A/N: No mature language in this chapter, but it does deal with subject matter that can be a little uncomfortable to read. I hope I handled these topics in a respectful way and in a manner that doesn't seem preachy or like I'm shoving it down your throat. It's just a part of the story I felt needed to be addressed because it would be ignorant of me to act like these such things don't exist in this story. So I hope you enjoy!
iMessage
Thursday, November 21
5:23 p.m.
ME: hey…?
iMessage
Thursday, November 21
5:26 p.m.
ME: i know you're ignoring me & i know you're still mad. but i just want to tell you that i'm sorry & i love you. i was put into a very hard place and had to make a really difficult decision and it wasn't something i was prepared to do. i didn't want to hurt you or cedes so i just did what i thought was right. i'm sorry if it hurt you & it was never my intention to hurt you. i think you are a beautiful singer obviously & i absolutely love you. i understand if you need some time & space to forgive me but i just needed to say that i am sorry, i love you & i don't like to go very long without talking to you. text me when you're feeling better please.
I read over the text a few times before I actually send it, because I want to make sure that my wording is correct and I'm not going to accidentally offend her even further with anything I say. I have the same feeling in my gut that I had earlier when she told me that I didn't work as hard as she does in Glee club. It's the feeling of knowing that everything is going to be okay. It's the complete opposite feeling that I usually have when my emotions flood me and I'm full of despair knowing that our relationship is fragile and it might break. This feeling is different. This feeling knows that me and Rachel's relationship will withstand this.
Dad puts the car in park as we stop in a spot that's closest to the door, and I press "send" on the text message just as he takes the keys out of the ignition. I'm not exactly sure what we came to Giant Eagle to buy because it's not like we need groceries in the house. Mom does the grocery shopping every Monday and we're still pretty stocked up in the pantry even though it's Thursday.
Part of me feels like I should have stayed home and tried to patch things up with Mercedes, because she's the one I'm worried about right now. If Rachel really is getting the solo now, then I know she'll be okay. She's a little angry with me for not voting for her but in the end, she's getting what she wants so I know she'll be fine. Mercedes, on the other hand, could possibly be mad at me from now until the end of time and I can handle a lot of things, but Mercedes being mad at me isn't one of them. Granted, my vote wouldn't have changed the outcome of anything because Rachel won by a landslide, but I think it's the principle of the thing that's getting Mercedes down. Maybe I should have stayed home and tried to fix things with her. But I just really needed to get away from her for a moment, before she started saying more things to hurt my feelings.
"You gonna push the buggy or you want me to?" Dad asks as soon as we walk through the automatic doors. He stops at the row of shopping carts lined up next to the door and points to one.
"I can push it," I shrug and grab the only one that isn't wet from being outside in the middle of this morning's Lima rainstorm. I lean against the top railing of the cart and follow Dad as he walks because I don't know which aisles he needs to actually go to.
"So what happened?" He asks, talking to me from over his shoulder as he stops and looks at the thousand types of toothpaste in the oral care aisle.
"What do you mean?" I put both my feet on the cart like it's a scooter and balance on it the way I used to do when I was seven. My other mom used to yell at me when I did that because she didn't think that I was acting "civilized." It's funny because when I'm with the Joneses — both Mr. and Mrs. — I want to do the things that I would have done as a kid. They make me feel like a baby again.
"After school today," he picks up two packages of Crest Plus Whitening toothpaste and a bottle of mouthwash. "I got 'Cedes side of the story, now I want yours."
"It basically happened exactly how Mercedes told you it happened," I sigh and follow him to the next aisle, still using the shopping cart as a scooter. "She's still getting over that cold and she had to practice her solo. She botched the last note and Mr. Schuester basically told us that we had to vote on who sung it better, Mercedes or Rachel. Whoever won got the solo."
"And you didn't vote for 'Cedes." He puts his hands in his pockets and looks around at the deodorant next. "If you need something just stick it in the buggy."
I pick up a stick of Dove deodorant, the cheapest one I can find, and toss it into the basket along with his deodorant and toothpaste and mouthwash. A few steps further up the aisle, he stops at the soaps and body washes. I can't tell if he's mad at me for not voting for Mercedes or if he's just stating that I didn't vote for her so he can make sense of it in his mind. I know back at the house, he told me that he thinks I did the right thing but maybe his mind has changed or something. I think I would be mad at me if I were him. I'd mad if the girl I'm letting stay in our house for free and basically taking care of didn't vote for my daughter. I'd be mad if she played a part in the reason my daughter got a solo snatched away from her.
