Your phone vibrates with a Facebook notification. You open up and find that it says, "You're invited to: Lord Tubbington's Birthday party." It's from Brittany of course. The party is going to be at her house, Saturday afternoon. You look from the bed to the desk where Rachel is looking at her phone probably reading the same invitation.
Then you're phone buzzes again and you hear Rachel laugh before you can finish reading the next invitation. "You're invited to: Pain if you don't go to LT's birthday party." It is of course from Santana.
You say 'yes' to the party and 'no' to the pain.
Rachel sets her phone on the desk, "I think Santana's just trying to regain some of her ferocious rep because everyone sees her following Brittany around like an overly excited puppy."
You fall back onto the bed with a laugh and stretch. It's getting a little chilly in the room and you're wondering if Rachel is still warm enough. She looks so cute in your Cheerio sweatpants and your letter jacket. Her hair is braided pigtails, but the braids are fraying and loose strands hang on her face. You think that you'd be used to looking at her by now and not be affected by how cute she looks. Even in sweat pants and braids. Of course they're your sweatpants so….you shake those thoughts away from your head. Bad Quinn.
You lightly sigh and pick up a book off of the nightstand. You're supposed to be reading it for English. There are two bookmarks in it. A neon pink one and a neon green one. You and Rachel are sharing the book and take turns reading it. Judging by how far her neon green bookmark is in front of yours, she did a lot of reading last night while you were asleep.
After about an hour of reading the dense words, you close the book. When you look up Rachel is gone. A surge of panic rushes through you. You've gotten better at hiding them, but they're still there when you look up and she's gone. You're also better at quelling them once they've spiked. It doesn't make it any less unpleasant. You can rationalize that she's in the bathroom or downstairs. You flex your hands a few times trying to get rid of the shakes you get before getting up to go find her.
You find her downstairs talking to her dads. You walk past them all in the living room to the kitchen pretending like you weren't just going to see where Rachel was. You think that she knows what you do and you feel embarrassed because of it.
You walk over to the cabinet where the glasses are and get one down. As you're filling it with water, Daddy walks into the kitchen. He smiles at you, "Everything okay?"
He thinks you're upset because you're drinking water. At some point Rachel trained you to become thirsty when you're upset. Right now it's probably equal parts upset and thirsty. You smile at him and shake your head, "I'm fine. Just thirsty."
He steps over toward you and puts his arm around you affectionately rubbing your shoulder, "Do you need another coat for our trip to Vermont?"
"Vermont?" you ask. You're thoroughly confused at his question.
"Oh Rachel must not have brought it up yet," he says moving to the stove and lifting the kettle off of it. He goes to the sink as he continues, "We go to Vermont every year. We're going in twenty…three days and we're gone for four days. Just family bonding."
"And you want me to go?" you ask.
He smiles as he finishes filling up the kettle, "You're practically a Berry anyway." He laughs and adds, "Maybe a Faberry?"
You laugh with him. You feel like part of this family more than you did when you were in the midst of Fabrays. Of course there aren't many Fabrays left now. That thought definitely puts a damper on your mood.
"How about we take a family trip up to the Galleria in Cleveland?" he asks, setting the kettle on the stove and turning on the gas fire under it, "We'll get some Vermont clothes."
You want to go with them. You really do, but you have obligations here. Namely your mother. You can't leave her alone for four days. Who would feed her? Who would check on her to make sure she's still….you don't want to think about it….
With a heavy sigh you tell Daddy your thoughts on it. You can't let the Berrys pay for you to go somewhere you won't end up going to.
He walks back over to you and puts his arm around you, "I seems that my big mouth is getting ahead of me." He calls for his husband and Rachel. When they walk in you all sit at the kitchen table and you're a little worried about what this means. You wonder if you missed something the last time you went back to your house. You start going over yesterday's visit in your head trying to think of something that was out of place.
"Quinn," Rachel says quietly and slips her hand into yours on your lap. They're all looking at you and you figure you must have zoned out.
You lick your lips and zero in on Rachel, "What?"
"The psychotherapist called this morning," she says evenly, her eyes locked on your face waiting for any kind of reaction.
You don't know why but tears jump to your eyes. You immediately think the worst. Rachel places her arms around your shoulders and pulls you against her body, "No baby, it's nothing like that."
You sniffle and wipe at your eyes. You duck your head in complete embarrassment. "I'm sorry," you mumble.
"Quinn," Dad takes over in a gentle voice. You reluctantly meet his eyes and he continues, "She said that your mom is making progress, but she thinks that the progress may be more rapid if she goes into a more intensive therapy."
"Like what?" you ask, leaning more into Rachel.
