"Don't sass me. I asked a question."
"Don't pretend you actually care."
The older woman sighed heavily. "Why are you so hostile to me? You're not like this to your father."
"Really, mom? We're having this conversation now?"
"No. We'll have it downstairs as soon as you get up. I made breakfast."
"Not hungry."
"Lucy Quinn."
"Ugh. Fine. I'm up."
"Good. Come down, tell me what's going on in your life," Judy said in an insistent manner then pointed to Quinn before leaving the room. "You can start with your hair."
The young artist groaned loudly. The last time she had the much dreaded Fabray women food bonding session was after she came out as a lesbian. Well, more like Judy caught her making out with a girl in the living room.
Quinn still has a vivid memory of how her mother reacted. Actually, it was the older blonde's non-reaction that made the whole scenario unforgettable.
Her mother politely asked the girl to leave, and then told Quinn to fix the table for dinner.
Mother's intuition, Judy reasoned out. She always knew, she said. Frannie spent all her time playing coy with boys who kept chasing her. Quinn followed her Latina friend around like a German shepherd. It wasn't, therefore, hard for a mother to figure things out.
What was left unspoken was a mother's fear of losing her only daughter left.
She fought with her husband every single time Quinn's sexuality was brought up. It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back of an already crumbling marriage. What's worse is that she could never seem to have Quinn's sympathy or affection even as a child.
She couldn't blame her daughter, either.
Judy was brought up in a heavily regimented WASP family from Ohio. Her father was a government employee and her mother was the typical homemaker. While they didn't have to make ends meet, they also didn't have the luxury of what Quinn enjoyed. And with five siblings to live with, discipline was everything. That is, if they didn't want to be reacquainted with their father's belt.
So, she brought up two girls not with the way her father did, but , however, was also incapable of bringing warmth into the family.
She simply didn't know how to.
Thus, Judy constantly blamed herself for Frannie's suicide. And she also constantly blamed herself for Quinn's dour attitude.
And that sneer on her daughter's lovely face despite her favorite breakfast being served.
"Quinn, honey," the older blonde whined. "Talk to me."
"Good cooking, mom."
Judy rolled her eyes before taking a sip of coffee. "You know that's not—"
"What do you want me to say? Rachel and I broke up. I'm miserable. I'm depressed. I'm heartbroken. I feel like I'm being torn into a million pieces and that the wind had blown all of me in several locations."
"Rachel, that gorgeous girl next door?" The older woman inquired, deliberately ignoring her daughter's hyperbolic description of her emotions.
"Yes," Quinn sighed in exasperation. "You met her once."
"I did. Lovely girl. I'm actually surprised she agreed to date you."
Quinn stabbed her pancake with a fork while glaring at her mother. "I always knew you had so much faith in me."
"I wouldn't have dated someone like you, Quinn. You're my daughter and I accept all of you. But let's face it, you're not Miss Personality of the Year."
"I have my moments," the younger girl mumbled in defeat.
"Well, those moments seem to have failed you. Why did she break up with you?"
"Why would you assume I didn't do the breaking?"
"Because you wouldn't feel like being 'torn into a million pieces' if that was the case. Is that why you've returned to your natural hair color?"
"It's a long story."
"I have all day."
"That's a first."
"Won't be the last."
Quinn's ears perked up. "Are you sick?"
"No, why would you think that?"
"Because you're being weird."
"I just…" Judy tapped her fingers over the table top, figuring out how to approach the subject matter. "When you packed up Fran's things. It…it got me into thinking. Really hard. Almost felt like being doused with ice cold water."
"Finally accepted she's gone?"
"More like…I finally realized I haven't been a mother at all. Especially to you. It took time, but I'm getting there. I've been seeing a therapist."
"I don't see—"
"Quinn, you've never liked me. Why is that?"
"I—that's not true," Quinn looked down and nervously played with her food.
"I think you and I both know that's really not the case."
"Mom, really, can we not talk—"
"Frannie and I never talked. We never will."
"I'm not like her," Quinn hissed. Her anger was completely halted from building up by a sudden awareness of what her mother was saying in between the lines. "You—you blame yourself for Fran's suicide? Mom, you know that's not the case."
"Is it?" Judy cleared her throat as her voice began to break.
Quinn shook her head slowly. "She was sick."
"I should've been there for her."
"I don't think you could've done anything, mom. No one could have. I'm not—I'm not blaming you at all. And I don't dislike you because of that."
"Oh, I know that much. You've never liked me even when you were a lot younger."
"That's because I…I always felt I could never be better than you," Quinn whispered.
Judy leaned closer, unsure of what she had heard. "You…you were insecure? Quinn, I'm your mother. I'm not your competition."
