As soon as Mr. Jones pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park, me and Mercedes both get out at the same time and even though I'm carrying the takeout box of the food I had to pack up because I was too full to finish, I sprint my fastest right past her and up the four steps that lead to the porch.
"Quinn!" she screams and catches up to me pretty quickly. I'm trying to shove my house key into the lock when she grabs me by the collar of my jacket and pulls me away. "Move!"
"Stop! It's my birthday!" I wiggle my arms out of my jacket so she has nothing left to grab onto and try to open the door again, but she pushes me aside and jumps in front of me. "Mercedes, stop it! It's MY birthday!"
"I don't care! You've been milking that long enough!" She stiff-arms me in the chest and fiddles with the doorknob, but I claw at her hand and pull it away.
"It's my birthday! And I called dibs! I called it! I called it when we were at the gas station! Move, you evil little whore!" I fight to hold onto the doorknob so I can turn it and let myself into the house first. "Move!"
"I don't care that it's your birthday! Get off of me or you won't live to see your eighteenth!" She squeezes my wrist so hard that it actually hurts a little bit. "Get out of my way, Quinn! I will break it!"
"Oww! Stop!" I smack her in the shoulder.
"What in the fifty shades of blue hell are you two going on about?" Mr. Jones pushes both of us aside so he can open the door, and Mrs. Jones isn't far behind him with my leftover birthday cake in tow.
"I'm so sick uh y'all two arguin' today," Mrs. Jones moves us both aside with her shoulder and talks to us under her breath. "You better fix it 'fore I smack both uh you around."
"Quinn ALWAYS gets in the shower first, Mom. ALWAYS. And she uses all the hot water," Mercedes pleads her case and I can't believe she's going to stand here and lie like that.
"I do not!" I stomp my foot like a ten-year-old, but I can't help it. She's lying! "And it's not my fault she always waits until the last freaking minute to get in the shower! I called dibs on the shower first when we were in the car!"
"And I don't care what you called, I'm getting in the shower first! Mom, tell her. Seriously." Mr. Jones finally gets the door open and nudges Bobby and Whitney back with his feet so the rest of us can come through. Mercedes stops beside the door to take her shoes off and keeps whining. "I came on my period today in school and I've been dying to shower ever since. My situation is a little more dire than hers."
"But I want to take a shower before I sit down and call my sister so I don't have to worry about it," I explain my side as I take my shoes off too. "I'll be quick, I swear."
"You're never quick!" Mercedes yells at me.
"I am! It's not my fault I have to wash my hair all the time so it takes me a little longer! I go as fast as I can!"
"You don't have to shave every nook and cranny every night! That's what takes forever!"
"I don't shave every night!"
"You do! You're so worried that you're gonna have a little bit of hair somewhere because god forbid Rachel doesn't have a perfectly smooth crotch to dine on when she —"
"Well maybe that's why Sam won't go down on you!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about! You think just because —"
"KEEP IT UP AND YOU'RE BOTH GROUNDED!" Mrs. Jones yells at us so loud that we're both stunned to complete silence. I've never heard her scream like that… I didn't know she was capable. Now I'm starting to believe all the stories Mercedes used to tell me about how she used to spank her and her brother when they got out of line. I didn't believe it before but I can totally see it now. "MERCEDES!" She points a finger at Mercedes and her eyes tell the entire story that we shouldn't mess around with her rift now. "QUINN!" She yells at me next and my mouth is officially glued shut. I am… scared? Maybe? "That's enough. I don't wanna hear nothin' else outta you. Goddamn ridiculous, you two. Fightin' over something so damn stupid. I've had it with the arguin' today! 'Cedes, instead of standin' here bitchin', take your ass upstairs and get on in. Quinn, you get in after her. If I hear one more nasty word outta either uh you I'm taking the phones and y'all are going to bed after your nightwork. And I mean it."
"Thank you," Mercedes storms past me and heads for the steps. "Finally, someone else sees that she —"
"You're excused, by the way!" I snap at her because she bumped me with her elbow — totally on purpose — when she started climbing up the stairs.
"Ain't your momma tell you two to shut up?" Mr. Jones hangs all our coats up in the closet. "Mercedes, get the hell upstairs and shut your mouth. And don't you touch her on the way up there, either. Keep your hands and limbs to yourself. Quinn, stop with the smartass remarks and go let the dogs out while you wait your turn. You ain't gotta take a shower first every night. Quit being a brat."
"But it's not my fault that she waits every night! It's not like I make a conscious decision to get in the shower first! I just don't wait! I eat dinner and then I take shower and then I do my homework. In that order. She could take one first if she wanted to, but she waits around until the last minute and now I'm getting blamed for taking a shower first all the time and being made the bad guy because I wash my hair and shave." I fold my arms over my chest. "It's not fair."
"Right, and it's one freaking night! I want to get in the shower first one freaking night and you throw a fit because I'm not bowing down and kissing your butt on your birthday!" She yells down the steps.
