Chapter Twenty-Two
"You look beautiful."
Rachel chuckles in Quinn's ear, and the sound settles every part of the blonde's tense body. She's been on edge all evening, and she almost laughs at the fact that all it takes is a single phone call to her gorgeous, stunning girlfriend… who is not physically here to make her feel better.
"I look like a marshmallow," Rachel mutters, and Quinn just manages to hear her over the noise in the background on Rachel's end.
"A beautiful marshmallow."
Rachel's laugh is louder, and Quinn has the sudden urge to crawl through the phone and straight into the brunette's arms. "You can't see me, but I'm rolling my eyes."
"I can only imagine," Quinn quips, absently glancing over her shoulder to make sure she's still alone. She's just managed to escape the ballroom to make the call she's been wanting to make since Rachel sent her a picture of her all snuggled up and freezing in Times Square.
"I miss you," Rachel eventually says, sighing.
"I miss you, too," Quinn automatically returns.
"I wish you were here."
Quinn smiles to herself. "It's one of my Resolutions, you know," she says. "You and I, we're definitely going to spend more time together."
"Kissing?" she asks teasingly, hopeful.
"Talking."
"Lame," Rachel mumbles, the pout clear in her voice. "But, I suppose I'll be able to make do. Will I get to look at you? You're really very pretty."
"You know, sometimes, I think you're with me just for my looks," she jokes.
"Oh, no," Rachel immediately says; "I'm with you for your sunny disposition."
They both giggle at the sound of that, and then taper off to silence, just the fact the other girl is on the other end of the line more than enough for either of them.
Rachel eventually clears her throat. "So… do I get to see Quinn Fabray in all her decked out glory?" she asks. "What colour is your dress?"
"It's red," Quinn answers, absently looking down at herself. Her mother had the dress waiting for her when she arrived in Hartford, and the tailor came around to make all the necessary alterations.
It's actually a nice dress, and she does feel quite pretty.
It's just that it all makes her feel quite sick.
Like, she's five seconds away from throwing up, and there's no getting around that.
Quinn hasn't truly had to pretend in such a long time, and it's taking so much out of her. It's so exhausting, and she just can't fathom how she ever expected herself to be able to get through a lifetime of this.
Why would anyone choose this?
"Quinn?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?"
Quinn sighs. "Did I even tell you about the boy with whom my parents have been trying to set me up?" she asks.
Rachel waits a beat. "No, you didn't." Then, once again, she asks, "Are you okay?"
"My mother claims it'll be a good political connection for my father," Quinn explains, ignoring the question. "He comes from a respectable family, and he'll probably, definitely, be going to Yale to study Law. He's also halfway decent to look at, so we'll probably have cute children, which is important, apparently."
Rachel remains silent, realising that Quinn needs to say whatever she needs to.
"He's been hovering a lot," Quinn continues. "It's annoying, and I really want to slap him, but that would be improper of a young lady. He's clearly bought into this… arrangement, and I'm convinced he's going to pounce on me at midnight. I resisted his charms over the summer, and I suspect his own family is putting pressure on him to… seal the deal, as it were."
Rachel waits a painstakingly long time to ask the question. "Baby, are you asking for my permission to let him?"
Quinn closes her eyes, hating this more and more. "I - I don't know," she quietly confesses. "I just - I don't know how I'm supposed to get out of it without making a scene, and I don't even want to think about what my father will do if I - " she stops abruptly. "I don't want to," she says. "But, if he tries to kiss me, I don't know how - " she stops again. "God, this is so fucked up."
Rachel is inclined to agree. "I hate this," she says. "I don't think I've hated something as much as I hate this, right now." Her voice is rising in anger, and Quinn wants to say something, anything, to calm her. "Your parents are essentially pimping you out, Quinn," she practically shrieks. "If you kiss him, you're just giving into them and, if you don't, you'll face embarrassment, and pain." She sucks in a breath, and it sounds as if she's starting to hyperventilate.
"Rachel," Quinn says. "Rachel, baby, just breathe."
There's a bit of shuffling, and then there's another voice on the line. "Quinn?"
"Shelby?"
"Hello, Quinn," the woman says. "Sorry about that. Rachel's just - well, I'm not entirely sure what she's doing at the moment."
"Is it a flashback?" Quinn asks, slightly hesitant.
Shelby is silent for a moment. "I don't know," she says. "But, it looks like it's over now. Her breathing has evened out, and her eyes are clearer. Would you like to speak with her?"
"Please."
More shuffling.
Then, a small voice: "Quinn?"
"Hi, baby," Quinn murmurs. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologising?"
