iMessage
Tuesday, November 12
4:52 p.m.
ME: i'm outside.
ME: should i just park on the street?
New iMessage
Tuesday, November 12
4:52 p.m.
RACHEL: You can park in the driveway it's fine. And just come inside. I left the door open for you. Come inside and make a right.
ME: can't you just come out & let me in?
ME: i don't want to just walk into your house…
RACHEL: Quinn it's fine. You can just come in. I left the door open for this specific reason.
ME: i know but i don't feel right just walking inside.
ME: can you please just let me in?
RACHEL: Give me a minute. I'm doing something but I'll be right there.
It's good that she agreed to come out and let me inside, because she is absolutely insane if she thinks for one second that I'm just going to walk up to the front door and let myself inside. It's going to be the first time I've ever met her dads and nothing says "terrible first impression" quite like barging into someone's house without knocking or being invited inside, even if you were told that you could.
I unplug my phone from my car charger, take my keys out of the ignition, and grab the Walmart bag from the passenger's seat. I was going to come over half an hour before Rachel told me to be here, just because I thought that it would make a good impression if I were a little bit early. But as I was leaving the house, Mrs. Jones — I mean mom — stopped me at the door just so she could get a good look at me. She ran her fingers through my hair, then smoothed a wrinkle out of my dress. She wished me good luck and I thought that I was in the clear, but she saw me grab my purse and nothing else, so then she stopped me again and asked me if I was going to take anything.
To make a long story short, she made me run to Walmart and buy dessert. I know it seems a little minuscule in comparison to all the other things that woman has taught me so far, but as I was doing 70 on the highway to get to Walmart quick enough to make it to Rachel's on time, I thought about how that little tidbit of advice would stick with me. She told me that I should never go to someone's house for dinner without bringing at least something, because that's the polite thing to do. And I don't mean to get all deep for a moment that isn't really supposed to be deep, but I know that it's something that'll leave a lasting impression on me. She's parenting me; "raising me right,'' as she would say.
I don't know if Rachel's dads are going to eat the chocolate ganache cake that I picked up, but it was the closest thing to the checkouts and I thought it looked pretty tasty. I think it's the thought that counts.
As I lock my car and listen to the alarm beep, I put the Walmart bag and my phone on the hood of my car and fix myself. I tried really hard to look nice and presentable; like someone the Berrys would actually want to date their daughter. I put on one of my most expensive dresses — the white one with black polka dots all over it that Mom bought me a couple years ago for church dinner — and put a little curl to the ends of my hair. I sat in front of the mirror for a while, trying to get the right combination of concealer and eyeshadow. Then I went through all of my shoes trying to find a pair that would look nice with the dress, and I finally settled on my white Doc Martens. I think I look nice, I hope I look nice.
I feel like I'm going to throw up into the rose bushes that line the walkway my feet slowly "click-clack" along. My legs are wobbly and my head feels like someone took it off, spun it, then put it back on my shoulders.
They're going to hate me. I know they are. I'm going to leave later and they're going to look at Rachel and say, "you should have left that one where you found her. You can do better, Rachel." I just know it. I'm not good with parents. The only parents I've ever met were Puck and Finn's moms and while that entire few months is a big blur in my head, I know that neither one of those first meetings went over very well. Finn's mom wouldn't stop looking at me like I was fragile kitten whose mother left it to die. Then Puck's mom always looked at me like I was whore. I'd say I didn't make a great first impression on either one of them and I don't think I'm going to make one on Rachel's dads either.
What if I just left? What if I just got back into my car, texted Rachel that I was feeling sick all of sudden or something, and went home? I would lie to Mom and Dad and say that it went well. I would even lie to Mercedes. I could just go right home right now and nobody would know the difference. It wouldn't make a difference. I could just go. I don't have to put myself through this.
I have to hold onto the railing as I climb the steps that lead to her front door because I feel like I might fall backwards down them. I really don't want to do this… and I know it's not fair because she met my parents. She sat through dinner with me and Mercedes' parents and she took it like a champ. I should at least do the same for her. But I really don't think I can do this… I'm not good with making first impressions! Most people think I'm a bitch when they first meet me! Before I left the house, Mom told me that I should just be myself and they'll love me but I don't think that's true! If I'm myself, they're going to hate me!
I'm doing it for Rachel. Even if her dads hate me, that doesn't mean that she'll break up with me…. does it?
I finally make it to the top landing of the steps and I'm about to ring the doorbell. My hand is literally shaking as I go to push the button, so I'm incredibly grateful and so relieved when I see the handle twist and the door opens before I get the chance to push it.
"I said you could just walk right in, you definitely don't have to ring the doorbell," Rachel swings the wooden door all the way open, and she even opens up the glass storm door for me as well. "Come on."
I step into her house and look around, which kind of catches me off guard because it's not the first time I've been inside Rachel's house, but it kind of feels that way. Even as I unlace my boots and pull them off my feet one by one, it feels totally foreign to me. It's like it's the first time I'm stepping foot on the red and gold Persian rug in front of her door. It's like it's the first time I'm seeing their family photo with five-year-old Rachel smiling, missing teeth and all, hanging above the fireplace.
"I… I um… I brought… I brought something, because my mom said that I should… I mean Mercedes' mom said that I should… well, my mom… she's my mom, and she said that I should…" The words won't stick together as they come out of my mouth. It's like I'm trying to bind together pure mush and nothing that I say makes any sense. "This." I hand her the Walmart bag. "It's… cake. For dessert."