"Just shut up and get in already!" I scream up the steps.
"PHONES!" Mrs. Jones stomps into the hallway from the kitchen and holds her hand out. "NOW! I told you two I was done listening to it and that's what the hell I meant. Phones, NOW!"
"But I have to call my sister!" I feel tears stinging my eyes. Please no. I really wanted to talk to Frannie tonight… "I told her I would call her after I got settled down tonight."
"I don't care, use the house phone. Gimme your phone. Now."
"But she might not answer! She might not know the number and she won't answer if she doesn't know the number! Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll stop arguing! I'll shut up!"
"Shut up then," she says to me through clenched teeth. "No back talk, no snarky comments, no smart remarks, NOTHING. Shut on up. Next time you say anything, I'm takin it. No questions asked and no explanations."
"Yes ma'am," I nod my head fast.
"Am I understood up them steps, Mercedes Marie? One more word and I'm takin' that phone. Shut your damn mouth."
"Yes ma'am," Mercedes mumbles and I hear the bathroom door shut.
"Now. Go on and let Whitney and Bobby outside so they can pee while I clean up this here kitchen," Mrs. Jones walks back to the kitchen and I follow her so I can let the dogs out in the backyard instead of the front one.
I open the back door and grab the leash, which makes both Whitney and Bobby come running.
I'm so angry with Mercedes right now that I could kick the trashcan over. She's been getting on my nerves all day. She's been making snide comments about how it's just my birthday and not a national holiday, snide comments about how Rachel spent a lot of money on my birthday gift, snide comments about how much food I ordered at dinner and snide comments about how I ate two pieces of my own cake. We've been at each other's throats nonstop for the last hour and I know she's just being a little bitchy because she's PMSing and arguing with her feels like arguing with Frannie, and god she's so frustrating. It's like a sibling relationship, though. I know that by tomorrow, we'll be fine and back to being best friends but I really hate her right now.
I leash both the dogs up and go back inside since it's too cold to stand outside and wait for them to do their business, and things have seemed to cool down quite a bit inside.
That's one more thing I love about it here. Back in the Fabray household, nobody blew up and nobody had arguments. Every bad feeling or slight gripe we had with each other was swept under the rug and totally ignored. But on the off chance that there ever was an argument, it rocked the entire household. It was explosive and it blew out of proportion and it shook the entire house and it took a week for everyone to be okay again.
That doesn't happen in the Jones household. Here, we blow up at each other, we apologize, we keep it moving. Things blow over in a matter of minutes here. Nobody has the time to walk around angry and hiding their feelings all the time, and honestly? Nobody cares enough to. I think the main difference is that the basis of this house is love. And that's as big a difference as you can get from the Fabray household.
I close the storm door behind myself but not the wooden door, because I have to be able to see when Bobby and Whitney are done. Mrs. Jones flutters around the kitchen like me and Mercedes' argument never happened, which makes it easier and less awkward for me to open the fridge and grab a can of ginger ale from the case on the bottom shelf. I guess it isn't a big deal to let Mercedes shower first. She wasn't lying, she did get her period today at school. It was around lunch time when she texted me and asked me if I had extra tampons in my locker and she was in luck. I keep an entire box in my locker for emergencies and since I had Beth, I've only had a couple periods so my box is still stocked up. My point is that she did get her period and she's been walking around feeling gross all day because we went straight to dinner after school and glee club. Maybe I was a bit irrational. Maybe I should apologize when she comes back downstairs.
I crack open my can of soda and take a sip as Mrs. Jones grabs the broom from the cleaning closet so she can sweep the already clean kitchen floor.
"You talk to your momma today?" she asks me as she sweeps her imaginary dirt pile into the dustpan.
"She texted me earlier," I lean against the countertops and take another sip of ginger ale. "Early this morning, she told me happy birthday. And she sent me some money as a gift."
"Oh, she did?"
"Yeah. She transferred $300 to my account." Just when I forgot… I had actually started to forget that I'm sad and now I'm sad all over again. I'm sad because I miss Mom and I wish she would have come to see me on my birthday… or maybe at least called me… but I don't want to sound ungrateful. Most kids would die to get $300 as a gift for their birthday and I'm here whining because my mom didn't call me or come see me. I should stop whining. I should be a little more grateful.
"But she ain't call you? She ain't talk to you on the phone, she sent you a text and some money?" I can tell by the look on Mrs. Jones' face that she is upset, maybe even angry. But she is trying her hardest to control her emotions so she doesn't upset me but it's fine. I mean, if she really wanted to, she could let out how she's truly feeling because she can't upset me anymore than I'm already upset.