"I didn't mean to stress you out," she says. "Tonight is supposed to be a good night for you, and I'm ruining it with all my stupid drama. I'm going to figure it out, okay? I'm not going to kiss him." She pauses. "Maybe I can just kiss his cheek, and that'll be fine. Or, you know, I can just hide in the bathroom when midnight rolls around. I can deal with whatever happens after that. The very last thing I want to do is cheat on you, and I'm sorry this is even a thing."
"I love you," Rachel says. "I love you in all those dangerous ways, Quinn."
Quinn waits, silent and apprehensive.
"So, this is my giving you the permission you need to do whatever you have to do to cause you the least pain, okay?"
Quinn's breath catches.
"Promise me," Rachel insists. "I want to hear you say that you will do everything required to make sure nobody hurts a single hair on your beautiful, wonderful head, okay?"
Quinn remains silent.
"Say it."
Quinn takes a moment, not wanting to do this but realising she's going to have to. "I promise."
"There better not be a single mark on you when I see you, Quinn," she says. "Nobody is allowed to hurt my girlfriend. Not even you. Understand?"
"I do."
Rachel lets out a long breath. "I love you," she says. "Nothing that's happened or has to happen changes how I feel about you, or about us." She lets out a small laugh. "God, we've been through so much shit; I can barely wrap my head around it." Then: "Sorry, Mom."
Quinn giggles softly.
"She's such a dinosaur, sometimes," Rachel complains. "I barely swear. She's lucky she has a kid as well-behaved as I am."
"She doesn't know about your wondering hands," Quinn points out.
"And, she never will," Rachel immediately says. "Goodness, Quinn, we don't want to scar the poor woman. She'll never look at either of us the same."
"You say these things as if we've done more than heavily make out," Quinn murmurs.
"I know what your tonsils taste like."
Quinn laughs out loud, absently covering her eyes with her free hand in mild dismay. "Is your mother still listening?"
"To every single word."
Quinn shakes her head. "I really do love you, you know?"
"I know," she says brightly.
"Thank you," Quinn says softly, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
"For what?"
"You know what."
Rachel gives them both a moment. "You're welcome, Quinn."
Quinn is about to reply when she hears footsteps coming her way. She panics for a moment, takes a breath, and then calmly says, "I should head back."
Rachel hums in acknowledgment. "I should too," she says. "My mom keeps shooting me looks. I think she's feeling left out."
Quinn just laughs. "Are you drunk?"
"No."
"She's tipsy, Quinn," Shelby shouts in the background, and Quinn can't stop her smile. "I had nothing to do with it."
"It's not true, Quinn," Rachel weakly defends, the pout clear to hear in her voice. "I'm perfectly sober."
Quinn can't even bring herself to imagine her life without Rachel, and she hopes she never has to. "I really should go," she says. "Happy New Year to you both, and I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
"You'll talk to me next year, you mean," Rachel says, giggling softly.
"Exactly."
"I love you."
"I - "
"There you are!"
Quinn startles at the voice so hard that she almost drops her phone. She spins around, expecting one of her parents or even Biff, but she finds Tori instead.
For a moment, she's relieved… and then not.
Frowning slightly, Quinn presses the phone back to her ear and says, "I have to go. Have a good night, and stay safe." She hangs up without waiting for a reply, and then turns back to give Tori her almost-full attention.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Tori says, stepping closer to Quinn in a way that Quinn is no longer used to. It's been a little more than five months since they've even stood this close together.
Since Tori's engagement party.
Quinn arches an eyebrow, resisting the urge to take a step back. "Why?"
"You were gone."
"I didn't think you noticed," Quinn observes; "what with you hanging off of Tom all night."
Tori laughs when nothing is funny, at all. "Is that jealousy I hear?"
This time, Quinn laughs, and she does take an inconspicuous step back. "I can assure you that I'm not jealous," she says. "If you recall correctly, I've never been jealous."
Tori pouts. "We both know that's not true."
It's obvious to Quinn that Tori's… drunk, and Quinn really doesn't want to be having this conversation right now.
Or, ever, really.
Quinn has made peace with Tori's decisions, but it doesn't seem as if Tori has. Which, admittedly, isn't Quinn's problem.
Because, honestly, Quinn has enough problems of her own that require her attention.
"Why were you looking for me anyway?" Quinn asks, against her better judgment.
At the sound of that, Tori regains the space Quinn put between them and reaches out with a hand to touch Quinn's hip. "We have a bit of time before midnight," she says suggestively.
Quinn removes Tori's hand as gently as she can, the image of Rachel blazing in her mind's eye. God, what she would do to be with Rachel right now. She misses her something fierce.
"What's wrong?" Tori asks, frowning. "Nobody will see us."
Quinn shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure we ended this in June, Tori," she says. "You have a fiancé."
"You've never cared about Tom before," Tori points out.
Quinn shrugs. "I'm just not interested, then," she says; "and I really don't want to get caught."