"Sweet," Rachel shrugs and takes the bag off of me. She takes it straight into the kitchen and I want to follow her, I do. Because I feel like her dads are probably inside the kitchen and the best way to meet them is to just rip the band-aid off, right? But it's like I'm stuck here on the rug. I'm stuck here, just looking around as if I've never seen the inside of Rachel's house before.
I'm just now noticing the staircase to my right, wooden and spiraled with red carpet squares in the center of each step. I've been up those stairs once or twice, but I've never really noticed how nice and antique the wood is. To my left, the archway that leads into the living room has to be about eight feet high and the only thing I can see is a little glimpse of the gray sofa and the white grand piano. Straight ahead and down a small flight of two steps, I can see into the kitchen with all black appliances. This is Rachel's house. I'm seeing it in a new light. And as I watch Rachel walk back up the two steps coming from the kitchen, I'm seeing her in a new light as well.
I guess I never really considered that Rachel was like me.
Every time I've been over here, her dads have never been home. Their pictures are on the walls here and there and male shoes are in the closet, but it's almost like they were completely nonexistent up until today. Rachel's never grounded or never not allowed to do whatever she wants to do, and I was starting to think that maybe she didn't have rules to follow or parents to answer to. For the few times that I've been here, I've never seen her wash a dish or pick up things off the floor and it seemed like maybe she didn't have chores to do. Or expectations. It never occurred to me until today that Rachel is a normal teenager just like me with parents to meet, a house to come home to after school, dinner to eat and homework to do. And it's the first time I realize exactly what she meant when she told me that she thought of me as unreal once upon a time, because I think she's pretty unreal too.
"Why are you just standing here?" She asks me and I'm yanked out of the nervous trance I've been in. "Are you okay?"
I finally start to notice all the things I usually notice about her, like how she's wearing her hair and the type of clothes she's wearing. Her hair is different, not any style I've ever seen her wear to school. It's tied up in a high ponytail and she has strands of it that she either forgot to pull up or intentionally left out. She wears a pair of loose, baggy blue jeans with rips in the kneecaps and a dark purple sweater that hangs off her shoulders. Am I overdressed?
"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," I admit and lean against the wall for support.
"You're that nervous?" She brushes her hair away from her face and hands me one of the two waters she brought from the kitchen. I nod my head, twist the cap off, then take a desperate sip. "Well trust me, there's really no need to be."
"Were you nervous when you met mine?" I keep my hand on the wall for support as a new wave of nausea washes over me.
"Not really," she takes her own sip of water. "I was a little bit whenever I was walking up to the door but once I got inside, I wasn't really all that nervous. I was kinda excited."
"Excited…? To meet my parents…?"
"Uh-huh," she nods her head. "It just felt super official once I did. It felt like a real relationship. I met your parents and so now I can officially call you my girlfriend. And not just in secret." Her cheeks are all red and she is smiling and blushing and she's really making me feel a bit better about this whole thing. If she can be excited about meeting my parents, I can be excited about meeting hers. "It still feels a little crazy, honestly..."
"What feels crazy?" One by one, I pull my arms out of my wool jacket and hang it on the railing to the stairs.
"...that I get to say you're my girlfriend." Her voice comes out in a tone just above a whisper and it suddenly hits me that this is real.
This is real between us. Rachel is my girlfriend, I am hers. She wears my initial around her neck, I wear hers. I get to kiss her whenever I want to and she gets to kiss me. She is my first real relationship with a girl and was my first real crush. She met my parents and they really like her, we are allowed to see each other within the walls of my house. I'm about to meet her parents as well and if by some grace of god they decide they like me, we will be free to see each other here as well. We don't have to hide. We don't have to hold hands underneath blankets or look over our shoulders before we embrace. I don't have to explain to my mother and father that Rachel is just a really good friend, they already know that she isn't just a friend and they accept it anyway. We don't have to say that we're working on a science project just to be left alone upstairs for a little while. We are dating, like girls date boys and boys date girls.
The fire blazing in the pit of the fireplace behind her crackles and the glowing flames cast a light on her face that is unlike anything I can even describe. Her skin glows, soft and golden tan. Her eyes catch the light and shine like little pools of honey. The way she smiles at me makes me feel like I can do anything in this world as long as she keeps smiling. Her smile gives me the courage I need to get through this night.
"You ready?" She asks, holding her hand out in the empty space between us so that I can take it.
"Th-They know about us, right?" I glance at her hand before I take it. "They know I'm not just your friend?"
"They know," she assures me and grabs onto my hand.
With her own water bottle tilted up to her mouth and my hand inside hers, she banks a right and goes through the living room. We walk past the white piano, past the gray sectional couch and loveseat combo, past the wall-mounted flatscreen TV. She stops at a door that I've never seen before, and that's when I realize that I've never been inside Rachel's living room before.
The set of glass French double doors that she stops in front of are white and perfectly pristine. She turns one of the handles down and opens it. When she does, music spills out into the room around me and I'm still nervous when I follow Rachel inside.
"Finish anything without me?" Rachel puts her bottle of water down on the tarp-covered floor and I close the door behind me because I feel like I should. Rachel picks up a small paintbrush covered in pink paint and dips it into a bucket full of cloudy water.