"You're perfect, mom," the artist stated with much derision. "You do everything perfectly. I grew up hearing all sorts of great things about you, from our church to your friends, officemates, everyone. You—you're this…wonder woman who graduated from an Ivy League under full academic scholarship, runs a very successful business, gorgeous, affable, can freaking run a household, a great cook, and has won every figurative Miss Personality of the Year."
"Quinn—"
"I'm not done. And besides physical appearance? We have nothing in common, mom. I'm just—I'm everything you're not. And in this stupid, desolate world we live in, that means I suck. I tried to be like you, but I ended up being the cheerleader that got kicked out for being a lesbian. You never once said I'm pretty or that I'm alright as a person. You never assured me it was okay to not be like you." Quinn looked away and began controlling her breathing. "And that's why I don't like you," she finally ended.
It was cathartic. To finally be able to say it out loud. The only thing left was for her mother to read her the riot act.
Or not.
What Judy did next positively surprised Quinn. Tentatively, the older blonde reached out and held the artist's hand. Squeezing it tightly, the repentant mother breathed deeply and muttered an apology.
"I'm so sorry."
A very short statement in contrast to a long-winded rant borne out of years of failed parenting.
The young girl's face slowly lit up. That's the first time she had ever heard her mother apologize to her. "It's okay."
"Tell me what I can do to make amends."
Quinn chewed her lower lip and thought about her answer hard. "Can you stop with the wife-swapping? It really bothers me and makes me sick."
Judy's eyes widened in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Wife-swa—"
"I know what that is. I am shocked that you're accusing me of….of participating in—in that sort of…activity."
The younger blonde frowned deeply. "But dad said—"
"Well, your father is lying!" Judy clutched her chest and pulled a face in disgust.
"Where were you on my birthday?"
"I left a note, honey. I told you there was a charity event I had to go to. And I even left a ticket for you to follow in case you wanted to go."
"You and your stupid notes! You know I don't read them!"
"And yet, you believe your father just like that?"
"I—well, he—"
"Never mind," Judy sighed. "I'm not going to turn you against Russell."
The artist continued to glower in confusion. "Why would dad say something like that?"
"Quinn, I won't be answering for your father. You go ask him that question."
"So you never—"
"I've had my affairs. I won't deny that. I have no one to blame but myself. But I have stopped seeing anyone since Fran's death."
"So…so…all those times you travelled alone…"
"I was really alone."
Quinn's face twisted in guilt. "I'm sor—"
"You have nothing to apologize for, honey," Judy smiled. "It's me that needs to get my act together. Am I…too late?"
"No…" Quinn smiled back, mirroring her mother's facial features. "Good timing, actually."
"So…how should we go about this? Would you like some mother-daughter activities? Or—"
"Mom…mom," Quinn raised her hand to stop Judy. "We're not that kind of people. Let's not force it."
Judy laughed the kind of hearty laugh Quinn had never heard from her mother. "Okay, fine. What's your idea?"
"This. Right here," the artist shrugged. "We talk when we want to. When we have the time. You don't need to rearrange your life for me. I don't think I'll be able to stand you doting on me all the time. And frankly, I think you will spontaneously combust attempting to do so. I like—I like the fact that I'm talking to you right now."
"Keep lines of communications always open," Judy nodded. "Got it."
"And you do the same?"
"You're willing to sit down and listen to my problems?"
Quinn shrugged then grinned. "I look forward to knowing you're not so damn perfect after all."
Judy reached out and mussed Quinn's already messy hair which brought them both back to the starting point of their conversation. "What happened, honey?"
It took fifteen minutes for Quinn to explain, and thirty for Judy to get over the fact that her daughter dated an escort.
It took another hour of argument with Quinn winning the battle.
In monetary terms?
She won a few thousand dollars from her mother's account to get another date rolling.
"I really don't think this is a good idea, Quinn. I could talk to her for you," Judy reasoned out as a last resort.
"No, I'm gonna win her back on my own. She—she needs to see I'm willing to do everything for her."
"With my money."
"I'll pay you back with lots of grandchildren in the future…with Rachel."
"A word of advice? I mean, I do know a thing or two about falling in love."
Quinn shot her mother a knowing look.
"I can still recall when your father had a romantic streak in him," Judy said defensively.
"Alright, fine. What is it?"
"I don't know Rachel's motivation for her behavior. But sweetheart, you're not a dirty old…woman. You'll never be. Taking her to fancy restaurants won't impress her. That's not really who you are."
"But—"
"But, when was Rachel happiest with you?"
"Wholesome happy?"
Judy grimaced. "Quinn, I'm trying to be very open-minded with your choice of…she's an escort for god's sake. Let's not push it."
Quinn chuckled. "Just testing you. And she's a high-class escort. There's a huge difference between—"
"Baby, don't lecture your older and world-weary mother."
"Right. Uhm…When, I took her to, uh, the neon bone yard."