I know Mr. and Mrs. Jones always say that they view me as their daughter and sometimes I really do believe them. Like when I casually mention to Mrs. Jones that my feet hurt because I've been dancing in heels during rehearsals and she takes it upon herself to rub my feet for me, she feels like my mom. And when Mr. Jones goes through my salad and picks out the tomatoes and goes through Mercedes's salad and picks out the carrots then serves them both to us, he feels like my dad. And on those days, it's easy to believe them when they say that I'm their daughter. But then there are days like this, where I did something to hurt Mercedes and I can't help knowing that they would choose her over me.
"I didn't vote for Rachel either, though." I step down off the cart carefully so that I don't fall, then stand right next to him as he looks at the prices of the things on the shelves. "I literally felt sick when I thought I had to choose between them. I thought that choosing neither of them would put me in the clear but now they both hate me," I look down at my feet and flex my toes inside of my boot. "I should've just voted for Mercedes." I mumble. "I'm so stupid."
"I'm not listening to you talk like that." He picks up at least six different scents of body washes and puts them all in the cart. "If you're gonna talk like that then I'm gonna hand you these keys and you're gonna go sit in the car. I'm not listening to it. You're not stupid. Don't let me hear you say that again."
"I know but Dad, I —" As soon as I call him dad, I stop myself and it's not because I feel weird about calling him dad, because I don't. I haven't felt weird about calling him and his wife "mom and dad" in a while because like I said, the titles just seem very fitting. I stopped myself because this woman stopped walking right in front of me and that alone was enough to take me out of the moment, but it really takes me out of the moment when she looks at us.
She stands right in front of me and looks at me, then she looks at my dad, then she looks at me again, then she acts like she was looking for Pantene shampoo the entire time when in reality, she was staring at us. Dad keeps walking, so I follow him but it's like he didn't even notice her staring at us. It's like he didn't even see her stop just to look at us. And I'm wondering if maybe he really didn't notice it, because he is just that good at playing it off.
Maybe she thought she recognized me from somewhere but didn't and then it was awkward.
Or maybe she thought she recognized dad from somewhere.
Maybe it was some other reason other than the fact that me calling him "dad" took her by surprise…
"I just meant that I should've gone with my gut is all." I decide to take a page from Dad's book and ignore the woman. I push the cart to the next aisle and slow it to a stop so he can toss two packages of women's razors into the cart. "My gut was telling me to vote for Mercedes but then I thought Rachel would be mad if I did and so I chickened out. I chickened out and wrote my name on the paper instead."
"Well 'scuse my French, but I think what that teacher did was fucked up," he puts one hand on the cart and pulls it along while I half-heartedly push it. "He don't have no business pitting you kids against each other like that. That ain't right. He said 'Cedes got the solo and so 'Cedes should have the solo. If she's messing up then make her practice extra or work her butt until she gets it right. Don't leave her fate in the hands of you kids. That's a lot of pressure for you kids and this whole thing is supposed to be fun. It ain't supposed to be about turning friends against each other."
"Well yeah, but that's just Mr. Shue," I shrug my shoulders even though I know he's right. It's Mr. Schue who's wrong in the situation. Mercedes and Rachel aren't wrong for being upset because it's not something that should have ever happened. My dad is right. He shouldn't have taken that solo away from Mercedes in the first place and furthermore, he shouldn't have expected us to vote on it. That was wrong. "He does things like that. He thinks it's healthy competition or something."
"There's nothing healthy about watching my daughter come home from school crying her eyes out like that." He reaches to the top shelf and grabs a case of 48 rolls of Charmin. "Nothing healthy about the way he forces you kids to turn against each other, nothing healthy about the way he takes away things that are earned, and nothing healthy about the way he elevated some kids higher than others." He puts the toilet paper in the cart and keeps on walking. "Didn't you say you told him about that Puckerman boy, too?"
"Yeah," I nod and toss makeup wipes into the cart too. "I don't know why, but I told him."
"Nothing healthy about the way he lets that punk still be around you, either." He puts two boxes of dog treats in the cart next, then heads over to the food aisles. "If he was any kind of teacher — any kind of man — he'd keep a rapist far away from his victim."
"Well, yeah, but there's no… like… proof or anything. I don't have any proof so it's not like he can kick Puck outta Glee club or really do anything to him, you know? I don't have any proof."
"Your word should be good enough." His voice is harsh, cutting straight to the point with no fillers in between. I kind of get the feeling that he doesn't like Mr. Schue…
And I guess… I guess if I think about it, I can understand why.