"Not quite," her dad nearly shouts so he can be heard over the music blasting from a stereo in the corner. "I can't figure out where the road should go. What do you think, pumpkin?" With his back turned towards me, he stands in front of a giant mural that takes up the entire wall. His jeans have paint smeared all over them and his white t-shirt has handprints on the back.
What are they doing…?
"I think it should go above the stars." Rachel marks a place on the wall with her own paintbrush. "There." She wraps her arm around his torso and squeezes, then guides him to turn around and look my way. "Dad, this is Quinn."
When he turns around to meet me face-to-face, I feel a bead of sweat roll down the middle of my back and I have to fight off a shudder that the chills give me. The front of his t-shirt has just as many paint stains as the back of his pants and his jeans are covered in paint as well. His thick, black-rimmed glasses sit on top of a nose that almost perfectly matches Rachel's, and his salt-and-pepper hair is standing up on all ends yet somehow manages to appear totally combed. He seems so… normal?
I don't know what I was expecting when I met Rachel's dads, but he wasn't it. I guess maybe I was expecting someone polished and put together, wearing a suit with really clean hands. I wasn't expecting someone who seems so laid back and lax about everything. I wasn't expecting someone who is freely painting on the walls.
"Quinn, this is dad," Rachel's eyes flicker between the both of us, as if she's waiting for something to transpire.
I clear my throat so I can shake his hand and say "hello" with a clear voice, but my hands are all shaky and my voice is going to be all wobbly and GOD I am about to completely ruin this… Say something, Quinn. Say something. Say anything!
"Hiram Berry," he holds his paint-covered hand out for me to shake it. "Nice to finally meet you, sweetheart."
"Quinn Fabray." My voice sounds like I swallowed a squeaky toy, but at least I said something… "Nice to make your acquaintance, sir." Really, Quinn? Nice to make your acquaintance? Really? What is this, the 18th century? Why are you speaking like you're being introduced to the Queen of England? What's wrong with you?
I slip my hand inside his hand, which is maybe five times bigger than mine and five times rougher. He has dry paint caked underneath his fingernails and a little bit of wet paint still on his palm. When we shake hands, a smudge of black paint is transferred from his hand to mine and I'm really trying not to freak out.
I am way overdressed. I shouldn't have worn this. Why did I wear this? This dress was $800! It was $800 and I'm wearing it in the middle of a room full of paint. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn't I wear jeans? Why didn't Rachel warn me? Why is he painting on the walls? And better yet, why is Rachel painting on the walls too? This room looks like hell! There's a thousand little paintings on every empty place on the walls. No other furniture in here, just a tarp covering the carpets, buckets of paint everywhere and a stereo system in the corner. What kind of room is this? Please don't get paint on my dress…
"Daddy's not back with dinner yet?" Rachel moves to her own little spot next to his and starts painting a pink heart. They're painting on the walls… this is un-freaking-believable. "What's taking him so long?"
He starts painting a black squiggly line exactly where Rachel told him to paint. "He's grabbing it from Pongo's. You remember that place across town? The place we took you when you got your first solo in dance class? When we —"
"You ordered me a cake and had the workers come out and sing happy birthday even though it wasn't my birthday! Of course I remember!" Rachel turns toward me. "You like Thai food, don't you Quinn?"
"I um…" I stand near the door with my arms folded across my chest, careful not to touch anything with my dress on. "I've never actually had Thai food before."
"Oh, it's the best. They make these stir-fried garlic green beans that are to DIE for," Mr. Berry — Hiram, I guess I can call him — turns toward me too. "We always get the fried fish Namtok and the Kung Noodles for Rachel."
"If you don't like it, I'll throw a pizza in for later," Rachel winks at me which kind of settles me a little bit because I don't think I'm going to like dinner.
I don't mean to be so negative about this but I'm just… so unhappy. This isn't going how I thought it would go… I'm in an $800 dress with paint all around me. Dinner isn't being homecooked, it's going to be some kind of suspicious takeout that I've never eaten before. And there's no formal sit-down-and-introduce-yourself yet. This isn't going how I thought it would…. I wish I would have worn jeans…
Don't cry. I know you feel the tears coming, but please don't cry. Just adjust your expectations. I know you've been dreaming about this since last night when she told you to come over for dinner. I know you had a very specific way this was supposed to happen inside your head, but it's okay. It's okay, don't cry. For the love of God, Quinn. Don't. Cry.
"You can join us if you want to," Hiram goes back to painting his mural. "Brushes are in the bucket. Just pick some paint and find an empty spot."
"Oh, it's okay," I shake my head and take a step backwards, even closer to the door. "I'm fine, I'm okay watching. I'm —"
Before I can even get my last sentence out, something bright and pink flies across the room at me and it's a good thing that I flinched when I saw it! It's a good thing I flinched! Because if I hadn't flinched and turned my face away from it, pink paint would have splattered me all in the face and hit my eyes instead of my hair!
It's dripping all down me! It's in my hair and dripping onto my shoulders! It's dripping onto my dress! And it's on my legs and my feet! And my arms! It looks like my dress has pink polka dots in addition to the black ones! And this is going to dry inside of my hair! How am I going to get it out?!
And why is she laughing?! She has the paintbrush in her hand and it's dripping with pink paint and she's laughing! It's not funny!
"Rachel!" I look down and feel my heart shattering inside my chest when I see the pink splats all over my dress. "Look what you did! It's not funny!"