"A residential treatment center," he explains, "She recommended one in Pennsylvania." His eyes flicker to Rachel before he continues, "We have all the literature for you to read over if you'd like. All three of us have read over it. You can ask us any questions that you'd like or we can just give you everything."
You're at a loss. Residential treatment center? Like rehab? How much is there to read about it and why are they just telling you now? Why did they all read it before telling you? You pull away from Rachel enough to look at her. You need to look at her and look into her eyes. It's where you find clarity. She's your safe place to think and to process. This is a lot for you.
Finally you gain your bearings. They're all still sitting at the table, patiently watching you, waiting for some kind of response.
"What do you think?" you ask Rachel's dads.
They silently confer between themselves and Daddy nods before turning back to you, "We think it's a good idea. But you have power of attorney. It's your decision. It's not that she's not making progress here. It's that the therapist thinks that she'll make a faster progression at the treatment center."
You move farther into Rachel. Farther into your safe place. You hold her around her waist, not allowing any space between your bodies. You feel one of her hands gently rest on the side of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair. Her other hand is on your upper arm, supporting your holding of her. You sigh when you lay your head against hers.
You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, biting at it before you ask, "How long would she be gone?"
"Four weeks," Dad states. He looks at you apprehensively. "After the first week you can go visit her. We'll drive you up there as many times as you'd like."
It takes you a moment to realize that you're holding onto Rachel's shirt so tight that your knuckles are white. It's not fair. You're seventeen. You shouldn't have to make these kind of decisions. You're still in high school and you don't have any active parents and you're scared to mess everything up. All these thoughts culminate in your eyes and start to trickle down your face.
You let go of Rachel and wipe off your face with both hands, "Can I think about it for a while?"
Both of Rachel's dads nod and you quickly walk out of the room before any of them can even stand up. You move through the living room and out the front door before you even know where your feet are taking you.
You're disappointed on so many levels when you don't hear Rachel calling after you. You're disappointed that she's not and you're disappointed that you want to her follow after you. It's cold outside and she shouldn't have to run after you every time you freak the hell out.
As you're rounding the first corner, you hear the soft pat, pat, pat of someone running after you. When you turn around you see Rachel jogging to catch up with you. She slows down and stops in front of you, handing you your letter jacket. "Sorry," she apologizes as you shrug on your jacket, "I had to get my shoes and another jacket." She's in her grey faux-wool jacket. Her cheeks are pink from the cold air hitting them as she ran.
You shake your head, feeling guilty, "You didn't have to come after me."
The look on her face is dead serious when she says, "I'll always come after you."
You have no answer to that so you turn the corner and continue walking. You blindly reach for her hand and easily find it without having to look. You lace your fingers together and put your joint hands into the pocket of your jacket to keep them warm.
You briskly walk so it doesn't take you long to reach the Fabray house. It doesn't even feel like home when you walk through the door. Your home is with the Berrys and you feel guilty about that as well. Once inside you find that it's cold in the house as well. Not as cold as outside, but you can tell that no one has turned the heater on. You let go of Rachel and go right to the thermostat. It takes a few seconds, but the whirl of the heater firing up fills the house.
When you turn around Rachel is sitting on the couch in the exact same spot that she always waits for you in. You change your mom's food and get her some more water. There's another book on her nightstand next to her food and the TV is still off. You're happy for that. You linger in the doorway a little longer than usual looking at her. She looks so frail and you always feel so helpless looking at her.
You manage to fit a few more thoughts into your head before you walk into the living room where Rachel is waiting patiently just like always.
"What do you think?" you ask her.
She looks startled that you said something. You usually don't speak until you're outside of the house. She takes a thoughtful moment before she says anything, "I think it's up to you. Whatever you think Quinn."
You shake your head and fight off tears, "I don't want it to be up to me." The second you sniffle, she's off of the couch and holding you in her arms.
She doesn't offer any advice or opinions. She just holds you in the middle of the cold living room. You desperately wish that she would tell you what to do. Let you know what would work out for the best with a PowerPoint and some statistical research. But she stays silent, rubbing your back as you contemplate what to do.
When you get moving again, you and Rachel walk back to her house and go up to your room. You ask her to go through all the literature with you and after agonizing hours you're staring at the ceiling with your head on her stomach as you both sprawl out over the bed.
"I don't want to push her too hard," you finally say, your voice raw and rough from the tears you've shed over the process.
"That's understandable," she states, not stopping her steady strokes of her fingers through your hair.
You take a deep breath, "I just…I want my mom back, but…." You tear up even as the words leave your lips. You win the battle to keep them in and continue, "I don't want to push her too hard because I want her back. What if I make it worse?"
"But what if you make it better?" Rachel asks.