I used to think that Mr. Schue was one of the very few decent guys on the planet. I mean, he seems really chivalrous and he's liberal and he accepts everyone. He doesn't care that Kurt and Blaine are gay, he hasn't said a word to me and Rachel about it, he seems really protective over Santana. He goes out of his way to make sure Artie feels included… most of the time. He doesn't shame anyone, he always holds the door open for us, and he gives really good pep talks. He believes in us when nobody else does and really has our back around school. I used to think that he was a really solid guy.
But Dad's making some really solid points and it's hard to see the false illusion of who I thought Mr. Schue was crumble inside my head. It's like watching your favorite superhero take off the mask. It's like going to Disney World and running into your favorite character out of uniform. And you finally realize that they're human just like you. There's no magic there, nothing that separates them from me or you. Cinderella's castle is made of glass and it's able to be shattered. That's how it feels when I think about Mr. Schue now.
"You want any snacks while we're over here?" He asks and he seems to have calmed down quite a bit. "I got some ice cream for 'Cedes to snack on, but what do you want?"
"I'll eat ice cream too."
"I got Butter Pecan for 'Cedes. What kind you want?"
"They got Rocky Road?"
He grabs an entire carton of Rocky Road ice cream from the freezer and puts it into the cart before he heads to the checkouts, and that's when it dawns on me that we came here just for ice cream. Sure, we wandered the aisles and picked up little things here and there that we could use around the house. But when we came over to the food aisles, he went straight for the freezer and immediately grabbed Giant Eagle brand Butter Pecan ice cream and that is Mercedes' favorite. I was a little confused about why we came here at first. We have food in the pantry and all the stuff he grabbed and put into the cart were things that we could have gotten cheaper at the dollar store. But my dad is the kind of man who drives to a specific grocery store, in the most uppity, snobbish part of Lima, just to get his daughter her favorite ice cream at the end of a bad day, and he's the kind of man who buys little odds and ends to cover up the fact that he really just came here for his daughter's favorite ice cream.
Now I'm sure that Jared Jones is the only decent man on the planet.
"Dad?" I call him and ignore the various looks of confusion and shock I get from the older white women around us. I start putting our things up onto the conveyor belt so the cashier can check us out.
"Quinntessential." He mumbles back at me as he rummages through his wallet for his credit card, and he's acting like he doesn't notice the way people stare at us again. Maybe he truly doesn't notice.
"How did you and Mom meet?" I finish unloading the cart just as the cashier starts ringing things up. "You don't have to tell me if it's a long story, but I was just wondering."
"She came up this way for college." He slips his credit card from his wallet and waits for the cashier to be done ringing so he can pay with it. "She's from down south, you know. Her folks are from Georgia, but she came up this way for college."
"Mom went to college?" This is news to me. I always thought she never went. I didn't know she actually did… "What'd she study?"
"She was studying Social Science up in Bowling Green for a while. Made Dean's List every semester, got a bunch of scholarships, the whole nine. She wanted to be uh… you know… one of them people who go up in houses and take the kids away if it's unfit?"
"You mean like a social worker?"
"Yeah, that's it. That's it. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted to do it all, you know? Get the people who need it some help, make sure the kids are safe, make sure the people who need food stamps get food stamps and stuff."
"So why didn't she?"
"She got sick," he sighs and I think that this might be something that's hard for him to talk about. But I really don't want him to stop. I can listen to stories about them all day if he'd tell them to me… "Her junior year, she went in for a checkup and they found something. Treatments made her so sick she had to stop going to school. Then life got in the way. She's okay now. Been in remission since 'Kel was a baby. But by then, you know. It got a little hard for her to go back when we had babies. So eventually she just started staying home with them."
"You stuck by her… even when you found out she was sick…" My real parents don't even love each other that much…
"Of course I did," he grins at me. "You don't let a little bit of cancer come between you and a woman like that. No matter how young you are." He winks at me which makes me smile and for a second, I forget that we're here because I upset Mercedes and Rachel. For a minute, I forget about the way my life is. For a minute, it feels like I'm just a normal kid hanging out in a grocery store with my actual biological dad.
"Here, put these bags in the buggy while I pay," he steps aside to let me through so I can load the bags into the cart so we can push them outside to the car.
"It's 89.95," the cashier's gray curls fall to the middle of her face and she sweeps them away with wrinkly, old fingers. Dad sticks the American Express into the chip reader and before the cashier presses the button to confirm the payment, she looks up at him with the most skeptical look I've ever seen on anyone's face. "Do you have your ID on you?"
Dad opens his wallet up again and searches through it for his driver's license and I'm really confused. I've been to Giant Eagle at least a thousand times with my other mom and she's always paid with an American Express card. Yeah, it's pretty pricey to shop here and yeah this is where all the rich people in Lima tend to buy their groceries, so it's not really out of the ordinary for people to pay with a credit card. Every time we've paid with a credit card, we've never had to show our IDs. Is this something new that they're doing now?