"It'll come out with some hot water in the wash, Quinn! Do you know how many cute dresses I've gotten paint all over?!" She continues laughing which really makes me want to cry. My dress is ruined… my mom — my REAL mom — bought me this dress… "If you don't pick up a brush and join us, I'm gonna do it again."
"I'm not dressed for painting! You didn't say anything about painting! You didn't say —"
"Quinn, relax! It's just a dress! Haven't you ever done anything spontaneous?!" She picks up the bucket of dirty water with all the paint brushes inside and offers it to me. "Come on. We do this all the time. Don't we, Dad?"
"Sure do," Hiram nods and adds some white traffic lines to his road. "Rachel used to call it the reflection room. Any time she had a bad day at school or at dance class, we'd just put her in here with some crayons and let her go to town. Eventually we moved on to paint instead of markers and crayons and… well… it's just become part of what we do. It's a great stress reliever. And anytime the walls get full? We just paint over everything and start all over again."
"So you were allowed to write on walls…?" I ask. That's actually really cool now that he explained it… they just come in here and paint on the walls to express themselves. And whenever the wall is full and there's no more room for anyone to paint, they just paint over everything and start over again… like a giant easel. Or a giant street mural. That's pretty damn cool…
"Only in here," Rachel puts the bucket down once she thinks I'm not going to take a paintbrush. "Anything goes in the reflection room. It's fair game in here."
"Yep, fair game," Hiram drops the white paintbrush into the bucket and picks up a green one next. "So grab yourself a brush there, little Quinn. We'd love to have a Fabray Original masterpiece on our walls."
Maybe… maybe Rachel's right. Maybe it's just a dress… and it can be washed. The paint will come out in the washer… it's just a just a dress. It's just a piece of clothing that I could buy ten thousand more of. But I can't ever buy this moment back.
I dunk my hand inside the cloudy paint water and pull a paintbrush out of it. There's a tiny piece of empty wall right beside Rachel, so I stand there and try to think of what it is that I want to paint. Hiram's painting some abstract picture of stars in the night sky and a road above them. Rachel seems to be painting some sort of heart with blood trickling from it and me…? I think maybe I'll paint a rainbow. I'll start with red.
"Alexa, skip to the next song." Her dad shouts at the speaker from over his shoulder as I paint my first red arch. "Little Quinn, you're into music, right?"
"Sure," I go back over the red arch just to make it more vibrant. "I listen to a little bit of everything, being in Glee club and all."
"Good, then you'll fit right in here." He wipes his hands on the seat of his jeans and walks over to turn the speaker volume up. "There's always music playing here. Isn't that right, pumpkin?"
"Always," Rachel mumbles and adds more red to the puddle of blood underneath her heart. "Daddy mostly only listens to classical music, though. I hate being in the reflection room with him."
"Well try this one on for size," he puts his glasses on top of his head and offers Rachel his hand in a very "May I have this dance?" kind of way. Rachel puts her paintbrush down and lays her hand inside of his and it's really easy to see where she gets her theatricality from. In a way, I'm really glad to just sit back and watch the two of them converse and interact with each other. It's a side of Rachel that I haven't seen before. The side of Rachel that is comfortable within the walls of her own house, comfortable with the man who has raised her.
Needless to say, I'm not surprised when Hiram starts to sing. And I'm certainly not surprised when he actually sounds really good singing, because Rachel had to have gotten her voice from somewhere and maybe it's not just all credit to Shelby.
"I need love, love. Oh ease my mind. And I need to find time, someone to call mine." He sings to her and twirls her around in a circle and Rachel is lapping it all up.
...It's nice that she has a dad who does these kinds of things for her. I even stop painting to watch the way he spins her around in a circle, then dips her like they're in the middle of an audition for Dirty Dancing or Footloose.
"My mama said you can't hurry love! No, you'll just have to wait! She said love don't come easy! But it's a game of give and take, you can't hurry love! No, you'll just have to wait! Just trust in a good time! No matter how long it takes!" The two of them sing together and dance around every inch of the room together like champion ballroom dancers and it's really hard to not be happy just watching. They're so wholesome and it's really a great glimpse of what Rachel's life is like outside of school, outside of Glee club and outside of me.
This is the Rachel I wish everyone could see. This isn't a selfish little Broadway brat who is only concerned about how she looks. This isn't someone who will step on whoever she needs to step on to get to the top. This is her, in her element, with her father. And suddenly, all my nerves melted away. I'm not so scared to be here anymore and not nervous to meet her fathers anymore. If anything, I am glad that I am getting to know her for who she is.
"Don't be shy, Little Quinn!" With Rachel tucked underneath one arm, Hiram extends his other out to me and I have never shook my head so fast in my entire life. Yeah, no thanks. I'm not making a fool of myself in front of you. Not the first time meeting you. "Oh, come on! A little Phil Collins never hurt anybody!"
"I remember mama said you can't hurry love! No, you'll just have to wait!" Rachel takes my paintbrush out of my hand rather forcefully and throws it onto the ground. I shake my head at her some more but she just yanks me by my arm and makes me laugh and before I know it, the three of us are acting like the tarp is a giant ballroom dance floor. Rachel lines our arms up together like we're dancing the Tango and I can't help but join her in singing. "How long must I wait? How much more must I take? Before loneliness will cause my heart, heart to break!"
I think we're about to officially clean up and leave the reflection room, because Hiram shakes a little bit of soap powder into the dirty water bucket to wash the paintbrushes off while me and Rachel continue to goof off.
