Chapter Fifty-Two
.
Rachel
.
some words build houses in your throat.
and they live there, content and on fire.
.
As far as first - it's technically his second, but I'm trying not to think about the day of Aunt Marianne's funeral - impressions go, James Holt makes a good one. Even though I didn't explicitly tell him I wasn't coming alone, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I introduced Quinn... as my best friend. We decided, in the car on the way here, that we would try him out, and then maybe see how he reacts to the idea that we're together in all the ways.
Apparently, that's what we're doing now.
Slowly coming out, or whatever.
I don't actually want this man to know before all the other important people in my life, but Quinn and I have reached a consensus that we're done hiding. It's both terrifying and exhilarating, though I'm still apprehensive about revealing our relationship to him as some kind of test; like some kind of shock value. It makes me feel... dirty, somehow. Like, we're soiling what we have just to get a reaction out of him, and it's not okay with me.
Well, I suppose we'll just see how things go.
We don't really start talking about anything of substance until after we've ordered our food - yes, Quinn does order for me, and James still says nothing. I suppose it helps when Quinn casually says, "She's really terrible at making food decisions - we could be here for hours," and I rest a hand on her leg, giving it a grateful squeeze.
"So, how is school?" James asks, and I force myself not to roll my eyes at the almost-predictable, generic question. I wonder if he's actually interested, or if he's just asking out of some kind of obligation. I almost smile at the thought that he might have a predetermined list of questions to ask. Maybe there's an index card somewhere.
Quinn lets out a quiet breath that sounds suspiciously like a scoff, and I resist the urge to smile.
"It's good," is what I say instead. "We're graduating soon."
He nods, looking momentarily pained by something. I think it's the reminder that I'm the eighteen-year-old granddaughter he's just meeting. "Do - do you have plans for after?" he asks, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I didn't go to college myself, but I assume you've considered all the options you have available. I think it's important to seek tertiary education, even if you you're unable to get into the schools you initially want."
I bristle slightly, and Quinn stiffens at the assumption. "I'm going to NYADA," I say, keeping the disdain out of my voice. "And Quinn is going to Yale." It's the first time I've actually said it with pride, and I assume Quinn can hear it in my voice, because her left hand squeezes mine still on her thigh.
His eyes widen slightly, possibly in surprise or something else, and he clears his throat. "I've - I've never heard of... NYADA?"
"It's the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts," I inform him, practically beaming with pride. I got into one of the most prestigious musical theatre programs in the country. I will wear that badge any day, and wear it proudly.
He blinks. "The... Arts?"
Oh.
"Well, yes," I say. "I've dreamed of performing on Broadway since I knew what it was. My dads have supported me every step of the way."
His eyes harden momentarily, and I imagine he has to stop himself from saying something untoward. I'll give him props for that, I suppose. Anyone else would have taken the bait and made a comment about homosexuality and Broadway.
Quinn clears her throat. "Rachel is very talented, Sir," she casually adds, sipping at her water. "It's almost unbelievable the size of voice that comes out of her tiny body."
I glance at her, unable to resist my indignation. "I am not tiny," I huff.
Quinn just laughs, her eyes on James as if she's appraising him. It's ridiculously sexy for me to watch, and I just know that she's getting lucky tonight, regardless of how this evening goes. "Her bark is much bigger than her bite," she informs James. "Though, she does pack a punch."
"How do you know that?" I ask, because I'm halfway certain I haven't actually punched anyone before.
When she finally looks at me, her eyes are shining with mirth. "I'm pretty sure one of the boys mentioned it," she says, and I frown. What is she doing?
I look at James, who seems to have visibly relaxed, and I cringe. Is he that worried that Quinn and I are so gay for each other? Jesus. "Well, Finn deserved it," I find myself saying.
Quinn rolls her eyes as she looks at James. "My ex-boyfriend," she says as an explanation. "It was a pretty ugly breakup."
That's one way to put it.