Dad hands her his driver's license and she nudges her glasses up with her finger as if she's taking a real serious look at it instead of just a quick onceover.
"Everything okay, ma'am?" Dad seems super annoyed, but the tone of his voice is still very respectful.
"Uhhh…. huh…." she raises her eyebrow in a very accusatory way, which makes my stomach start to churn.
"Dad, what's going on?" I ask as I take a few steps toward him so that I'm right by his side. When I call him "dad", the cashier looks at him even more skeptically… and then it's suddenly very clear what's going on. "Everything's okay, right?"
"Take the bags to the car, kiddo," he hands me the keys. "I'll be out in a minute."
"I'm not leaving you," I shake my head. "What's wrong? She doesn't believe it's you? She thinks you stole a credit card?"
"Quinn, just go to the —"
"Why? Why, because he's black?" I look the cashier right in her eye and she instantly grows uncomfortable. The look on her face is more of a grimace and she looks a little embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed. Good. She should be. "He doesn't need to steal anything. He probably makes more money in one day than you make in an entire year, he's —"
"Dr. Jones?" A tall man wearing a red baseball hat with white letters that say something across the front that makes me want to punch him in his face pushes his cart up behind us. "Is everything okay?"
"You know this man?" The cashier asks him.
"He's my dentist. My wife and I have been going to him for years. Pulled all my kids' wisdom teeth, gave 'em all their braces," the baseball guy explains. "Is there a problem?"
"Not at all," the cashier the rolls her eyes and hands Dad his license back. "Have a great day."
"So that's it?" I wrinkle my eyebrows and address her directly. I'm SO angry right now it's not even healthy. I am literally fuming! So everything's okay as long as the white guy comes up and says that it is? "After you accused him of stealing, basically calling him a liar, that's it? You're just gonna let us go as soon as the white guy says —"
"Stop your mouth and let's go," Dad grabs me by my arm and literally drags me out of the store and into the parking lot.
I don't understand this. How is he so calm about it? How is he acting like he just got pulled over for a speeding ticket or told to go fix his broken taillight? How can he just act like his entire character wasn't insulted? How can he be so cool and collected and not angry?! How can he just leave like he was the one who did something wrong?
"We should go back and complain to the manager," I say as I stop through the parking lot and back to the car. "That was SO rude! That was horrible! She was the most racist person I've ever met in my entire life, did you see the way she looked at us?! At you?! I'm going back in there! I'm going back in there and telling her how stupid and ignorant and —"
"You're not going to do anything besides get in the car and shut your mouth," he slams the trunk closed after loading all our bags inside of it climbs into the driver's seat.
"I just don't understand how you expect me to let that go!" I climb into the car too and slam my door before starting to put my seatbelt on. "You didn't see it! You didn't see the way all those people looked at us! Every time I called you 'Dad', they looked at us weird and stuff! And you don't even care?! You're fine with it?! I just don't —"
"Of course I'm not fine with it, Quinn! But you need to stop it with the mouth and the attitude!" He yells at me so loud that I'm honestly a little bit scared to say anything else. The tone of his voice nearly made the windows wobble. "I don't know what your parents put up with before you came to us, but we're not them! Okay?! So you need to cool it. Now. Before I show you, real quick, how things are handled in the Jones household."
I press my lips together hard in a desperate attempt to keep my tears from falling, but one rolls down my cheek anyway. I can't help it. I don't like for the Joneses to yell at me…
"All this talking back, this not listening, this not following the rules, this telling my wife to 'shut up'? I'm sick of it. You need to take a minute and think long and hard about the stuff you need to do to get your act together or it's going to be a LONG road ahead of you with me and Patrice, I can promise you that. We're not gonna keep giving you free passes for the disrespectful, disobedient shit that you do. So you understand me? I know that you came from a totally different house but that's over now. It's over. And my daughters listen to me. They listen to me and they respect the house and respect their elders. I don't care how mad that lady in there made you, you don't go around talking to people like you lost your goddamn mind. I'm not raising a disrespectful little kid. If I say I'm handling it, I'm handling it. You stay in a child's place. Now what would happen if that woman called the police on you? Or had a gun? Or reached across that counter and put her hands on you?! Then we would've had some real problems! There's a time and a place to speak your peace and say what's on your mind but if I tell you to take your ass to the car then you take the keys, take your ass to the car and do what I say. I know that upset you. It upset me too. But you gotta be smarter than that. You can't lash out on every person that makes you upset, or every person that displays casual racism. You do that and you'll be lashing out on every person you meet because this ain't the last time you're gonna deal with some ignorant ass people in this world. No, it's not okay. Yes, it makes you angry. But you put your head up, you smile at them, and you walk away. Because you're a better person than that. And THAT is how I'm raising you. Do you understand me?"