Tori eyes her carefully, trying to figure something out.
Quinn isn't particularly worried, because the woman can barely keep herself upright. Though, the more she stares, the more nervous Quinn feels. The two of them haven't really spoken since Tori's engagement party.
That was a night Quinn wants to forget, for reasons she's never allowed herself to unpack. She's not kidding when she says she's never been jealous of Tom.
Well, not in the sense Tori thinks, at least. Quinn would have done anything to be in a public, happy relationship with the person she wanted to be with. It's exhausting having to hide your feelings - her situation with Rachel is a clear example of that. She caved far too easily, if you ask her.
It's a sobering thought when Quinn comes to the conclusion it was never actually about Tori. She's never felt anything that she feels for Rachel for the woman standing in front of her because, while, yes, her relationship with Rachel is mostly a secret; it doesn't feel… dirty, like the way it did with Tori.
Maybe it shows on her face, Quinn doesn't know, but Tori's own facial expression changes into something Quinn doesn't recognise. It's curiosity first, and then something that resembles anger.
It surprises Quinn.
"Oh, I see," Tori suddenly says, straightening her spine. "You've never cared about my relationship, but we're both going to care about yours."
Quinn remains silent.
"Who is it, then?" she asks. "I hope you're not attempting to hold out because of that McIntosh idiot?"
Still, Quinn says nothing.
"Oh," Tori muses. "You wouldn't care if it were him. This is someone you actually care about enough not to fall back on your newly-found morals." She regards Quinn carefully. "Who is it?"
For the briefest moment, Quinn allows her features to soften at just the thought of Rachel, and Tori catches onto it immediately.
"Well, well, well," Tori says. "Who is she?"
And the fact that she uses that pronoun is enough to set Quinn's teeth on edge. She's not worried that Tori would expose her because, God, she would be exposing herself as well, but the mere idea of Tori knowing about Rachel just doesn't sit well with Quinn.
"She has to be somebody special," Tori continues, essentially having a conversation with herself. "There's no way you would react this way if she wasn't. So, who is she?" A pause. "I bet it's that Rachel girl you talked about over the summer. Is it, Quinn?"
This time, Quinn definitely doesn't react, which is telling, in itself.
Tori laughs, and it's this hollow, empty sound. "You don't honestly think you'll actually get to be with her, do you?" She pauses again, reading Quinn's silence for what it is. "Quinn? Tell me you're not actually thinking what I think you're thinking of doing."
Quinn, resolutely, stays silent.
Tori's eyes widen, and she's suddenly much less drunk than she was five minutes ago. "Quinn, no," she says, turning her body to face Quinn fully. "You can't. They'll never let you." She runs her hand through her hair. "God, Quinn, are you crazy or are you just stupid? I mean, have you finally lost it or something? Your - your father intends to run for president, Quinn. If you think he's just going to let you go; then you're certifiably insane."
Quinn shifts her gaze to glare at Tori. "What do you even care?" she questions, entirely too calm, even though her voice is laced with venom. "I'm not your problem anymore, right? It's not your job to give a shit about me, so you can just stop pretending."
Tori recoils slightly, surprised by Quinn's tone of voice. She's obviously angry, and there's a deep hurt lacing her words. "Quinn?"
"What?" Quinn snaps. "What are you even doing out here? You - you haven't spoken to me once since the summer, and now you have the nerve to come and, what, proposition me for sex?" She scoffs. "And you have the nerve to call me crazy."
"Quinn?"
"It's not your problem," she says resolutely. "What happens to me; let it happen to me, because I'm not going to roll over and just accept the life they have planned for me the way you have."
She looks positively disgusted with Tori, because she is. For whatever reason, Quinn imagined that Tori was braver than this, but she's wrong. She's been wrong before.
"You can't," Tori whispers, because she knows what's going to happen. They both do.
"I have to," Quinn says. "There's no other way for me. I'm not you, I can't just… give in, I'm not built that way, and I would much rather die than force myself to be who they want me to be," she says, and she means every word.
"It may be the only way you ever get out, Quinn," Tori says sombrely.
Quinn doesn't have a response.
It's a truth they've both always known.
At a few minutes before midnight, Rachel takes a selfie of herself, Shelby and the Ball as it waits to drop in Times Square, and immediately sends it to Quinn. She feels particularly uneasy after the conversation she had with the blonde, but she's trying not to think about that too hard.
She misses her like crazy, and the alcohol in her system has worn off enough to make her feel both the cold and the melancholy. Shelby's arm is hooked with hers as they keep each other warm in the near-freezing temperatures.
"That's going to be me one day," Rachel says, mostly to herself as she watches the various musical celebrities perform for the masses.
Shelby hears her, and hums in agreement.