"Well, that certainly should tell you where your next date ought to be." Judy stood up then patted Quinn's shoulder. "Since you're back to being Barbie, any chance you'll run for Prom Queen?"
Not a chance in hell.
But if Rachel requested for it, Quinn would not only run but launch an all-out campaign—even go head to head with Santana.
But first, she needed to follow her mother's advice.
"I didn't know we're branching out into a match-making service," Rachel huffed after smacking the back of Puck's head lightly.
"What? No we're—ohhh," Puck grinned widely in realization and sniggered.
"Don't," Rachel lifted a finger and pointed at her friend, "Mess with my personal life, Noah."
Puck scoffed, smugly took his coffee cup and sipped. "Oh, please. I'm hardly doing anything. I just accepted the flowers and that box on your behalf." He moved his head to the direction of the package on his desk and grinned widely again. "Open it. I wanna know what's inside."
"Puck," the brunette sighed. "Stop encouraging her."
"It was Quinn who barged in here and pleaded with her life for me to help her out. She's desperate to have you back, Rachel. What should I have done? Kick her out? I have a heart, you know." He tried to snatch the box away from Rachel which earned him a much stronger hit at the back of his head. Rubbing the sore part, he sat down with a pout.
"I hate you," the brunette scowled. She then carefully eyed the box wrapped in manila paper with doodles all over it. On closer inspection, the drawings were representations of her and Quinn in several scenarios. The escort tightly pursed her lips together to fight a silly grin that she knew was about to make an appearance.
There was chibi Quinn, down on her knees and asking for forgiveness for how she reacted. Another side of the carton showed the two of them on their way to Hawaii with the teenager carrying and pulling all their bags. And after seeing the third panel of them puckered up, inside what looked like a chapel, Rachel finally surrendered to that warm fuzzy feeling that had been bubbling from her stomach that skyrocketed all the way to her chest.
She giggled.
And Rachel Berry hardly giggled.
It's the kind of behavior she only reserved for Quinn in their most intimate moments.
Yet, there she was, acting like a school girl in front of her business partner all because of a dorky packaging.
"I'm glad you find this amusing while I'm about to pee in anticipation. I wanna see what's inside that box."
Rachel was taken away from her reverie with that comment. She glared intensely at the man-boy beside her. "Why are you so curious?"
"Because I want to know what expensive stuff she got you this time. That watch you're wearing certainly can't compete with the more expensive brands you have, but really, an eighteen year old buying you that. I can't wait for more," he laughed in amusement.
"You shouldn't have told her that," the escort sighed. "She needs to get a hold on how she's spending her money. She has a future to worry about. She didn't apply to that art school, Puck. I can't believe it. She threw away an opportunity to—"
"She just wants to be with you. Why can't you see that?"
"Why are you so involved in this?"
"Why are you so stubborn about this?"
"For someone who's supposed to feel…some form of attraction for me—"
"I love you, Rachel. L-O-V-E. Which means, genius. I do care about your happiness. I've already told you that."
"Still. You aren't trying to—"
"Convince you that you'll be happier with me?" Puck shook his head and smirked. "Thing is, if you were remotely attracted to me, we could've been a long time ago. I'm not blind or stupid. I'm also not paralyzed by pain and my heart's not on the verge of breakdown. Get over yourself," the man chuckled. "Now, open the damn box."
"Fine, I'm opening it. Everyone's just so demanding these days." She slowly peeled off the wrapper, careful not to ruin Quinn's silly art work while ignoring an exasperated groan from Puck.
It was nothing she expected.
Much to Puck's disappointment, there was nothing expensive inside.
But it was something that had immediate value for Rachel.
The package was an oversized lucky troll doll with pink hair that Quinn obviously customized. Its clothes were dyed in black ink and it held a cardboard sign that had, "This Troll needs a home. Adopt her, please?" written on it. Rachel absently combed the doll's hair with her fingers.
"Again, you're stubborn about this because?"
"Because I won't do her any good in the long run," Rachel murmured while holding the doll close to her chest.
"You know—"
"I really don't want to talk about this anymore, Puck."
"Yeah," the man sighed. "And besides, you owe her an explanation, not me."
She owed Quinn more than an explanation.
And the more infuriating part is Quinn wasn't asking for one.
The artist just wanted her back.
That's how uncompromised Quinn's love for her is.
"And you can start doing that because…" Puck scrolled down his excel file and checked Rachel's schedule. "You have a date with her this Saturday…afternoon."
The brunette groaned and hugged the troll tighter. "I don't want to!"
"And I'm your boss. You do what I tell you. You're lucky, three dates so far. And that she hasn't given you a negative feedback. I would have lowered down your rate," he chuckled mischievously.
"No, Puck—"
"Rachel, who are you kidding? Hawaii is waiting for you. A few weeks ago, you were just fixing things for me in the office and had a one-way ticket to Hawaii. What happened to that?"