I reach up and wipe the tears off my cheeks. I can't stop crying. I don't know at which point I'm going to stop feeling like they're going to realize I'm not worth all this trouble and pack my stuff up and send me back home, but I can't stop feeling this way. I just feel like I'm disrupting their entire lives. Nobody asked them to open up their hearts and their home and take in a messy, mentally distressed, mouthy, bitchy, depressed teenager. And no matter how hard I try to be good and keep my head down so they don't hate me and send me back home, I keep messing up… I just keep messing up and how many times am I going to get to mess up before they send me on my way? Because they don't need the stress I add to their lives…
"I said 'do you understand me'? I want an answer when I'm talking to you." He says.
"Yes sir." I whisper.
"Alright now," he clears his throat and finally pulls out of the parking lot. "Fix your face. Wipe them tears and stop that crying. It's gonna be alright. We're gonna get it together. Mmmkay?"
"Okay."
New iMessage
Thursday, November 21
6:16 p.m.
RACHEL: I love you too.
My phone finally buzzes with a reply from Rachel just as Dad pulls the car into the driveway. He turns it off and I'm about to get out of the car and grab some of the bags from the trunk when he reaches over and grabs onto my arm before I can pull the latch to open up the door.
We rode home in complete silence. I mostly just cried the whole time because… well I guess it's because my feelings are hurt that he yelled at me. I mean, I get it. Everything he said I needed to hear. He yelled at me the same way he would yell at Mercedes. And everything he said was right. I do need to start acting like I respect them and respect their rules and yeah, it is a little bit hard to do it when I came from a house that had no boundaries and no respect but I need to try. I need to do better and listen to them better and I was out of line in the store. I should have just gone to the car like he said. I deserved to be yelled at. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
He squeezes my arm gently to get my attention, and I let go of the door handle to let him know that he has it. Full and undivided.
"Look," he scratches his fingernails along the stubble on his chin that he shaved off just last week. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that. I know you aren't used to dealing with things like that and I know that was probably a first for you. I lost my cool. I blew up and I'm sorry."
What is with you people and apologizing? First your wife apologizes for not knocking on my door. Now you're apologizing for yelling? My real parents would never… in fact, I don't think they've ever told me that they're sorry for things that they do…
"But you can't go around yelling at people like that when you're angry, you hear what I'm saying? It sucks, but that's the way it is, kiddo. Of course I noticed people staring. They see a black man with a little white girl and they stare. That's just the way it is. It's life. It shouldn't be, but it is. And there isn't any sense in getting angry about it, because then you'll be angry for the rest of your life. The only thing you can do is make sure you're better than them. You hear me? You make sure you're better than them. You don't yell and scream and make a scene when they anger you because then that's danger. Danger for me and danger for you too. That lady had a gun? You and I both would be dead. That lady call the cops? I'd be arrested and possibly shot and you'd be in the morgue identifying my body. You gotta keep your head and be better than them, kid. You gotta."
"I'm sorry," I mumble and put my head down before more tears fall. "I didn't mean to make things harder… I don't mean to make anything harder. I just… do…"
"Ah, Quinn," he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in so I'm closer to him. "What did I tell you in the store? I don't like hearing you talk about yourself like that."
"But it's true…" I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. "I do make everything hard."
"You do not," he rubs my shoulder with the palm of his hand. "What's that all about? That about what I said? About you not listening and being disrespectful?"
"...I don't mean to make your life hard…"
"Yeah, well what teenager does? You kids don't come with an instruction manual. We just take it day by day and try to raise you kids right. You get mouthy every so often, you don't listen, you break curfew, you don't tell us where you're at, you don't answer the phone… it happens. You're a kid. Me and 'Trice knew that going into this. We could barely handle 'Cedes and her attitude and now we got two of you. We knew that before we took this on, though. We're prepared."
"...You're not gonna send me home?" My jaw trembles, but I look up and look him in the eye. "I'll try harder, I'll do better. But just don't send me home…"
"Don't send your where? Through those doors right there?" He points to the front door. "This is your home. The only place I'm sending you is upstairs to your room when I get fed up with you. I ain't sending you back across the train tracks. The only place you're going is up them steps and to your room. This is your home. For as long as you want it to be."