I shake my head to answer her question, and I've been really doing well all day. I wanted to cry when I read the text message earlier but I didn't because I convinced myself that it was still early enough for her to call me and wish me happy birthday voice-to-voice. I wanted to cry when I was at my locker but I didn't get the chance to because Rachel found me first. Then I wanted to cry in study hall while I was journaling about it, but I didn't because I told myself that the day wasn't over and that she was going to surprise me by coming to visit tonight. I've wanted to cry about this multiple times today and I've been holding strong but it's getting late. It's almost 6:30 and the hours are slimming and my birthday is winding down and still nothing. Nothing but that generic text message and the extra $300 in my account. I don't think she's going to call or come see me…
I put my head down the same way I used to when I was like ten and needed to cry. I can't help it. I don't want to stand in the middle of the kitchen with my head down and tears rolling down my cheeks like I'm little again, but that's how I feel. I feel little again. I feel little and I feel just as disappointed as I was when I found out Santa wasn't real. It's all over my body and it stings and it makes me put my head down and cover my hands over my eyes.
Why didn't she call me? I just wanted to hear her voice… and I really wanted to see her today. I just wanted to see her so I could hug her and tell her that I'm sorry that we fought and that I'm doing better here. I wanted to tell her that I got new medicine and I'm mildly bipolar and have PTSD. I wanted to tell her that we won sectionals and regionals are soon and she could come if she wants. And that I see Beth regularly now. And I have all As in my classes. And my GPA is a 4.3. And I'm happy here. If she cares, I'm really really happy here. Why didn't she come see me? Why didn't she at least call?
"Ah, Quinn," Mrs. Jones sucks her teeth and puts her hand in the middle of my back. "Don't you cry." Her fingernails scratch the middle of my back very gently as she comforts me. "Don't you let it make you cry. Come on now, don't let it get you down."
"I thought she was going to come see me," I whisper as my hands get wetter and wetter with my tears.
"She probably just busy," Mrs. Jones tries to soften my disappointment by offering an excuse and a pat on my back. "It is a Monday. Folks gotta work and stuff, she probably just busy."
"She doesn't work anymore," I snivel and wipe my eyes really hard with the pads of my fingers. "Why hasn't she at least called me? I just wanted to talk to her."
"I know, sugar. I know." She pulls me a little closer to her. "Grown up things are complicated sometimes, you know? But your momma love you. She do. If she ain't love you, she woulda never let you here with me. Mmkay? Just remember that."
I nod my head at her now that all my tears are gone. "Okay," I mumble.
I'm okay now, I really am. Yeah, it hurts that I probably won't get a call or a visit from Mom today when it's really all I wanted, but I'm okay. I let it knock me down for a minute but I'm okay again. All I have to do is keep reminding myself that the Joneses are enough. They bought me a really nice gift and took me to my favorite restaurant and bought me a really nice birthday cake. I had a great birthday with them. They love me. I am here and this is where I'm meant to be.
"I tell you what," Mrs. Jones pats my butt like I'm a baby or something. "Now that 'Cedes is out the shower, you go on up there and take one yourself and then we'll all pile up in the living room and I'll pop summa that popcorn, and we'll watch a couple movies. Alright?"
"Yeah," I clear my throat free of all the phlegm my crying brought up and head for the back door so I can let Whitney and Bobby back inside before I take a shower. The doorbell rings, which makes Whitney start barking, but Mercedes just so happens to be coming back down the steps as it rings and we all know that she'll get it so we don't bother.
I catch myself thinking that it's Mom for a second, but I push the thought out of my head quickly so I don't open myself up to any amount of disappointment. In reality, it's probably Sam or probably Tina or probably Rachel. Either way, whoever it is will probably be able to join us for movies, so I'd better hurry up in the shower so I don't keep people waiting.
Whitney and Bobby both bolt down the hallway to see who is at the door and I'm not far behind them, but I do stop in my tracks when I hear a voice coming from the porch. A voice that says something along the lines of, "hi Mercedes, is Quinn here?" Whitney barks her head off so I can't hear very well, but I can tell that it's a woman's voice and by the way Whitney barks, it's someone she's not familiar with.
Mom? Did she actually come?! It doesn't sound like her but then again, Whitney is barking and I can't hear that well and who else would be coming? It's not Rachel's voice, it's not Tina's voice. It's gotta be her! Or maybe it's Frannie. No, it's not Frannie. She's deep in the middle of her semester and she can't just take off like that. It's gotta be mom. It's gotta be. She came! She actually came! Mom! She —
"Quinn!" Mercedes calls down the hallway. "You have visitors!"
Visitors…? Plural? As in more than one…?
I practically skip/jog up the hallway and I'm almost to the door when Mercedes steps aside and lets my visitors inside. And well… it's not Mom. It's not Mom and it's not Rachel and it's not Tina and it's not Frannie. And if Whitney hadn't been barking, I'd have heard the perfect pitch of her voice and known automatically exactly who it was at the door. But Whitney was barking, I couldn't hear, and I couldn't prepare myself to see Shelby standing there.
What is she doing here…?
Not that I'm not happy to see her because… I am? I am kind of happy to see her? Maybe a little bit? But this is extremely unexpected… who the hell told her where I live? Who the hell… Rachel. It had to have been Rachel. This has Rachel Barbra Berry written all over it. This had to have been the act of Rachel. There's NO other explanation.