You tilt your head up so you can look at her and you see that she's looking down at you. Her brown eyes offer nothing, but sympathy and caring. You finally have to look away or you'll be a bawling wreck again. "There are doctors there? Medical doctors?"
"At least one on the premises at all times," Rachel relays.
You rub your eyes then move up the bed so that your head is next to Rachel's on her pillow, "I think it's a good idea."
Her arm snakes under your head and she pulls you against her body, holding you completely. "Okay. Do you want me to tell Daddy or do you want to?"
"Can you?" you ask. You had a hard enough time coming to the decision, you don't want to have to explain it to anyone though you doubt that they'd make you explain.
"Of course," she kisses your forehead and relaxes her hold on you.
Once it's all said and done, the facility is set to pick up your mom the day after tomorrow. You feel the need to give her some warning even if she's not listening to you or she's asleep so the day before she leaves, after school, you sit on the foot of her bed and explain everything to her. You're a crying mess for the rest of the day and Rachel spends the evening in bed with you being whatever you need her to bed.
Dad took the morning off so that he could go to watch them take your mom away. You don't think you can stomach it. You tell Rachel to go on to school and you lay in bed at home, wondering if you made the right choice.
When Dad softly knocks on the doorframe, you look over at him. He tells you that she's on her way before kissing your head and telling you that he'll be downstairs if you need him.
Something inside of you is pulling you out of the house so you put on some warmer clothes, tell Dad you're going for a walk and step outside. You have to see for yourself. You have to know that she's gone somewhere where maybe they can help her.
Stepping inside your mom's house is eerie. You can almost feel that she's gone. Looking at her empty bed only confirms it for you. The house is completely empty and it feels so much bigger.
You turn on the gas fire and grab a blanket out of the hall closet, settling on the couch for a while. You don't feel like leaving the empty house. You haven't lived her in months, but you grew up here. And now no one lives here. The house feels lonely.
You get a text message around noon. Hey where are you? I came home to see if you wanted to go to lunch with me.
You reply with your location and not five minutes later, Rachel walks in the front door. She quietly closes the door and makes her way to the couch. She has a paper bag in her hand as she sits down next to you. She doesn't speak as she extracts two sandwiches that she made and places one on your lap.
You watch her silently open the baggie her sandwich is in and take a bite. She thoughtfully chews while watching the fire billow from the burner beneath the fake logs. After she's a quarter of the way through her sandwich you takes yours out and begin eating it, wondering how she always knows exactly what to do to make you feel better.
If she was sitting any closer to you, you would have leaned over and kissed her again. Of course you know it's a bad idea. She pretended that the first kiss didn't happen and the second one confused you because she initiated it. You know what to make it of. It just made you feel the most chaotic peace you've ever felt. Like it was confusing and you didn't know what you were supposed to do, but it brought you a serenity that warmed your entire body.
You've been able to talk about it with Santana, who figured you out almost at the same time you did. She told you that you should make a move if you really feel like you really like her, but not immediately. It was that morning Brittany came over with Rachel was sick. She was right though. You're an emotional mess. You need to sort yourself out before you drag her down with you. If she'll even want to be with you, which you're seeing as an impossibility right now. You don't even know if she'll ever be able see you as anything besides the girl who cries too much and is too clingy.
"Did I make the right choice?" you ask her as the school lunch break is nearing the end.
She bites her lip, "Honestly? I think you did."
When you let out a sigh of relief you fall back on the couch and lay back for a few seconds. Then you get up and turn off the fire, "C'mon we're going to be late to school."
Her eyes light up and she lets out a smile, "You're coming?"
You nod, "I can't miss Cheerios practice again."
When Cheerios practice is over, you, Brittany and Santana all walk up the bleachers to where Rachel is sitting, doing her homework. "Did you guys get the invitation to Lord Tubbington's birthday party?" Brittany asks with a huge smile on her face.
Rachel smiles and nods, "Of course." Her eyes flicker to you before she smiles up at the blonde, "We'll be there. Do you need any help setting everything up?"
Santana shakes her head, "Nah we got it." Her eyes move to you and an evil smirk forms on her lips. You haven't seen it there in a long time and it worries you. Brittany steals her attention and they link pinkies making their way to the parking lot.
"Ready?" you ask Rachel, standing in front of her.
She nods and starts putting away her things. When she's done you both walk down to her car and you sit in the passenger's seat waiting for her.
You're not sure what to do with yourself when your internal alarm goes off and tells you that it's time to go back to your house and check on your mom. She's not there anymore. She's in Pennsylvania. Hopefully getting better. So every afternoon you find yourself wondering why Rachel isn't taking you to your house before going home. That's before you remember that there's no reason to go.