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart." He rubs my shoulder some more. "This didn't happen overnight, you know. I think you're thinking that it happened overnight and that's where you're getting all messed up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you've been our daughter since Mercedes brought you home the first time. It wasn't instant and it didn't happen overnight. We got to know you and got to know who you are as a person and we love you, kid. You aren't just some kid off the street that we take care of. You are our daughter. Our sweet, spunky, smart, beautiful little daughter. We got to know you that first time you came to stay with us, we got to learn you, we got to love you and now we can't imagine life without you. There's nothing you can do to make us throw you away. You're not trash. So you gotta stop with this fear of us sending you away every time you mess up. You're our daughter. We ain't giving up on you."
"...I love you, Dad," I twist my body and wrap my arms around him.
"I'm full of love for you too, Harley-Quinn," he presses his lips to the side of my forehead and pats my shoulder twice before letting me go. "Come on. Let's go see what your mama made for dinner, I'm starving."
iMessage
Thursday, November 21
6:23 p.m.
ME: so… does this mean you're not still mad at me?
New iMessage
Thursday, November 21
6:25 p.m.
RACHEL: I wasn't ever truly mad. Just shocked and upset. It is what it is though. It must have been crappy for you to have to choose. It did hurt that you didn't vote for me but whatever. I'm over it. Just needed a minute to calm down.
ME: okay good.
ME: it was really shitty to have to choose btw.
RACHEL: I know. Sorry you had to go through that.
RACHEL: I was talking to Finn.
RACHEL: Just wanted to let you know.
ME: about…?
RACHEL: Today. And how it made me sad that you didn't vote for me. I know you will probably be mad but I just wanted to tell you and be honest with you. He texted me and asked if I was okay. He told me that he thought I sang the song better than Mercedes. He told me I deserved the solo. He told me I was going to crush it. So then I called him and we started talking and he calmed me down.
ME: okay.
RACHEL: Okay?
ME: i mean yeah. he's your friend so whatever. lol.
RACHEL: I knew you were going to be weird about it…
ME: i'm not being weird. lol.
RACHEL: Lol…?
RACHEL: I could have kept it to myself and not told you but I didn't want to be sneaky.
ME: i get that and i appreciate that. i just don't trust that finn knows it's all friendly. i trust you. not him.
RACHEL: What does that mean?
ME: i mean it's obvious he still has feelings for you & you don't tell him otherwise. you lead him on and let him think he still has a chance.
RACHEL: So I'm not supposed to be Finn's friend because we once dated? Haha
ME: i'm not saying that. i'm just saying that you may be trying to be finn's friend but finn wants to be more than your friend. he still loves you, rachel. & it's so obvious that he wants to fuck you when he looks at you.
RACHEL: Well that's not gonna happen, soooooo.
ME: yeah i know that. but does he?
ME: unless you don't want him to know that…
RACHEL? What do you mean?
ME: idk. nvm.
RACHEL: I don't feel like this conversation is going anywhere. I'll text you later when we both have time to cool down and come back to this with a clear mind.
ME: whatever.
I would probably be more bothered by Rachel's blatant refusal to text me back if Mom and Dad didn't have a strict no phone policy at the dinner table. If I was able to actually pick up my phone and dwell on the fact that I think we're having a fight right now, I would make myself sick with worry over it. But it helps to know that I have to tuck my phone in my lap at the table and enjoy dinner without the distraction.
Mercedes hasn't even looked at me so I think it's safe to say that she's still mad. Dad said that she's going to get over it eventually but I wish she'd get over it now because I just can't stand having her be so mad at me.
Mom ladles spaghetti sauce onto the pile of noodles she put on my plate and fishes three meatballs from the pot to put on top. She serves Mercedes after she serves me, then finally sits down to enjoy her own meal. She always serves us before she serves herself. Dad makes his own plate, then Mom makes me and Mercedes' plate, then she sits down and eats herself. That's just the way it goes.
"Quinn, lemme see the sprinkle cheese," she holds her one hand out and mixes her spaghetti sauce and noodles together with the other. I pass the Parmesan to her after adding a mound of it to my plate. "So 'Kel's coming home for the holiday on Saturday. We gotta talk about what's gonna happen when he does."
"I'm fine with sleeping on the couch while he's here," I say through a mouthful of chewed up meat. "It won't bother me any."
"Why would you sleep on the couch?" Mom pauses as her fork is halfway to her mouth.
I swallow my meatball and lick my lips. "Well I took his room, so —"
"So he'll only be home for a few days, he can sleep on the couch. We're not gonna kick you out of your room." Mom shovels her first bite into her mouth and starts to talk while it's full. "He'll sleep on the couch."