"Hey Shelby," I use my fakest voice to sound more sweet and excited and less shocked and confused.
When Mercedes moves off to the side a little more, it's like a big reveal. And it's not like I thought she left Beth at home or in the car or whatever, but I just wasn't really expecting to see her here too. And I wasn't expecting for all the sadness and disappointment I had about my special visitor not being my mother to just melt away when I see my baby on Shelby's hip. My heart feels like it's swelling and growing by ten sizes and I can't stop the widest and most honest smile from spreading across my face.
"Hiiiii, baby!" I hold my arms out to her and take a few steps closer. "Hello! Hi, my sweet baby! You wanna come see me?!" I flex my fingers open and closed in a "come here" motion and hold my arms open for her. "Come on! Come see me!"
"You wanna go see Quinn?" Shelby leans her a little closer to me. "Huh? Say, 'happy birthday!' Tell her!"
Beth takes a moment, but as soon as she registers that I'm the same old me just in a different environment than she's used to, she leans right into me with her chubby little arms extended and I take her.
"Hi, baby girl! Did you come see me for my birthday?" I press my lips to her cheek and kiss her a dozen times, my lips making that loud sucking noise. "Oh, I missed you! I missed you so much!"
"Hey, little Bethy," Mercedes touches her hand and Beth looks at her like she's studying her or something. I'm not sure if she likes Mercedes just yet, but she's not crying so that's a start. Her eyes flicker down to Mercedes' fingers stroking her chubby hand, then she looks back up at me. "You get prettier and prettier every time I see you."
"Say, 'it's because I look like my mama!' Yep!" I rub her back and kiss her cheek just one more time. "Yep, yep, yep! Shelby, do you mind if I take her coat and her hat off?" I ask. Mercedes makes her way to the kitchen to leave us alone and I'm kind of glad she did that.
"You can, but we weren't gonna stay long," Shelby licks her finger and wipes some dried snot off the side of Beth's cheek. "Me and Beth just wanted to stop by and give you your present. I was going to wait until Wednesday when you come over to watch her, but my daughter — Rachel, not Beth — is extremely persuasive. She said that it'd really make your night if we dropped it off personally, so. Here we are." She hands me a giant rectangle wrapped in black and white wrapping paper. "The present was actually Rachel's idea too, but I added my own little… twist."
I take the present from her and it's a bit heavy, so I have to hand Beth back over to her so I can open it and hold it with two hands. I tear the wrapping paper at the corners first so I don't make too much noise. And I'll clean it up later, so I just toss it all onto the floor as I open because if the gift was Rachel's idea, then I know it's probably the most perfect gift ever and I'm excited to see it.
And I… was so right.
"Oh…" I cover my hand over my mouth as that noise escapes from me and take a deep breath because I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry, it's inevitable. My jaw trembles and my eyes are glossy and it's just SO incredibly perfect… "Oh my… God…"
"I spent all night last night making it…" Shelby shifts Beth onto her hip and looks at it with me. "Beth helped glue the paper to the cardstock… among other things."
I giggle and stroke my hand along the glass because it's so beautiful that I just want to make sure it's real. I want to make sure it's real and make sure it's actually mine. There are so many elements to it… the more I look at it, the more I find new things to love.
It's a shadowbox. The frame of it is a sturdy wood that's painted black, and the backdrop inside of it is made of light brown wooden planks. At the top, black letters with white polkadots on them spell out the word "MOTHER", and underneath of the word is the definition, but it's been altered a bit. If you looked up the word "mother" in the dictionary, chances are you'll probably get some basic definition about a mother being someone to gives birth to a child. But the definition that Shelby put underneath the word this time says, "a strong, loving, caring woman who acts within the best interest of her child at all times; the center of creation, inspiration, and love. A mender of hearts, a maker and holder of memories, someone who loves unconditionally." And underneath that definition, there's a picture of me and Beth that Rachel snapped way back at sectionals. It was when Beth put her forehead against mine and I know it's that same moment that Rachel snapped, but it looks so much different. It's been edited to look professionally taken. The background is blurred and the only two people center focus are me and my baby. And if that isn't enough to make me melt into a puddle of emotions, two plasters of Beth's tiny handprints are underneath the picture.
"The picture was all Rachel. She suggested I get it framed for you, but it just seemed like… like it was missing something. So I had the idea for the shadowbox, and… well, yeah." Shelby explains. "Do you like it?" She asks, eyebrows raised.
"I love it, Shelby," I nod my head quickly. "It's very special. I… I can't thank you enough. It's beautiful. It's the best gift I've ever received."
"You hear that, boo boo?" She turns to Beth. "She likes our gift. I told you your handprints would be a nice touch. You protested, but I told you so."
I laugh and lay my shadowbox down very carefully on the mantle. I'm careful with it and I will always be gentle with it because it's the most priceless thing I have ever and will ever own. "I can't believe you got her to sit still long enough to do her handprints."