"Anyway," Quinn says with a dainty wave of her right hand. "Rachel is going to study musical theatre in New York, which has been her dream since she was three years old. You should be proud of her. It's an extremely difficult thing to accomplish, and it's amazing that there are two from our school who got into such a competitive program."
James looks a little bewildered, and I definitely don't blame him. Quinn is a lot to deal with on any day, and she's actually trying tonight. If I wasn't sitting beside her; I think I would be blinded by how bright she's shining. She's practically relentless with the charm she's suddenly turned on, and she begins to talk circles all around James; telling him things without actually telling him anything at all.
James even lets out a sigh of relief when our food arrives, and I have to duck my head to hide my smirk. Who knew Quinn Fabray would be the overwhelming one at this dinner? Still, I'm immensely relieved that she's taking the reigns, helping the two of us navigate topics without coming across any other landmines. It allows me the time to relax enough to ask the questions I want to.
I clear my throat, and Quinn glances at me. I'm ready, I try to convey with my eyes, and she must read it, because she sits back slightly. "James," I start. "I've - I've always been rather curious about the Holt family. Daddy doesn't talk much about them."
He grows still, and Quinn and I wait. "We're originally from Mississippi, you know," he says carefully. "A long time ago, our family arrived on the slave ships, and were made to work in the cotton fields." For a moment, his eyes flick Quinn's way, and it's the first time I realise that he sees the colour of her skin.
Admittedly, I see it too, but for entirely different reasons. I see the way she blushes when I say something particularly salacious, and I see the marks I leave with my lips and teeth. I see the skin that easily burns in the sunlight, and I see the skin that's in such contrast to my own that I'm still convinced we fit perfectly.
But James sees her white skin, and his eyes flash with sudden hatred.
If Quinn senses it, she doesn't show it. Her fingers do curl around my knee a little tighter, but she's outwardly unaffected. I have this sudden urge to snap at him; just get him to back off. How dare he look at her like that?
James' eyes drift back to me before I can let my own irritation get the better of me. "Long after that, we migrated to Ohio," he says. "I don't really know why they thought this was the place to be, but they came and stayed, and we've been here ever since." He sips at his own glass of water. "Holt isn't even our surname."
I'm tempted to ask what it is, but I hold my tongue. I'm not entirely sure what information I was hoping to gain by asking my questions, but I'm all ears. I've spent many years and even more school projects not knowing much about either of my extended families, and getting some insight might be helpful.
"They settled mainly in Cleveland," James explains, which, I know, is where James lives. I suddenly understand why my Daddy has such an aversion to that particular part of the state. "It's where I grew up." He licks his lips. "We were a large family," he explains. "My father had nine brothers and sisters, and I had six siblings."
Quinn's hand shifts on my leg, almost as if she's pulling it away, and I grab on, holding her in place.
I need her.
"There aren't many of us left," he says sadly. "I have two younger brothers, Marcus and Troy, and an older sister, Regina. They all have children of their own, and they too have children. There are even a few great grandchildren in the mix. The family is constantly growing. It seems every other week there's a wedding or baby announcement."
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel about his words. The 'family' he's talking about doesn't exist to me, and I wonder if that's supposed to change now that he knows about me. I'm not sure I would even want to meet the rest of the Holt clan. Not only did they shun my Daddy for his sexuality, but they treated Aunt Marianne horribly as well, and I don't see a day when I can forget that.
It shouldn't take James' little sister dying for him to develop a conscience.
It shouldn't take finding out he actually has a granddaughter for him to make any kind of contact. And, frankly, the idea that he wants to talk to only me and not my Daddy fills me with a kind of rage I don't think I'll be able to control if ever that topic of conversation comes up.
Still, I try to pay attention as he explains some of the family I'll probably never meet. There's a certain easiness about the way he speaks about them, a proud member of his oh-so-perfect family, and I can't help feeling a little jealous.
On behalf of myself, and on behalf of my Daddy.