"Nice," Mercedes mumbles. "So not only does he have to sleep on a hard twin mattress at school, but he can't come home and have a decent place to sleep either."
Was that a dig towards me…?
"You shut your mouth, Mercedes." Dad shoots her a look and takes a sip of his Mountain Dew. "That's enough of that. I'm tired of hearing it out of you."
I try to just keep my head down and eat my dinner, but I can feel Mercedes glaring at me and it's an uncomfortable feeling.
"When are you gonna get over it?" I ask her with my head still down. "Are you gonna be mad at me forever?"
"I'll be mad at you for as long as I need to be mad at you for!" She yells.
I slam my fork down. "Well you need to be mad at Mr. Schue, because I'm not the one who —"
"That's enough!" Mom puts her hands up. "Now look, I know what happened today was tough for the both of you. And it's okay if you're both still worked up. It's okay to fight. You two are sisters, that's what you do. But —"
"She's not my sister," Mercedes shakes her head at me. "I don't know what she is."
"Mercedes…" I feel myself about to cry but I choke it back. "I said I was sorry!"
"You should've been sorry when you weren't voting for me!"
"It wouldn't have changed anything!"
"I said that's enough screaming!" Mom yells louder than both of us and we shut up. "Now Mercedes, listen to me. I know what happened today sucked. I know, baby. I know. And I'm sorry. But you ain't gonna be mad at Quinn for what she did because that was not her fault. You can't expect her to choose between you and Rachel because that aint fair. That ain't fair at all and you know if it was between Sam and Quinn, you —"
"I would pick Quinn because she's supposed to be my sister. I would pick Quinn because when Sam is gone, she'll still be there. And I thought she felt the same…"
See, I knew I should have just picked Mercedes… I was going to… why didn't I…?
"It's easy for you to say what you would have done in the situation but you and I both know it would have been a hard decision to make, Mercedes." Dad steps in. "And you know that."
"Can you guys literally stop making her the favorite?! Please?!" If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she's about to cry again. Her voice cracks when she says that… "She gets away with MURDER in this house! Just because she's not biologically your kid doesn't mean she needs more love than me! Treat us equally! God!"
Maybe I should just go…
I push my chair out from the table and head for the steps before the tears ravage my face. Mom starts to get out of her chair to chase me, but Dad grabs her arm and stops her because he knows that I probably just need a minute alone to process everything and cry. As I'm taking the steps two at a time, I hear them yelling at Mercedes for saying something so hurtful to me, but the fact of the matter is that I'm not even mad at her.
I shut my door behind myself as the sobs take over my body and I'm not mad at Mercedes. I'm not. Because it must be a really tough thing to lay witness to your parents favoring someone who isn't even their child.
And I know I'm not thinking clearly, I know I'm not. But maybe I should just go some place where I belong. I don't belong here. I was stared at in the grocery store today because I don't belong with this family. I almost got me and Mr. Jones into a heap of trouble because I don't fit in. I can call them "mom and dad" all I want, but it doesn't change the fact that they're not my mom and dad. They're not my parents. And I don't belong here.
I should just go to a place where I belong. Even if it's horrible, at least I never have to worry and wonder about where I fit in. At least I know that I belong where I am.
So I unlock my phone and scroll through my contacts until I reach the number labeled as "home."
I tap on it and it rings a while. It rings maybe five or six times before I hear rustling on the other end and an eventual voice.
It's deep, throaty and gruff. Like he swallowed a bunch of gravel and has to talk through it every time he speaks. The sound of his voice makes me freeze. I haven't heard it in such a long time that I almost forgot what it sounded like. But with just one word and one utterance of a "hello?" I'm quickly reminded exactly what it sounds like. And I'm quickly reminded just how much I used to (and still do) fear that voice.
"Hello?" His strong voice calls into the voice.
I hesitate for a moment but know that if I don't say something soon, he will hang up. So I say the first thing that comes to my mind, and I say it in a tone so soft that he could miss it if he's not listening hard enough.
"...Hi, daddy…"
"Francesca?" His voice raises a slight pitch, and he sounds… happy? Yes, happy. "Frannie, is that you?"
"N-no," I shake my head as if he can see me through the phone or something. "It's me, it's… it's Quinn."
And I really don't know what I am expecting next. I don't know if I'm expecting him to hand the phone to my mom or if I'm expecting to hear him yell for her to pick it up instead. I don't know if I'm expecting him to talk to me or if I'm expecting him to ask me what I want and then I can tell him that I want to come home. I don't know what I'm expecting to get out of this conversation, I really don't.