And I'm not exaggerating when I say that we're totally goofing off like a couple of little idiots, because she's busy trying to twirl me in circles and my foot accidentally hits the bucket that Hiram just put a bunch of soap powder inside of, and now there's soapy water all over the floor.
As soon as the suds flood the floor, me and Rachel stop in our tracks and just look at each other and I'm kind of panicking because we're probably in a load of trouble for not paying attention. I look at Rachel, eyes wide and fully expecting to be kicked out of the room or screamed at or worse.
But instead of anybody even saying so much as a bad word about the water and the suds on the floor, Rachel grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. And I can barely process what she's doing before the both of us are on the floor, soaking wet and sliding around in a giant puddle of water and soapy bubbles.
Okay, that's it. We just made a huge mess and instead of trying to clean it up, we're rolling around in it like two pigs rolling around in mud. I'm pretty sure the soapy water is seeping out of the tarp and dripping onto the carpet it's supposed to be protecting and I'm pretty sure he's about to yell. This is it. He's about to yell…
"You two…" he shakes his head at us with his hands on his hips.
"Don't think you're getting out of it!" Rachel springs up off the floor and jumps on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. "Quinn, get him!"
And I don't know what comes over me. Maybe it's the part of me that's still seven and wishes that my dad would have done something like this with me and Frannie. Or maybe it's the part of me that is still sixteen underneath the layer that makes me seventeen, and that part of me longs to be a kid again. Either way it goes, something comes over me and latch onto Hiram's ankles and try to trip him.
"Must…" Hiram grunts as he's trying to fight us off. "Defeat… The angels… of Darkness!" He grunts one last time then eventually gives up and comes toppling to the soapy tarp-turned-slip-and-slide with me and Rachel.
Rachel picks up a handful of bubbles and smacks them on his cheek while I pile them on Rachel's head. And there's a part of me that can't believe I'm rolling around on the floor covered in bubbles and murky water with my girlfriend and her dad.
If this was the Fabray household…
Mom would still be screaming about how she has to call the carpet people to come clean the floors all because of me and my clumsiness. Dad would be yelling about how he's taking it out of my allowance. I'd be sent to bed without eating dinner. And I'd be grounded from now until eternity. I wouldn't be laughing about it and I certainly wouldn't be rolling around on the floor in my mess.
"My mama said you can't hurry love! No, you'll just have to wait!" Me, Rachel and Hiram all sing one last time, lying flat on our backs in the middle of the soap and suds. "She said love don't come easy! But it's a game of give and take, you can't hurry love! No, you'll have to wait! She said love don't come easy!"
Only when the song starts to die down do the three of us hear the doors to the room start to creak open. It's like we're in a movie, the way all three of our heads pop up and look to the doorway. Rachel grabs ahold of my hand as soon as I see him because it's like she knows that I'm nervous all over again through telekinesis or something like that.
He's shorter than Hiram, but not by too much. And his hair has that same salt-and-peppery kind of look to it except his is curly. And for a while there, I was certain that Hiram was Rachel's dad. I know they don't really know, at least not for certain. But I would have bet serious money on Hiram. Now that he's standing in front of me now too, I'm not so sure. Because he looks a lot like Rachel now, too. And he's a lot more like what I initially expected. He's wearing a tailored suit jacket and a tie with some really nice dress pants.
"Daddy, this is Quinn!" Rachel holds our interlocked hands up above the bubbles so he can see.
"Nice to meet you, sir!" I wave at him with a big honest smile and I'm glad that rolling around in soapy water with Hiram has really broken the ice. Sure, this isn't how I wanted to meet him. I didn't want to meet him while I'm soaking wet with paint in my hair and my dress dripping, but hey. What can you do?
"I see you three couldn't wait for me before you started the party." He crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot impatiently, but a smile is threatening to break. "Well I hate to break up the little pow wow here, but there's food in the kitchen that's going to get cold if it's not in our mouths within the next five minutes."
Rachel is the first one up and on her feet, and she helps me up next. Even though my dress is soaked and the fabric is all droopy and sticking to my skin, I still smooth it out when I stand up to try and make myself look as presentable as possible.
"Oh, cute dress honey! I love it! Is it Alexander Wang?" Her other dad walks right alongside me as we leave the reflection room. "Oh no, wait. It's Sherri Hill, isn't it?"
"It is, actually," I nod my head and I can tell I'm going to really like him already. I wish I had a dad that would discuss dresses with me… "It's from her spring collection. I got it two summers ago."
"Well you look absolutely stunning in it and your bone structure is flawless," he offers his hand to me while we're still walking to the kitchen. "LeRoy Berry, by the way."
"Quinn. Quinn Fabray." We shake hands and even though I'm walking a little bit head of him, I can still see him from the corner of my eye when he looks back at Rachel and mouths the words, "love her!"
"Bon Jovi or Van Halen?" Hiram asks the thousandth question of the hour as he scrapes the last little bit of green beans onto his plate.
"Bon Jovi," I wipe my mouth with my napkin and shiver as my hair drips down my back again.
"Pizza or tacos?" LeRoy asks while he's chewing.
"Both." Since I'm finished, I bawl my napkin up and put it on my paper plate.