LeRoy Berry became a doctor. A surgeon. He did that without the support of his parents and extended family. He had Aunt Marianne, and I suspect she was all he ever needed. She claimed he barely needed her, but I stand by the fact that they needed each other, back then and every day after. They were lost without each other, which is why the fact that she's now gone is even harder to stomach.
What's supposed to happen to my Daddy now?
What's supposed to happen to any of us?
I swallow audibly. "May - may I ask about my grandmother?"
James chews his food purposefully, and then smiles sadly. "I think she would have loved you," he says. "She passed a few years ago. They say it was a heart attack, but I sometimes think it was the result of a broken heart. She's never really been able to recover from - from what happened with your, uh, LeRoy."
I nod thoughtfully. Does that mean the woman regretted sending her son away? And, if she did, why didn't she do anything to fix it? It's been decades. She could have saved a lot of people a lot of heartache if she'd just picked up the phone and talked to her son.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I say, and I mean it. "I really would have liked to meet her."
His smile is small but present. "Edith would have liked that too," he says sincerely, and then clears his throat. "Though, she would have baulked at the idea that you're a vegan," he says, chuckling to himself. "She made the best pot roast in the world."
Oh. That's why it's one of my Daddy's favourite meals.
"It's the rosemary, isn't it?" Quinn asks him, and his eyes snap towards her.
"Y-yes," he says. "How did you know that?"
"LeRoy has made it a handful of times," Quinn explains, once again testing limits. If anything, she understands my Daddy and what he possibly feels about his own family far better than I ever will. She has first-hand experience. "He always claims it's a secret recipe, but he's never been all that good at keeping secrets."
I have to chuckle at the sound of that because it's true. He has an excitable quality about him and, sometimes, he just can't help himself. As stoic and serious as he can be, he's been known to spill the beans on a handful of things. It's one way in which he and Quinn aren't alike, and I'm immensely relieved by that.
"Right," James says tensely. Then, glancing down at our almost-empty plates (Quinn has eaten far too little, if you ask me), he asks, "Dessert?"
Quinn opts for some tea. I get a coffee, and James orders a slice of chocolate cake to go with his cappuccino.
As soon as our beverages arrive, James goes right back to talking about the family I will never meet. It's a truth I've come to accept. This is probably the only dinner we'll have like this because, even if he doesn't learn the truth about my relationship with Quinn; he's bound to, and we all know what's going to happen after that. It makes me wonder what Aunt Marianne would have been like if her own family hadn't shunned her. Would she have been as accepting of my Daddy?
I like to think so. There was something innately special about Aunt Marianne.
But now she's gone, and this man is attempting to - what?
With every word James says, I get the growing feeling that he has a very special goal he intends to accomplish when it comes to the meeting. He's trying to - to what?
Take his granddaughter away from his son, in a misguided attempt to save her? Poison said granddaughter against his son? Feed her stories of a family she could have that doesn't include someone like her father?
Whatever he's aiming to accomplish here, James Holt has definitely come to the wrong place for it.
I've never really thought much about whom my own grandfather would be. When I was younger, I was so curious about the family I would never meet, but then I noticed how much it hurt my Daddy to talk about them, and I realised that maybe not all family is meant to be known. I learnt another lesson about that with Shelby, and I'm trying not to make those same mistakes.
I want to have grown.
I think I know what I deserve now, and she's sitting right beside me, absently sipping at her tea in silent support.
I don't know what it is.
Maybe Quinn does something cute and adorable, or maybe I just look at her for a little too long, but I catch the moment James suddenly just knows. He grows still, his fork freezing in its ascent towards his mouth, and he looks at us for a long moment. He scrutinises us as his brain catches up with what it believes his eyes have just shown him.
Holding my breath, I wait.
"You're one of them too, aren't you?" he asks hauntingly, his fork clattering down on his plate.
Quinn flinches, her eyes immediately looking up at him.
James is looking between the two of us as if he's seeing us for the first time; as if we haven't been sitting across from him for the past hour and a half, just having a simple, somewhat charged and heavy conversation. "You are, aren't you?" he presses, and Quinn stiffens. His face twists into a scowl. "This is why," he growls; "this is why sinners shouldn't be allowed to have children." He shakes his head. "You didn't stand a fucking chance, did you?"