But I know that I wasn't expecting to hear a dial tone blaring in my ear after telling him that it's not Frannie and that it's me…
I slowly pull the phone away from my ear so I can look at it and make sure I am hearing correctly. Sure enough, my phone says "call ended."
He hung up… he hung up on me… he hung up…
It's like something takes over me and I can't really explain it. It's not like how I feel whenever I leave my body and watch everything happen. No, it's much more scary than that. It's much more… out of my control.
I don't realize what I'm doing until after I've already done it.
Like I don't realize that my arms swipe everything off my dresser until everything — my perfume, deodorant, nail polish, tampons, books — is in a messy pile on the floor. And I don't realize that my hands are ripping my pictures off the walls until there's glass all over the floor. I don't realize my hands are ripping the blankets off my bed until my mattress is bare and I don't realize how hard I'm crying until I hear a noise so guttural and animalistic come out of me.
They really don't love me anymore. They actually don't love me. He hung up on me. He wouldn't even speak to me. I knew they didn't love me anymore but it's real now. It's real! My parents do not love me anymore. How am I supposed to deal with that? They don't love me…
I stand by my door and look at the carnage that is my room. My lamp cluttered all over the floor with the light bulb busted. Glass everywhere. Blankets strewn across the room. Cut on the back of my left hand from the glass. Droplets of blood on the carpet.
The door to my room squeaks open and I knew that someone would come in here and see what I've done because I was making so much noise.
But I didn't think that someone was going to be Mercedes…
"Quinn…" she takes one step toward me and tries to give me a hug the same way she always does whenever she knows I need to be calmed down. "Quinn, what happened?"
"Don't touch me." I speak through clenched teeth.
"Quinn, I —" she touches my arm and I snatch away and swat at her so hard that I make contact with her chest and I hit her pretty hard.
"I SAID DON'T!" I scream so loud that my throat hurts, and she steps back.
"...Mom…? Dad…?" She calls over her shoulder.
"...He hung up…" I whisper so low that only I can hear it which is fine, because I only said it for myself anyway.
I hear footsteps clattering up the steps and it's not long before her parents are in my doorway now too.
"Quinn," Mrs. Jones — no, I mean MY MOM — talks like she's negotiating with someone who just took people hostage. "Baby, what happened?"
"He hung up on me…" I stand there and start shaking like I'm having a seizure again.
"Who hung up on you?" My dad steps into the room and starts cleaning up the glass with his bare hands.
"Who hung up on you, sugar? Who?" Mom puts her hand on my shoulder and when she does, that's when Mercedes realizes that she's in the clear and proceeds to put her hand on my other shoulder. "Who hung up?"
"My dad…" I take a deep breath to steady myself but it doesn't work. I'm still a shaking mess. "I called home… he answered… I told him it was me… and he hung up…" I look Mom in her eye. "Why'd he hang up?"
"That's it," Mom shakes her head and if anger had a physical form, it would be her right now. "I swear to god Jared, that's it. That's fuckin' it. I'm done with it."
"Come on, 'Trice," Dad throws the glass into the plastic bag behind my door. "You don't know if —"
"Nah, that's bullshit," she keeps shaking her head. "It's bullshit and I'm done with it." She looks me dead in my eyes and makes me look at her. "You are not allowed to call those people anymore, do you understand me? You are not to have any contact whatsoever with them. If they contact you, you bring the phone to me and I will tell them where to stick it. Do you understand me, Quinn? Do you understand me? That's it. No more. At some point during the Thanksgiving break, we will go over to that house and get the rest of your things, and that's it. If I find out you tried to call them or text them anymore after today, I will ground you for a month. Do you understand me?"
"I understand…" I sniff. Mercedes keeps her hand on my shoulder so I turn to her next. "...I'm sorry I didn't vote for you. I'm sorry I… I just… I don't know, I just didn't know what to do and I —"
"It's okay, Quinn," she sighs. "We're sisters. It's our job to fight."
A/N: Like I said, I hope I approached this subject matter in a respectful and tactful way. Please don't worry that this is going to turn into a political story because it won't. It's not very likely that I will address the issues in this chapter again because these types of social issues are not the main focus of my story. I just felt like I needed to include a chapter like this somewhere because it would be foolish and ignorant of me to act like racism and race issues don't exist in a story where Quinn is being taken in by a black family. While I don't want to make the race of the Joneses an integral part of the story, it is very important to at least touch on it because I would never want to partake in the erasure of their race. They are black and that deserves to be highlighted and celebrated.
I hope I didn't come across as preachy, and I hope this was done in a way that still makes people comfortable enough to read, but uncomfortable enough to start a conversation.