I have to admit, her dads are not at all what I was expecting. I was expecting to eat off of fine china and be served a full course dinner. Instead, me, Rachel and Hiram are all eating in dripping wet clothes. We are eating from takeout containers on styrofoam plates, using plastic forks and spoons. We're not even sitting at the dining room table, which is really nice and hand carved out of real mahogany. Instead, we're all sitting on barstools at the kitchen island. It's not what I expected from people who throw parties just to watch the Oscars. It's not what I expected at all.
Somehow, it's even better.
"Books or movies?" Hiram asks.
"Movies."
"Singing or dancing?"
"I'm not the best singer, so dancing."
"Oh, I don't believe that," LeRoy blows on another piece of fish to cool it down before sticking it in his mouth. "Rachel tells us you're an excellent singer and she doesn't lie about stuff like that."
"I'm not that great," I look down at my empty plate. I learned something new about myself today. Apparently I like Thai food. "I don't get like, solos or anything. I mostly just sing backup."
"We sang Miranda Lambert's 'Over You' for Glee club a couple months ago and she was amazing," Rachel rolls her eyes and talks louder than me. "I didn't even know she could sing like that."
"Was that what you were telling me about, Pumpkin?" Hiram dusts off the last little bit of green beans from his plate. "When you were trying to tell me about your feelings and when you realized you might romantically like other girls?"
"What's he talking about, Ladybug?" LeRoy asks.
Pumpkin. Ladybug. God this whole family is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Her nicknames are so cute! Ladybug. I think I might use that one on her.
"Oh honey, it's nothing," Hiram waves his hand at LeRoy and I've never shipped two people the way I ship them except maybe Mercedes and Sam and Santana and Brittany. I know they're Rachel's dads, but they're my OTP. "Back when she was still struggling, I sat her down and had a talk about her feelings. She was telling me she thought about another girl in that way when she heard her sing."
"Yeah, it was then," Rachel moves a piece of broccoli back and forth with her fork. She struggled? With her sexuality? So much that she had to talk to them? There was a moment where she realized she liked me? She's never told me any of that! "Hey Dad and Daddy, listen," she puts her fork down. "I'm gonna take Quinn upstairs so she can change into something dry. And there's something we need to talk about, so we'll be up there for a while. We'll be back down in a little bit? I'll be back down to help clean up the reflection room."
"Don't worry about the reflection room, pumpkin." Hiram waves at us. "Daddy and I will clean it up. You two go upstairs and get out of those wet clothes."
"Leave the door open," LeRoy nods at us.
"Of course." Rachel grabs my hand as if I don't know my way up the steps and to her room. She pulls me up the flight of steps and down the hallway, making a right as we turn into her room.
She flicks the light on and her room is exactly the way I remember it, but I'm still seeing it in a way that I've never seen it before. After meeting her parents today, everything about her just makes a little more sense.
"What do we have to talk about?" I ask.
"Nothing, I just wanted to be alone with you."
Once we're both inside her room, she closes the door behind us but not all the way. She leaves it cracked open just a few inches, then immediately goes over to her dresser and starts rummaging through the drawers.
I sit down on the edge of her bed and watch as she searches for different clothes to change into. "I thought he said don't close it…"
"He didn't say anything about cracking it," she mumbles and tosses a black t-shirt with a gold star in the middle of it onto the bed with me. "Besides… I'm not gonna make you change with the door wide open."
"I appreciate that," I giggle and stand up so I can finally peel myself out of this soaking wet dress and this soaking wet bra and these soaking wet underwear. "I don't think they'd be much interested in what I have to offer beneath my clothes, but I wouldn't want to give them a show."
"Do you want shorts or sweatpants?" she holds up a pair of black Nike gym shorts and a pair of red Adidas jogging pants. "Or pajama pants?"
"Sweatpants are fine," I shrug and she tosses them at me right where the shirt landed.
I start by taking my arms out of the sleeves of my dress and it's super hard because it's wet and it's clinging to my body and my body is cold. Once my arms are out, I pull the dress down over my thighs and step out of it. My underwear and bra don't match today because I wasn't really expecting to get naked in front of Rachel. I have on a pair of gray underwear that kind of should be a thong because the way it rides up my ass, but it's not really a thong because my butt cheeks do get covered a bit. To be honest, it's my least favorite pair of underwear but it's the only pair that won't leave underwear lines underneath my dress so I had to wear them. Anyway, they're gray and my bra is black with a pink bow in the middle and I'm so mismatched that Rachel probably wouldn't be turned on by me if she'd look.
Her, on the other hand…
She steps out of her jeans first, then folds them up. Her underwear are pink and purple and they're so sheer and so lacy that I feel myself starting to drool. She pulls her sweater up over her head next and that's when I see that she wasn't wearing a bra this whole time… and I couldn't tell. I'm usually all over that! I can usually tell when she's wearing a bra and when she's not wearing a bra because my eyes always go straight to her chest. But I couldn't even tell! Her skirt was soaked and I couldn't even tell! I think I'm losing my touch…
I'm able to stop staring at her long enough to unclasp my own bra and let it fall to the floor. I have my arms through the holes of the shirt she gave me to put on and I'm about to pull it over my head when I hear her sigh really hard and really loud and really dramatic.
"What's wrong?" I ask, fixing the shirt around my waist once it's on.
"Nothing, it's just not fair how perfect you are," she pulls her hair through her own dry t-shirt and starts stepping out of her underwear. "You literally have nothing. No cellulite, no rolls, no pimples and no stretch marks."