There are so many things I want to say, but Quinn speaks up before I can.
"What about me, then?" she asks coldly, and it must pain her to consider her father not a sinner in this moment.
"She must have turned you," James immediately says, looking disgusted.
I almost want to curl into a ball and hide away, but Quinn's palm on my thigh is a welcome weight. If she senses my unease, the gentle squeeze of my leg is the only indication she gives. I know rejection. I've dealt with it my entire life, but this one feels heavy. This man, who's supposed to be my family, has decided that I'm... less, because the person I love just so happens to look different than what religion and society has decided to dictate for me.
"Turned me?" Quinn snorts, laughing darkly. It's such a haunting sound that has James flicking his eyes worriedly at her. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you hear the words you're saying?" She smoothes a hand over her perfect hair. "It's not contagious."
"It's a poison," he argues, practically hissing.
If ever I thought Quinn wouldn't be ready for the vitriol our relationship could garner from other people, I'm severely mistaken. Quinn looks perfectly calm, though I can feel the tension in her body. "A poison," she echoes casually. "What exactly is a poison?"
James looks at me, seeking something. He must not find it, because he looks at Quinn again. "You're a homosexual, are you not?"
Quinn's eyes narrow. "What if I am?" she questions. "You were perfectly fine having a conversation with me just five minutes ago? Am I suddenly abnormal now? What did you say? Has my poison begun to show?" She leans forward, almost daring him to continue with... whatever he's trying to say.
James clenches his jaw. "It's not right."
"And I believe you," Quinn says, surprising us all. "It's not right that you get to sit there and judge us for something that doesn't even concern you." She shakes her head. "How does this change anything? Why does it change anything? Just minutes ago, you were ready to welcome Rachel into the family that didn't want her father, and now what? Now she's not good enough for you? God, you're pathetic."
Frankly, I've never actually seen Quinn this angry. It isn't even the explosive kind, which is definitely worse. This is the cold, settling kind that slices through the air and seeps into your very bones. Her voice is so pointed and harsh, and her eyes are glaring so hard that James can barely maintain eye contact with her.
I know now isn't the time, but I literally can't help thinking that my girlfriend is just so ridiculously hot. No, she's stupidly sexy, and I suddenly can't wait until I can get her behind closed doors and have my dirty, dirty way with her. In fact, there's a very cynical part of me that wants to grab her by the collar and kiss her right here, right now. Which, of course, I won't do, but I definitely fantasise about it.
"You're all going to burn in Hell," James says, but he no longer sounds angry. He sounds almost... pleading. "You're still so young. We can get you help."
I bristle at the sound of that. "Is that the same thing you said to my father?" I ask, my voice carrying an edge. "Or, was it just more convenient to send him away and hope the problem would fix itself?"
"You don't understand," he says. "I tried to save him."
"By sending him away?" I snap, my fists landing on the tabletop.
James warily glances around, and Quinn places a calming hand over the closest clenched fist. When he's satisfied nobody has noticed my reaction to his words, his gaze settles on our hands and stays there for the longest time.
Quinn doesn't move, and neither do I.
"It's not too late," James says slowly, his eyes frozen. "We can fix this. I failed LeRoy in so many ways, but I can do better with you."
I'm filled with a feeling of disgust, and it must show on my face because he flinches.
"Please," he says, that pleading tone still in his voice. "You can't be one of them too. You can't."
"But, I am," I confirm. "I'm one of those things you claim to hate. I'm in love with a girl."
"No," he says, shaking his head. "No." He looks utterly distraught, and I don't figure out exactly why until he says, "But, I already told them about you."
The silence that follows stretches for immeasurable moments.
"Quinn," I suddenly say, and her head snaps towards me. "I think it's time to go home."
Her facial expression shifts, hardening right before my eyes, and then she nods. "I think you're right."