"She screamed bloody murder when I tried it the first time so I just had to do it while she was sleeping last night and hope that it was dry by the time I had to assemble it this morning," Shelby laughs.
"Aww, my baby! Did you cry?" I hold my arms out for her once more and yet again, she comes to me with complete ease. "Did you cry when mommy tried to put your hands in that nasty stuff?" Beth clonks her head down on my chest and sucks on her two fingers. I don't know why, but she always wants to lie down when I have her in my arms. Even when she's not tired, she just wants to lie on my chest and suck her fingers. Rachel says it's because my presence brings her some sort of peace that Shelby can't give her, but I think I just bore her into being sleepy. "Thank you so much for my present, baby girl. I love it. I love it so much. Thank you!"
I know it's a long shot… and I know Shelby will probably politely turn me down… and I can't say I blame her if she does turn me down… but they would love her. I know they would. And I really want them to meet my baby…. so I have to ask…
"Hey Shelby," I take a deep breath to gather some courage. "Would you mind if I introduced her to my parents? They're just in the next room. I'll make it quick. It's just that they've been asking about her and I think they'd like to meet her."
"Your parents?" Shelby narrows her eyes. "But I thought —"
"Well, they're Mercedes' parents. But they've been taking care of me. They took care of me while I was pregnant and they've been really good to me and… and they're more like my parents than my actual parents. They're good people, I promise. They're the best. And I know they'd really love to meet her."
Shelby is silent for a few moments, and I know it's because she's trying to come up with a nice way to reject me. And I totally get it. I totally understand if she says no. She doesn't know the Joneses. They've never spoken and never met and she knows nothing about them. She has to do whatever is best for Beth and I can't fault her for thinking that being introduced to strangers might not be in her best interest, especially when Beth is afraid of strangers. I get it. I'm not offended by her rejecting me, and maybe we'll be able to work up to it by Thanksgiving or Christmas.
"I tell you what," she sighs as if she put a lot of thought into what she's going to say next. "I have to run and get gas and then grab a couple things from the market before we head home. And it's always a hassle, you know, lugging her in and out of the carseat and putting her in the shopping cart, so."
Her eyes lock with mine and I hold her gaze. She has no expression on her face. Her eyes are wide and catlike, her mouth pressed into a straight line. Her eyebrows are slightly elevated and her arms are folded across her chest. She has no expression on her face, but I can read her like a book. It's just something between us, something unspoken. I know that by this look, she is telling me that she trusts me and by the look I give her back, I know that she gets me telling her that she CAN trust me.
"I'll be back in 45 minutes," she says, emphasis on the 45.
"Okay." I say clearly and when she heads for the door, Beth doesn't even whine. She just watches Shelby leave the house with her little lips parted and her mouth gaped open. When the door shuts behind Shelby, Beth turns her head and looks at me as if she's making sure I'm still here with her. And when she's sure that it really is me, she clonks her head back down on my chest and stuffs her fingers back into her mouth. Maybe Rachel's right. Maybe I do bring her some sort of peace.
While her head is on my chest, I pull the little white crocheted hat with ears on it off her head, then unbutton her white mini trenchcoat. I hang her hat and her trenchcoat across the stair railing, then run my hand across her hair to smooth it down because I want her to look as cute as possible when I show her to Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
Shelby has her dressed in the cutest outfit and I'm so thankful for that because… Okay, I know she isn't mine. I mean she is mine. She's my baby and she looks like me and I went through nine months pregnant with her and suffered all the pain to push her out and she's mine, for all intents and purposes. However, she's not actually my baby, I know that. But for some reason, I really care that she looks her best when she's meeting my family because I want to show her off. I want them to see that she is cute and she is pretty and she is perfect and she is mine and she is even dressed like she belongs to me.
She's wearing a dress, which isn't unusual for Beth. She's always wearing a dress, like me. The dress she has on is long-sleeved and even though it's made of cotton, the fabric looks really expensive and heavy. It's yellow and brown plaid with a brown bow in the middle of the chest. Her chubby little legs are stuffed inside of white stockings and her feet are inside of furry brown boots. She is a miniature Quinn Fabray and I love it.
"Okay baby girl," I whisper to her and press my lips to the top of her head. "You wanna go meet some people? They've been dying to meet you… you'll like them, I promise."
I secure her against my chest like I can protect her from anything as long as I'm holding onto her, and walk to the living room. I haven't figured out exactly what I'm going to say to introduce her yet, so I just hang out by the door and wait for them to notice me. Mr. Jones is in his favorite recliner and Mrs. Jones is on the floor, sifting through a box of DVDs. Mercedes must still be in the kitchen.
"I'm telling you, 'Trice. They ain't gonna wanna watch no DVDs. They gonna turn on that Netflix and that's that." Mr. Jones holds his newspaper up in front of his face.
"You hush," Mrs. Jones mumbles.
"I'm surprised you ain't make them both go to bed with all the hollering they did earlier," Mr. Jones flips the page of his newspaper and crosses his feet on the coffee table.