"I do have stretch marks," I lift my shirt up so that my boobs are out again, but I cover my nipples with my hands so that she can only see the skin around them, where my stretch marks are. Look, I know it's pointless. Rachel's seen my boobs before, obviously. She's seen them and even had them in her mouth so it's really pointless for me to cover up but I can't help it. I'm just so insecure about my entire body and my boobs are not exempt. "See? They're right there." I twist so she can see them where they start, just above my nipple. "They're just light so you can't really see them, but they're there. I got them after all that gross breastmilk came in and they never went away. They could've left the boobs and took the stretch marks but no. They took the boobs and left the stretch marks. Now I'm flat chested again."
"Seriously Quinn, let me ask you something." She steps into a new pair of underwear and sits down. "I'm being serious too, okay?"
"Okay."
"Is there anything on your body that isn't perfect?" She crosses her legs as she sits on the bed and looks up at me with honest curiosity.
"Rachel, I —"
"You have to answer," she looks away from me. "Because I look at you and I try to find flaws, I really do. But I can't. You have the perfect face, perfect body, perfect everything. And I just want to know if there's anything that I'm missing. Any embarrassing birthmarks? Bad scars? Crooked teeth? Anything?"
"Well I —"
"I have my nose. I mean that's obvious, obviously. But there's my nose. And then my eyebrows sometimes are a little too thick. And my chin is just… ew. And my —"
"I have really hideous feet." I prop my foot up on the bed so she can see. "My toes are so long they look like fingers and I broke my pinky toe once doing gymnastics so it doesn't straighten out anymore. See?" I turn my foot to the side so she can see my crooked toe. "And I have a scar on my buttcheek from when a jellyfish stung me in sixth grade." I stand up and lift my shirt up and pull my underwear down to show her the inch long straight line where the tentacle got me. "See?"
"You got stung on your butt?" She starts laughing. "Really? On your butt?"
"Yup. Right in the middle of my cheek. I used to rub Mederma on it so it wouldn't scar, but." I step completely out of my wet underwear and put her sweatpants on. "There's a lot of things about me that aren't perfect, Rachel. But let's not dwell on it." I sit behind her and start weaving a braid into her damp hair so that I'll be all wavy and pretty when she takes it out. Her hair is so pretty… "...So why did you never tell me that there was a moment you realized you liked me?"
"Oh god, you heard that?" She tilts her head down so I can finish the braid. "Ugh. Well… yeah, obviously there was a time. It was stupid, really. We were just singing that song when Mr. Schue assigned us duets and I couldn't stop thinking about how pretty your voice was."
"So that was it for you? That was when you realized you might like girls?"
"I guess looking back, I always kind of knew," she shrugs. "I used to play Barbies and I had tons of Ken dolls but I always made my girls be together. Things like that. But you were the first girl I actually ever wanted to be with."
"I was?"
"Yes." She nods. "When I kissed you in your bed that night, it was something I wanted to do ever since we sang that duet together in Glee club. I always put it out of my mind because I thought… I guess I just thought that I was just happy that our voices sounded so good together and it made me want to do something irrational like kiss you. But that thought never went away. It never went away so when I was in bed with you that night and I was brave because I was drunk and you were being so nice to me and we had just eaten waffles and you were answering all my questions… I just had to kiss you. I had to kiss you and know what it was like."
"I'm glad you did."
"I'm glad I did too. I went straight to my therapist the next day because I just… I had a breakdown, Quinn. It started to feel like everything was unraveling. It was like I didn't love Finn and I didn't love Jesse and I never actually had a crush on Puck like I thought I did. Everything felt like a giant lie. Like my life was a lie. Because how can I actually like boys if… if no other kiss ever felt that good? How could I actually like boys if I've never kissed one and missed the way their lips felt like I missed the way yours did? I had a breakdown. I went to therapy and I had a breakdown."
To that, I don't say anything. I just lace my fingers inside of hers and squeeze her hand.
"...I'm sorry if it seems like this has been all hard on you, you know? This whole… coming out thing. I'm sorry if it seems like it's been pure hell for you and easy for me to just accept it and roll with it because of my dads and stuff. I mean, I know it's been harder on you in general because you didn't have a safe place to come out and your parents really suck. So I'm sorry. But… it hasn't been easy for me either, Quinn? I'm sorry if it's been feeling that way for you. But it hasn't. It's been hell for me too."
"Don't apologize," I mumble. "Listen, Rachel. I'm so glad and so happy that you have the dads you do. I know it hasn't been easy for you. Coming out is hard. It's messy and it's hard and it's a lot to accept. And I know it hasn't been completely easy for you, I know that. But I'm just SO glad that you didn't have to go through what I went through. I'm so glad your dads are so amazing."
"They are pretty amazing, huh?" Her eyes are glistening but I don't think she's going to let her tears fall. "They're so amazing…" she whispers. "They give me everything a girl could want, unconditional love, support…" she puts her head down. "...So why am I chasing some stupid fantasy with Shelby?"
"Hey," I wrap my arms around her the second I see tears rolling down her beautiful cheeks. "Hey… you're not wrong for that, okay? Okay? That's completely natural. Just because you wonder about where you're from and who you come from doesn't mean that you're not grateful and appreciative of your dads. It's totally normal for you to wonder about Shelby and completely natural for you to want a relationship with her. You're always telling me how Beth knows me. How she feels some sort of connection with me. Well don't you think you feel that with Shelby, too? Of course you feel it. And it'd be terrible to just ignore it."