The ride home is silent. I think there's a part of Quinn that almost wishes she were driving, because she can't seem to sit still. Her tapping fingers and constant crossing and uncrossing of her legs actually makes me smile, and I love her.
I love her.
I won't deny it, and I will never apologise for it.
When I pull into the driveway, neither of us makes a move to leave.
It's okay. We're okay.
I'm okay.
Quinn eventually reaches for my hand. "Come on," she says; "let's go inside."
I let her lead me inside, and I agree when she sends me up to my bedroom while she talks to my dads. I wouldn't even know what to say to either of them in this moment, and I can only hope that they aren't too hurt by the fact that I actually met with the man who decided my Daddy and Aunt Marianne were less than people.
I'm standing in the centre of my bedroom floor when Quinn arrives. I hear her close and lock the door behind her, and then I feel her presence behind me. I can't tell if I'm going to start crying, but I am feeling a slew of conflicting emotions. I'm tempted to consult my journal, but I just stay standing there. Waiting.
Quinn places her hands on my shoulders and gently massages the tension out of my muscles. I unashamedly lean into her touch, and let out a small mewling sound when she nuzzles my neck. Her lips press against my skin, and I let out a sigh, sagging into her body and soaking up her warmth and comfort. I start to melt moments later, and Quinn catches me, scooping me up in her arms, and I love her. I love her so much.
She slowly undresses me, stripping me of the cloak of... rejection. Her lips ghost over my skin with every move she makes, and it's as if the sting diminishes with every featherlight touch.
It's okay. We're okay.
I'm okay.
My legs move when Quinn guides my towards the bed, and I let her lay me down, her own body never too far from mine. Her fingers are warm and present, and I can feel her everywhere. She is everywhere, hovering over me. Protecting me the only way Quinn Fabray can.
I let out a breath when Quinn's lips dip down to my collarbone, my body arching in an attempt to press closer against her. I can feel her smile against my skin, and I automatically thread my fingers into her soft, blonde hair.
"I love you," Quinn murmurs.
"I know," I say, gasping when her fingers ghost over my bare breast.
"Let me show you how much," she whispers against my heated skin. "Let me make you forget all about this night."
It's too enticing to pass up, and I immediately lift her head up to kiss her lips. It's all the affirmation she needs because, just minutes later, her hand is trailing down my body, the space between my legs her ultimate destination.
"God, I can't believe I've lost count of how many times we've done this."
Quinn lifts her head from its resting place on my abdomen, her dark eyes searching for mine. The arousal lingers in the hazel, her brow is adorably furrowed and her Just-Been-Fucked hair isn't helping me turn off at all.
"You've been keeping count?" she asks, her voice raspy after, well, all the moaning. She's lying on her stomach between my legs, which has quickly become her favoured post-coital position.
"I was," I answer, lovingly threading my fingers through her crazy hair.
"Why?"
I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, giving thought to my response. "I know you love me, and I know this is real, but I sometimes can't believe it," I admit. "It's difficult to wrap my head around the monumental idea that you actually want me, Quinn, and there's always been a tiny part of me that's worried you'll grow tired of me and us, or get bored or just get over it, and I wanted to remember and savour every single encounter we've ever had."
Quinn looks, predictably, bewildered. "Rachel?"
I tug lightly on her hair, and she smiles slightly. "I know, Quinn," I say. "You should know, by now, that your girlfriend is a little neurotic."
She hums in response, and then drops a kiss to my abdomen. "What number were you at before you lost count?" she asks, lips brushing against my skin as she speaks.
I start to squirm. She can't possibly want to go again. It's late and I'm exhausted. She had Cheerios' practice today; how is she not a complete zombie right now?
"How many?" she asks again.
"A lot."
"Rachel."
"A lot, Quinn," I repeat.
"Are we counting all orgasms in total, or just since we started having sex?"
I can't help my laugh. "You really want to know, don't you?"
"I'm curious."
I chuckle. "Well, at first, I started counting our kisses."