"They was just fightin' like siblings do. It ain't no different from how 'Cedes and 'Kel used to fight before 'Kel went off to school." Mrs. Jones stuffs the DVD box back inside the TV stand. "Tell you the truth, I was a lil glad when I heard Quinn yellin' like that. Means she's finally comfortable here. Comfortable enough to fight n backtalk n get yelled at."
"Yeah," Mr. Jones laughs from his throat. "I was starting to think the poor girl was scared of us or something. She never talked back or ran that mouth until today. No teenager acts like that unless they scared of you."
"Exactly," Mrs. Jones turns the TV to the Netflix app. "You know her momma ain't call her today? She ain't call, she ain't come see her, she just sent her a text and some money."
"You fuckin' with me, 'Trice?" He puts his newspaper down. "She ain't call her? On her birthday?"
"Nope. Poor girl cried her eyes out in the kitchen, askin' me why her momma ain't call her. Broke my heart. I ain't even know what to say." Mrs. Jones sighs. "I almost told her to go on head and call Judy herself. 'Least then she —"
"You better not ever tell her that, Patrice." Mr. Jones' voice is gruff and stern. "I mean it. You better not ever tell that little girl to call her momma first. That ain't her place. That's her momma's fault. She the adult. She supposed to be the one to call her baby and make sure she's alright. That ain't Quinn's job. Don't you ever make her feel like it is. It ain't up to her to make amends. Quinn is a seventeen-year-old little girl. She ain't the one who —"
As much as I'd love to sit here and listen to them talk about me, we only have 45 minutes with Beth and I don't want to waste anymore time, so I clear my throat. I clear it gentle enough so that I don't seem disrespectful, but loud enough for them to actually hear me. Both of them stop talking immediately and whip their heads around to where I'm standing in the doorway.
Mrs. Jones notices her first and her jaw nearly falls to the floor.
"Mom… Dad…" I adjust my grip on Beth and walk into the living room slowly, careful not to alarm my baby. I can't contain the smile on my face. "This is Beth." I lean forward and look at my baby girl. Her eyes are roaming the entire living room and she looks like she might cry, but she's being very brave and I'm very proud. I feel her hand clench tight around the straps of my dress and she pulls a little bit of my skin with her grip. It's like she's begging me to stay here with her and not let her go and she melts my heart. "Say hi, baby. Hmm? You gonna tell them hi?" Beth sighs hard and audible against my chest.
"Oh my stars," Mrs. Jones stands up and she can't help herself. She comes right over to me and Beth and Beth's grip on me is even a little tighter. "Oh my good heaven. She looks so much like you!"
"I know, right?" I stroke my fingers through her curls to comfort her. "This is my little munchkin butt. You guys finally get to meet her."
"She is absolutely beautiful," Mr. Jones stands up next but he approaches way slower and way less assertive as his wife. "She's a little hamhock, too. Look at them legs! She like to eat?"
"Oh, yeah. She's an eater. She'll eat like two jars of baby food with rice cereal mixed in. In one sitting. And she'll dust off a bottle right after." I look over my shoulder when I hear someone enter, but it's just Mercedes with two bowls of popcorn in tow. "Sometimes Shelby makes her puréed chicken and she'll eat the whole bowl."
"She ever give that baby a chicken bone?" Mrs. Jones starts by touching Beth's foot, and Beth tenses up when she does. I can tell that she's dying to hold her but I don't want to make my baby cry. She's not ready for that yet.
"A chicken bone? Like… like an actual chicken bone?" I ask and keep my cheek against Beth's forehead to try and settle her. "She's not even nine months old yet."
"Don't matter," Mr. Jones laughs and shakes his head. "She can have a chicken bone. That's how they cut teeth."
"Sure is. You 'posed to eat all the chicken off the bone and get the gristle off real good. Then let her chew on it. That's how 'Cedes and 'Kel cut their teeth."
"It's a miracle I didn't choke," Mercedes mumbles and holds onto Beth's hand. "You're so pretty, Bethy. You're so pretty. You remember me? Huh? You remember auntie 'Cedes?"
Beth turns her head away from Mercedes and sighs again, but she's still not crying which I think is a complete win. She could be screaming her head off like she did when Shelby first left her with me.
"She seems really attached to you, Quinn." Mr. Jones can't help himself either. He rubs his hand on the back of Beth's head and touches her soft little curls. "She knows who her mother is, that's for sure."
"She's just used to me from babysitting, that's all." I put my lips to her head again and sway with her from side to side. "I'm familiar to her, that's all it is."
"Child, that baby knows her mother." Mrs. Jones starts stroking her hair as I sway with her. "She grew up inside of you for nine months and you think she don't remember how you feel? And how you sound? Why you think her head is laying on your heart like that? She listenin' to your heartbeat. She remember how that sounds."