"I—refunded."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want Quinn to do anything stupid!"
"Sure. If that's what you really wanna believe in. Don't start whining about the fact that she scheduled another date, then."
"Afternoon?" Rachel sighed.
"Late, around five. And…she made a specific request for you to wear casual clothes and comfortable shoes. Weird, huh?"
"Knowing Quinn?" Rachel asked with a small smile. "Not really."
A county fair.
Truth be told, Rachel has never been to one, and Quinn unwittingly gave her a childhood dream.
The young blonde was determined to win every single game to impress her date. Much to Rachel's amusement, and for all of the artist's amazing dexterity with her work and in bed, Quinn's aim turned out to be lousier than a drunken archer.
"These games are rigged," the younger girl protested with a scowl.
"I don't think—here, let me take the last ring," Rachel offered. She flicked her wrist and the ring miraculously fell right into its intended target.
"Oh my god! Quinn!" Rachel jumped and clapped her hands.
The artist groaned in humiliation. "Beginner's luck," she mumbled grumpily.
"Aw, come on. I got you a cute dolphin," the brunette laughed while pushing the plush toy against the younger girl's cheek.
"Uh, no. You keep it."
"But I won this for you."
"With my money. So technically, that's my game you played. So, yeah, you get to keep it."
"Quinn…"
"Camila."
Of course. Trust Quinn to, pointblank, bring her back to reality.
"Right, okay. I'll keep this. Thank you. Uhm…want to ride the Big Wheel?"
Quinn looked up and stared at the Ferris wheel slowly rotating. "Uhm, maybe not."
"Why not? Are you afraid of heights?"
"No, not really."
"Then…"
"I got my first kiss right there."
"Oh."
"So cliché, right?" Quinn chuckled dryly as she led them to the flea market.
"No…no, I think it's very sweet."
"I guess it is." The artist busied herself with scrutinizing coke memorabilia, while Rachel struggled to find safe conversation topics.
The artist eventually moved on to another stall and seemed to have found one that interested her. "How much for this lunchbox?"
"Oh, that's a rare one," the man behind the kiosk said. "That's a bento box from Japan right out of the Mecha anime movement in the 70's. Valued at 150 bucks."
"150? Geez, that's steep."
"Well, I'll tell you why. Take a look at the inside, the thermos is in almost mint condition, and the containers hardly have any scratches. You won't find anything better than that."
"Yeah…I mean, it is Mazinger Z," Quinn said in awe while examining the contents. "How about 80?"
"Oh, hey, you obviously love it and know your robots. So I really would love for you to have that," the man chuckled. "But I really can't go that way. I got that for a 100 and I won't go lower than that."
Rachel stepped closer and took the box as the younger girl continued to haggle. "120 and that's all I have left," Quinn sighed.
"125."
"We'll take it," Rachel chimed in and squeezed the younger girl's arm before taking out her wallet.
Quinn stood still, confused and surprised at the escort's break from character for the second time that night. "It's not unusual for us to give our clients some form of token," Rachel whispered, knowing very much what was going through the artist's mind.
Quinn nodded and started to walk away slowly. "Quinn?" Rachel frowned as she hurried up the transaction.
"Looks like your girlfriend's not too happy with you spending for her," the man winked then turned his attention to another customer.
"Quinn!" Rachel ran with the lunchbox in her hand. "Quinn!"
The artist stopped walking and sighed heavily. "I didn't ask for you to do that."
"I thought…" the escort held the lunchbox up and offered it to Quinn. "You seemed to have liked it so much."
"You're so good at this. Making up your own rules when it's convenient for you."
"I—no, I—"
"I don't want that."
"Quinn, I bought this for you."
"I appreciate the gesture. But I really don't want to accept anything from you, Camila."
"Quinn—"
"No, okay? You don't make me remember how you used to give me little things because I liked them. You don't make me remember how childish you can be at things that amuse you. And then, make me remember that all of this now is just an act for you. So, you can keep your fucking token because I don't want to remember why I have that."
"I…Quinn, I'm so—"
"Save it. Let's go back to your office."
"W-what? But you paid for…" Rachel sighed deeply. "We're supposed to be out for three hours."
"Bonus for you, then." Quinn walked ahead and parted the crowd by her don't-mess-with-me stance, leaving Rachel alone to mull over the implications of Quinn's outburst. She ran after Quinn and caught up with the younger girl a few meters away from the parking lot. Grabbing her wrist, Rachel pulled Quinn closer and kissed the young artist deeply.
"Come on," Rachel mumbled against Quinn's lips. "We can book a room."
"But—"
"I'm breaking my ultimate rule, Quinn."
The artist pursed her lips tightly and shook her head. "I think…we should have coffee, instead."
A/N: Writer's block and I know it showed. I really apologize. I did not update for the sake of updating, though (if that's any consolation). I never forgot Judy :)