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"I lost track of those really quickly, though," I tell her. "You're rather demanding with that mouth of yours."
Quinn blushes, immediately ducking her head to hide it.
It always fascinates me how this girl who, just minutes ago, was swearing like a sailor with her fingers buried deep inside me, is now embarrassed about the fact she's apparently a relentless kisser. She's adorable, really, and I tug on her hair again to lift her head.
"When we graduated from making out and heavy petting, I did start counting orgasms," I explain. "I filed them under all sorts of columns. Me, you, mutual; bed, wall; private, public."
Quinn breathes out. "Where have we ever had public - "
"New York bathrooms come to mind," I cut in. "The Cheerios locker room. Back of my car. In the - "
"Okay, okay," Quinn says with a laugh. "We're regular old deviants, aren't we?"
"I am so in love with you."
Quinn's facial expression softens, and her eyes grow warmer. "You make me so happy."
"I do?"
"Are you fishing for a compliment?"
"It wouldn't hurt."
"You, maybe."
I tug on her hair. Perhaps a little too hard, because she lets out a soft grunt of displeasure.
"Rachel."
"Sorry, baby."
She huffs in annoyance, trying to shake her head free of my grasp, but I'm not letting go.
I'm never letting go.
She should know that by now.
"You know," I say; "we actually haven't discussed Prom properly. We know we can't go together - at least not without screaming from the rooftops that we're just friends - and the fact that you keep saying no to every boy who asks is starting to get kind of suspicious. Prom is next weekend, Quinn."
"Suspicious," she echoes, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.
I have to suck in a breath when her bare skin brushes against mine.
"What's so suspicious about that, when I've already been declining offers all year?"
I sigh. "You're Quinn Fabray."
"I don't know what that means."
"Look, I think I have an idea as to how to... work this, or whatever." I feel her eyes on me. "I was thinking, maybe, you could go with Blaine, and I could go with Kurt," I offer. "I mean, they're obviously not going together, and we can rest assured that neither of them is going to try anything with either one of us. I think we would both still have fun with dates who are handsome and caring and our friends, who also know that we are completely unavailable." I pause to take a breath. "I don't really know what Santana and Brittany are planning on doing. I mean, I'm certain I saw them in a janitor's closet the other day, so I'm stumped when it comes to those two. They'll probably go together, I don't know, but I want us to go to this dance and actually enjoy ourselves, and I don't see that happening any other way."
Quinn waits two beats after I've finished to speak. "Are you done?"
I smile sheepishly. "Yup."
She grins back at me, shifting again, and it's definitely on purpose this time. "Okay?"
"O-okay?"
In lieu of response, she moves downwards, and uses that mouth of hers to add to an already-monumental number I simply cannot recall.
Quinn leaves for Cheerios' practice early the next morning, and I do the thing and attempt to make breakfast for my dads. Well, Quinn actually makes the pancake batter, and I just try not to burn them after Quinn demonstrates how not to do it twice.
At the very least, each of my dads will end up with one perfect pancake.
By some miracle, I manage to make a further five not-so-terrible looking pancakes - they can fight over the odd one, if they so wish - and I snap a picture of my masterpieces that I immediately send to Quinn. She's probably testing her poor, battered lung far beyond its limit right now at practice, but I'm trying not to think about that. I still stand by the fact that I'm far too young for all the stress that idiot gives me.
God, she's going to give me grey hairs, that one.
I'm just finishing setting the table when my dads come into the kitchen together, both of them already dressed and ready to face the day. I'm not sure what I'm expecting out of this morning's discussion - Quinn didn't really use her mouth to tell me what she told them about our dinner with James - so I'm flying a little blind here.
It's okay, though.
We're going to talk about it, either way.
"Good morning, Sweetheart," my Dad says, wrapping me in a hug.
My Daddy is slightly more hesitant with his greeting, but he has been a bit off since Aunt Marianne's passing and the subsequent return of his father. I absently wonder if he even knows about his mother. I don't want to be the one to tell him. I wouldn't even know how to bring that up.