"Yeah Quinn," Mercedes puts the popcorn on the table and watches like me and Beth are a movie scene. "I've only been around her a few times, but even I can tell that the way she acts with you is different than the way she acts with Shelby. She never just lays on Shelby and listens to her heartbeat. It's like… like you calm her down or something. She loves you."
"She just knows how much I love her," I rub Beth's back and kiss her forehead. "Is she going to sleep?"
"Nope," Mrs. Jones shakes her head. "She's just as content as she wanna be."
"You wanna try holding her?" I offer because Beth seems pretty calm. She seems pretty calm and really relaxed, so maybe she's comfortable here now. "Here, you can take her."
"Okay pretty girl," Mrs. Jones puts her hands under Beth's armpits and lifts her off my chest. "Come on and see me. I been dyin' to get my hands on you."
Beth's head pops right up and she starts breathing hard, like she's panicking or something. Her cry starts as a really soft whine but as she realizes that she's being taken away from me, her arms shoot out and she opens her mouth to wail. Her hand grips my new necklace that Rachel bought me and she pulls it hard, so I have to hold it still so she doesn't rip it off.
"It's okay, baby! It's okay, I'm right here! I'm right here!" I pry her little fingers off my necklace. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. She's gonna hold you for a minute, okay? She just wants to hold you. She loves you."
I really want Mr. and Mrs. Jones to have their time with her to get to know her. While I was pregnant, they would get so excited talking about what she was going to look like and stuff like that. They used to talk about her all the time and I started to get the sense that they loved both me and my baby. It was sad because they never got to meet her and never got to see what she looked like and how she cried and what she sounded like. So now that they actually get to meet her, I'm glad and I want them to have their time. I really do.
But it does feel really good to know that Beth wants me and only me.
Shelby is going to kill me.
I don't think that she's going to be angry in a serious sense, because she gives Beth things that Beth isn't allowed to have all the time. Like just the other day when I went in to babysit, her and Beth were finishing up sharing an ice cream sandwich and I'm pretty sure babies under one aren't allowed to have dairy products except formula or breastmilk but Beth ate nearly the entire ice cream sandwich. So I don't think she's going to be mad at me for giving Beth a slice of birthday cake, at least not seriously.
But she might kill me because it's almost 8:00 and I have our baby consuming mass amounts of sugar and it's already starting to show that she's got a sugar rush.
The cake is the only way we could get her to stop crying, though. She would stop crying if I was holding her, but I really wanted Mr. and Mrs. Jones and Mercedes to hold her, so I went and cut off a slice of my birthday cake. And at first, I shared it with her. I took a bite and then let her take a bite off my spoon, then took another bite. And I was able to ease her on Mr. Joneses lap while I fed her cake. And she's been staying there completely content as long as we keep feeding her.
She's been babbling a whole lot and kicking her legs so I think the sugar is starting to get to her. Mr. Jones put her onto the couch next to him so he could get a baby wipe to wipe her hands off with and she started jumping on the couch. Literally, jumping. She held onto the back of the couch and started off by bending and straightening her legs really fast. Then she just started jumping and the only time she's stopped jumping is when we hold another spoonful of cake by her mouth. She's just jumping and screaming "DUH!" and Shelby is really going to kill me.
iMessage
Monday, November 11
7:49 p.m.
ME: your mom is going to kill me.
I open up the camera app on my phone and switch it to video mode because I HAVE to show this to Rachel. So while Beth is jumping on the couch and screaming at the top of her lungs, I press "record" and get some good footage. All the way up until Mrs. Jones stops her by offering her a spoonful of cake frosting. My chubby baby leans forward with her mouth open and takes the cake, rubbing her lips together as she swallows it. Then she goes right back to jumping and screaming and I press "send" to Rachel.
New iMessage
Monday, November 11
7:54 p.m.
RACHEL: Omg! Lmao! What did you do to her?! She's so hyper! I've never seen her act like that! Is she high?!
ME: sugar high!
ME: i gave her a piece of cake!
ME: she's literally screaming rachel help me!
RACHEL: You gotta let it wear off! This is so funny. Go Bethie! Go girl!
ME: shelby's gonna murder me.
ME: rip quinn fabray.
ME: died on her 17th birthday.
RACHEL: Shut up. Lol. She won't care… she's gonna be pissed she gotta let Beth crash though!
ME: i know she's gonna be so mad!
RACHEL: Lol. I miss you.
RACHEL: You have a good birthday?
RACHEL: Did you like my mom and Beth's present?
ME: it was beautiful I loved it.
ME: i knew you had everything to do with it.
RACHEL: I just gave her the picture I had edited, that's it. Everything else came from her.
RACHEL: Did you get everything you wanted?
ME: yes!
ME: well… not everything.
RACHEL: Well what else did you want that you didn't get? I'll see what I can do. I told Mercedes I was going to let you have tonight to celebrate with your family but I can come over. Idc. I miss you anyway.
ME: you can't get me what i really wanted today, babe. don't worry about it.
RACHEL: Well what was it?
ME: nothing.