"It's like…" she sighs. "It's like I want to be open with them about it. I want to tell them that I'm seeing Shelby and speaking to Shelby and… and all that. I want to. But every time I go to do it, I just… chicken out. Because Quinn, they're so good to me. SO good. And knowing that I see Shelby would destroy them… I don't wanna destroy them. I want to invite Shelby and Beth over for thanksgiving or something, just to break the ice. But I can't… I just can't…"
"Well…" I rest my head on her shoulder so she knows I'm here for her. "Well if that's something you want to do, I'll help you think of a way to ask."
"But I'll destroy them," she shakes her head and more tears fall. "How could I do that? What would you do? If you knew that something you did was going to hurt your mother's feelings, what would you do? How could you just… do it?"
"I did…." I nod my head and stare straight ahead at the wall. This is something I've totally blocked out… but I'm really willing to share it with her… "My mom never wanted me to give Beth up. She wanted me to keep her and raise her my own and when I signed the papers, she couldn't look at me. For the longest time, I thought she was being selfish and dramatic. I didn't think she really cared, you know? I thought she was just throwing herself a pity party." I take a breath. "But then I… when we got home from the hospital, I was crying so hard that I laid down on the couch and I fell asleep for a while. And when I woke up, I went upstairs so I could use the bathroom and take a shower because you know, I just had a baby. ...when I went upstairs, I heard my mom in the room we were going to use as a nursery. I heard her in there and she was just… sobbing." I blink and tears flood my face. "Those real gut-wrenching sobs, too. Like you hear in the movies. And I just… cracked the door a bit, you know? I cracked the door and looked inside and she was there. She was there on the floor with my blanket. She had this… this wool blanket that my grandma had knitted for Frannie. It was Frannie's then it was mine and then… it was supposed to be Beth's. She had this blanket in her hands and she was just crying into it…. and that's when I realized that I really hurt my mother by doing what I did. I hurt her by giving Beth up. And I don't think she's forgiven me just yet."
"Quinn…" she whispers. "I am… so sorry. I didn't realize… I mean… I never really thought about… everything. Everything that you went through with Beth and with your family and now your sexuality and leaving your house and your mom and… and I'm… I'm just really glad you're okay," she nods. "Are you…? Okay?"
"Yeah," I nod my head at her. "I'm going to be. I… I think I am. I think I'm okay…" my voice gets all cracky and my jaw trembles. "I just really miss her, you know? She didn't call me or come see me on my birthday. She never calls or texts me to see how I'm doing. I know she treated me really badly sometimes, but she's my mom… she's my mom and I really miss her. I really, really miss her, Rachel…"
"Oh, Quinn," she wraps her arms around me and squeezes. "It's okay…"
"I called my sister yesterday," I sniff. "She asked me to call her when I got a moment and I did. And she told me that Mom basically acts like I don't even exist. I didn't answer my cell phone, so she called the house phone. She called the house phone and my dad picked up. My dad. And she asked to speak to me and he told her that I was no longer a member of the household…"
"What…?"
"Yeah," I clear my throat. "He told my sister that I wasn't a member of the household anymore. And she talked to Mom after she talked to him and she basically acted like I didn't exist. She just kept saying that she doesn't know how I am and that I left the family and that's the end of it. And I just don't get it… I don't get how you can stop loving your child… how can they just stop loving me?"
"I'll never stop," she holds my hand and looks me in my tear-filled eyes. "I'll never stop loving you, Quinn."
As I lock my car up behind me and shove my key into the lock, I'm smiling because meeting Hiram and LeRoy was a big success. I think they actually liked me! And it was nice to see where Rachel came from!
But as I hang my keys up on the rack and take my shoes off at the door, Whitney and Bobby bombard me with lots of jumps and kisses. And I smell the remnants of dinner in the kitchen. And the soft jazz music is playing from the living room. And the smell of dryer sheets is creeping up the basement stairs. And it's warm in here. It's homey and it's warm and my school picture from this year is hanging on the wall proudly next to Mercedes' school picture and Mykel's senior picture. I remember how good it feels to be home. Home. A place where I'm wanted and I'm loved and I'm seen and I'm accepted.
"That you, Quinn?" Mom calls from the kitchen.
"Yeah." I softly pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dinner was chicken and dumplings and even though the Thai food was great, I wish I ate here instead. She sits at the kitchen table, folding up all the dish towels and dish rags. "Need help?"
"Nah, that's okay baby. You go on up them steps and get you a bath so you can head on to bed. It's gettin' late. How'd your dinner go?"
"It was great," I stand on my tiptoes to reach the package of Oreos in the pantry. "I think they liked me. And they're really nice guys. I think you'd like them too."
"Mmm-hmm," she nods once and finally looks up from folding. As soon as her eyes fall on me though, I feel like there's something wrong. Oh no… what did I do? I know I'm in trouble. She's looking at me like I'm in trouble… "Was they there the whole time?!"
"Yeah…?" Why is she yelling? Oh no…
"Are you tellin' me fibs, Quinn?!" Her eyebrows are wrinkled and she looks scary.
"No! They were there the whole time, I swear!" I put the Oreos back.
"So you gon' look me in my eye and tell me you and Rachel wasn't in that house alone at any time?!" She crosses her arms and tilts her head.
"No! What's this even about?!" I shove an Oreo in my mouth.
"Why are you wearing different clothes than what you walked up outta this house in, girl?!"