"I made breakfast," I declare, waving a hand over the table.
"Did you now?" my Daddy asks, raising an eyebrow in such a Quinn way that I'm convinced they're spending far too much time together. I can't have the two of them ganging up on me with those pesky eyebrows of theirs. I wouldn't ever get my way.
"I did," I weakly defend. "I mean, well, Quinn made the batter, but I made five of those pancakes."
"We can tell which ones."
"Dad!"
It takes us a few minutes to get settled, and I set their tailored coffees in front of each of them before finally taking my seat. I can't be sure if I should feel nervous about this, but there is an odd uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. We're just going to talk... about my homophobic grandfather, who's convinced it's his duty to save me from a life of sin.
Jesus.
"Not that this isn't lovely, Sweetheart," my Dad says around a mouthful of heavily-syrupped pancake; "but is this a special occasion?" He swallows thickly. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
Nobody laughs, and I'm immensely relieved Quinn isn't here.
"Wow. Tough crowd."
I clear my throat. "Dad, Daddy, I would like to talk to you about the man referred to as James Holt." The words are expected, but they still catch all three of us off guard, and it takes me another moment to gather my thoughts and feelings. "I'm not sure how much Quinn told you, but the two of us met with him last night."
My Daddy shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. I don't blame him in the least.
"It - it didn't go so well," I confess quietly, which may or may not be a gross understatement.
"Are you okay?" my Dad asks.
If he asked me this question last night, I'm not sure what I would have been able to tell him and I'm even more thankful to Quinn for giving me some time to process my feelings on the situation in its entirety. I've spent a lot of time - well, time when I wasn't engaging in nighttime activities with my super hot girlfriend - trying to wrap my head around exactly what happened with James, and I've come to the conclusion that every person in this world is entitled to his or her opinion. That is okay. The part that isn't is when you try to force it onto others.
It's not okay to use it to hurt.
Quinn and I have been dealing with that in our own ways for years, and I'm done.
We're done.
"It started out fine, I suppose," I start to explain. "We sort of felt each other out in the beginning, and Quinn was her usual charming self, which eased the tension somewhat. But, as you know, the pleasantries can go only so far." I go on to explain the evening in its entirety, refusing to skirt around anything. I want them to know my own intentions for meeting with him were only to learn what I could about the family I've never met.
I'm too curious for my own good, sometimes.
"It wasn't our explicit intention to come out to him," I say, sounding oddly thoughtful. "If we're being technical, we actually didn't, but he figured it out, and it didn't end well, at all." The more words I say, the harder my Daddy's facial expression gets. I watch as his hands disappear under the table, and I imagine they're clenched in tight fists. "I think I had this ideal in my head," I say; "that, given enough time, maybe people's thinking can change. It's like Quinn says, right? As the times change, so should theories and ideologies. I'm sure, if she had her way, she would do the same for the Constitution."
My Dad lets out a dry chuckle.
"Will it always be like this?" I ask seriously.
My Dad sighs. "We can't speak for everyone, Sweetheart," he says. "A lot of people are ignorant to homosexuality. I'm sure you could make endless lists about all the things people don't know and just assume about us. I'm afraid it's unlikely we're ever going to be able to get away from people who have the belief that it's wrong, and aren't afraid to voice it. We're lucky when we find people who just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist."
"I suppose it's too much to ask people to mind their own business?"
"I'm afraid so, Sweetheart."
I pop half a strawberry in my mouth, and chew thoughtfully. "It's different when it's family, isn't it?"
They both nod.
"Admittedly, I didn't expect it would go well, but I also didn't think it would go so spectacularly badly." I laugh to myself. "I think, the one thing it's taught me, though, is that Quinn is definitely ready to come out."
"Oh?"
I nod. "Not right now, of course, but we're there. Does that makes sense?"
"I think you'll come to find that nothing about the female half of our species makes remotely any sense to either of us."
I laugh out loud, shaking my head in amusement. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"Not lately," my Daddy quips.