ME: well there is one thing i didn't get that i wanted…
ME: ;)
RACHEL: Which is…?
ME: guess.
RACHEL: I'm terrible at guessing games.
ME: all you have to do is think.
ME: it's something to eat…
RACHEL: Is it something I can run to the store and get?
ME: you don't have to spend money on it.
RACHEL: Is it something I can make?
ME: already made.
RACHEL: Is it in my fridge?
RACHEL: You want more cupcakes? I don't have leftover batter but I can definitely make some.
ME: not cupcakes & not in your fridge.
RACHEL: It's in my pantry then?
ME: more like in your pants…
ME: ;)
RACHEL: Goodnight, Quinn.
ME: you asked!
RACHEL: Goodnight.
ME: you literally asked.
ME: i mean birthday sex is the only thing that could've made today better.
RACHEL: Nighty night.
ME: goodnight, rachel.
I lock my phone up just in time for the doorbell to ring again and it's been a little over 45 minutes, so I know it's gotta be Shelby. I get up off the floor and head for the door so I can let her in.
"So here's the thing, Shelb…" I close the door behind her and put my arms around her shoulder in an attempt to butter her up. "Beth asked me for birthday cake. She was literally looking at me with those little eyes and that little face and she said 'can I please have some birthday cake?!' So…"
"Oh Quinn, tell me you didn't…" Shelby closes her eyes and tilts her head to the ceiling. "Tell me you didn't…"
"I couldn't say no! She begged me and I couldn't say no!"
"Is that her screaming?!" She follows me to the living room and sees it with her own eyes. Beth jumping on the couch and screaming and all wound up from her cake. "Oh Quinn… what did you do?"
"I'm sorry!"
"Do you have any idea how tired I am?"
"She's gonna crash any minute!"
"I should leave her here with you! You wanna feed her cake, you deal with it!"
"Look at her, though! She's loving it! She's so happy!"
"Of course she's happy! She's an eight month old eating cake!" She grabs Beth's hat and coat from the bannister. "I could kill you, you know."
"Look how happy she is!"
"I should let you see how happy she is when it's four a.m. and she won't sleep!" She's laughing, so that's a good sign. Maybe she's not actually mad. I kinda knew she wouldn't be. I mean, I hoped she wouldn't be.
"Here, I'll go get her for you," I wander into the living room and go over to the couch for Beth. "Oh, wait. Sorry. My bad. Mom, Dad, that's Shelby. Shelby, that's Jared and Patrice. My parents."
"Good to meet you, honey," Mrs. Jones nods in Shelby's direction and hands Beth over to me. "We love your little girl."
"She's a lot of fun, huh?" Shelby grins as I bring Beth over to her. "I love your little girl, too. Both of them, actually. Quinn and Mercedes are great girls."
"Eh, they alright," Mr. Jones shrugs his shoulders.
"Guys, I'll be right back. I'm gonna show Shelby and Beth out and then we can start the movie," I call over my shoulder and I follow Shelby and Beth over to the door. "Thanks again for the gift, Shelby. I really do love it. And… and thank you. For letting me have her for a little while tonight. It really means a lot that you let her meet my family."
"You're welcome, Quinn," she shifts bouncing Beth onto her hip. "I'll see you Wednesday?"
"See you Wednesday."
"...and you can watch her here, if you want," she says slowly, and I know it took her a lot to say that. "You can watch her over here or at my apartment. Either one."
New iMessage
Wednesday, November 11
11:25 p.m.
RACHEL: You might be sleeping right now and that's okay. I just wanted to be the last one to tell you happy birthday. Happy birthday and I love you so much and I hope your day was as special as you are. I'm so proud to call you my girlfriend and so glad that I don't have to hide anymore. I love you. Goodnight and happy birthday, love.
RACHEL: And also, dinner with my dads tomorrow. My house. 5:00 sharp. They really want to meet you.
RACHEL: And there might be something tasty in store for you after dinner tomorrow… to make up for what you didn't get to eat today ;b
iMessage
Wednesday, November 11
11:32 p.m.
ME: not sleeping yet, just finished watching a movie. thank you for making today the best birthday ever. i love you to the moon and back, babe. wouldn't trade you for the world. i'll be at your house at 5:00 on the dot tomorrow. i can't wait and i'm totally looking forward to the meal I missed out on today ;) goodnight & i love you.
As soon as I press send, I put my phone down on the sink and continue to stare at myself in the mirror.
I can't explain it, but I feel different. I feel different after everything that's happened today, and I don't know if it's a good different or if it's a bad different. All I know I that it's different. I feel different on the inside. I want to feel different on the outside, too.
So I swallow my pride and take the leap into what I've been trying to get myself to do for the past ten minutes I've been in this bathroom. I hold my breath and pick up the scissors. I turn my head to the side.
And I feel satisfaction wash over me as the first inch of blonde falls to the floor.
A/N:and before anyone yells at me, let me just say that i did NOT forget about quinn calling frannie.