I smile at him. "Well, I love you. Both of you. So, so much." I take a deep breath. "And, I also want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me regardless of my crazy. Thank you for being there and here for me. Thank you for being kind and understanding and supportive and just so loving." I feel tears prickling at my eyes, and I force myself to keep it together. "I also want to thank you for loving Quinn. You know you didn't have to, but I am so grateful, and I know she is too." I can't keep control of my tears anymore, and they start to fall. "I just - I'm so lucky to have you both, and I - I just want you to know. I appreciate you both, and I love you."
Seconds later I'm wrapped in a Berrymen hug, which really doesn't help with my crying problem.
"We love you too, Sweetheart."
"Please, Honey, you never have to thank us for loving you. It's honestly the easiest thing we're ever done."
"Come with me."
I can barely register who's spoken before Quinn's fingers are closing around my wrist and she's dragging me down the corridor. "My books - " I protest half-heartedly, staring helplessly at the locker I, thankfully, have the wherewithal to slam shut. "Quinn?"
She's silent as she leads us to the choir room. I have just enough time to be relieved it's empty before Quinn is pushing me up against the wall in the corner of the room, the only position unseen through the glass in the door.
"Quinn," I gasp, feeling her toned body press against mine. "What - "
"Shut up," she says, her eyes blazing.
I just stare blankly at her, trying to figure out what could have happened in the almost ninety minutes since she left for school this morning. The pancakes weren't that bad, were they? My dads seemed to lo - like them. "Baby?"
Quinn's forehead drops onto my collarbone, and her fingers grip my hips hard.
"Are you still mad at me?" I ask, sliding my fingers into her hair, and try to lift her head so I can see her face, but she resists. "I thought we talked about this. I told you I was - "
"Rachel," she interrupts, her voice softer now.
"Quinn, I'm really confused right now."
"Can't I just take a moment to be with my girlfriend?" she murmurs.
"Of course you can," I say. "But, you're also kind of freaking out said girlfriend, so why don't we do that thing we're constantly trying and failing, and use our words to explain what we're feeling?"
Quinn chuckles, and then finally lifts her head. She presses kisses to my jaw and neck, which draws a quiet moan from deep in my chest. "I love you," she says breathlessly. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," I automatically say. "Now, can you please tell me what has you acting like this?"
She pauses her ministrations, but she won't look at me.
"Quinn?"
"You're going to be mad."
I automatically tense. "If you say that, then I'm inclined to believe you," I say. "Tell me anyway, and we're going to try to work it out."
She sighs heavily, and her breath is warm against my skin. "If we make it to the final day of Cheerleading Nationals, then there's a big chance we won't be able to get out to Chicago until the night before Glee Nationals."
I blink. "What?"
Her gaze meets mine. "Coach just told me this morning, Rachel," she says, and she sounds so serious. "Because of some kind of predicted tropical storm they're expecting, instead of the competition being on Monday and Tuesday, they've shifted it to Wednesday and Thursday," she explains slowly. "The Glee Club is supposed to be leaving for Chicago on Tuesday, but San, Britt and I are going to be in Malibu trying to win a National Championship." She looks utterly devastated, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say or do to make any of it better. "I need you to tell me it's going to be okay," she says, as if she's read my mind. That's what I'm supposed to say. "I need you to tell me we're going to be able to do both; that there isn't going to be some grand Mother Nature plan to keep us from getting to Chicago in time. Tell me it's all going to work out, and that you'll forgive me if it doesn't."
There's a look of desperation in her eyes, and I don't know what to do with it, so I drag her into a hug so I no longer have to see it.
"I don't want to let you down," she whispers, and the words seem to slice straight through me. They carry so much meaning, and I can barely handle the truth that Quinn Fabray is willing to bend herself entirely out of shape because she doesn't want to disappoint me.
The importance of this moment isn't lost on me, and I release her enough to lift her head again. "I love you," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her soft lips. "I love you."
And then I proceed to tell her everything she needs to hear.