Rachel, admittedly, is finding everything about this visit with Shelby to be… weird. Her mother seems almost nervous about something, as if she's building up towards telling her something very particular, and Rachel can't help but feel anxious about it.
Also, as if she's trying to compensate for whatever truth she's holding onto, Shelby has been extremely present. Before Rachel first made the permanent move to Wallingford, the two of them were quite close, and it's almost as if Shelby is determined to get that back before it's too late. As if she's just now figured out that she's losing Rachel, and she's desperate to hold on.
Rachel is determined to let her.
After everything she's been through, and after everything she's seen of Quinn's own relationship with her parents; she doesn't want what she has with her mother to… fall apart. It's a relief to know Shelby doesn't want that either.
Though, Rachel is still wary of whatever Shelby is actively not telling her. She gets the feeling it has the power to make or break them.
"It's almost time," Shelby suddenly says, turning them slightly to face the Ball. "I always wonder why we bother coming out here, right until this moment."
Rachel lets out a laugh, because she wonders the same thing. Doing the clichéd New York thing always seems like a good idea until they're surrounded by thousands of people and then find that they're going to have to hold in their pee, or risk losing their spot.
But then there's the Ball, and it all seems worth it.
Even though she is freezing.
Rachel startles when Shelby suddenly shifts, reaching into her own coat pocket for her phone. It's nothing different or out of place, but the action itself seems out of character in this moment. While Shelby does have a social life, it tends not to exist when Rachel is around, and the teenager can't help the sudden rush of anxiety she feels.
Oh, she's definitely not going to like whatever Shelby is working up to telling her.
If ever Rachel needed a reason not to push for answers, it's this. When Shelby looks down at her phone, visibly flushes at whatever she reads, and then immediately looks guilty; Rachel starts to wonder if keeping secrets is something she inherited.
She, herself, has so many, and she's keeping various others for other people.
Based on Shelby's reaction, Rachel can only wonder what it is, but she doesn't have much time to dwell, because, all of a sudden, the countdown is starting and thousands of people are screaming in her ear.
Shelby films the entire thing, finally stopping on Rachel, who screams "Happy New Year!" into the camera.
Shelby grins at her, and then moves into frame with Rachel, kissing her cheek. "Are we sending this to Quinn?" she asks.
"Definitely!" she squeals, before immediately relaying her all important message. "Quinn, I love you, and I can't wait to see you. We're in the new year, baby, and we're one step closer."
Shelby waits until she's ended the video to ask the question. "One step closer to what?"
Rachel blinks, and then beams at her. "Freedom," she says. "I can't wait until she gets to be free."
Shelby knows there are things she doesn't know about Rachel and her relationship with Quinn, and she wonders if her daughter will ever actually tell her. She worries, endlessly, that their own relationship is too broken to fix.
How did they even get to a point where Rachel can't even admit that she missed her mother?
Shelby won't even allow herself to think that, maybe, Rachel didn't.
Rachel watches her mother's face closely, noting the conflict behind her eyes. She absently wonders if she's also as much of an open book. She really hopes not, because she doesn't want to be the one who gives away her relationship with Quinn.
Quinn would hate her, and she's pretty sure she would hate herself.
It's what she's thinking about as she and Shelby eventually start on their way home. The crowds are rowdy and loud, but the two of them have made the mutual decision to see out the night in the comfort of their pyjamas and warm living room as they watch Christmas movies.
Rachel adores Christmas movies, and she loves that her mother appreciates them as well. So does Quinn, really, and they've watched a few together, even over Skype.
When they get back to the loft, Shelby heads to the kitchen to get the hot chocolate started, while Rachel goes to change into her pyjamas and get warm. She throws on a Winnie the Pooh onesie, and then goes back out to find them a movie.
Even though they don't spend a lot of time together, they always manage to fall into a simple rhythm. It doesn't take them long to get into sync. They're like the best of friends, who don't have to spend every second of every day in each other's company, and still just manage to fall together when they are in the same place.
Sometimes, it doesn't really feel as if they're mother and daughter. Rachel has parents, and she's come to accept that she doesn't exactly see Shelby as one of them anymore.
She can't tell if she's sad about it or not.
Their relationship has changed, which is expected, but it still feels unnecessarily drastic. The thing is that Rachel was forced to grow up far too soon, and she can't recall really being a kid past her parents' divorce. She definitely acted out like one, but there's a part of her that knows she's had a hand in raising herself from the moment Shelby and Hiram decided to go to war against each other and used her as an excuse.
"Found anything?" Shelby asks, breaking into Rachel's thoughts.
"Not yet," she says, slightly distracted.
"Pick a good one," Shelby says, and then disappears into her own bedroom to get changed.
By the time she gets back, Rachel has found the perfect film, and she's just settling into the couch with a blanket and her hot chocolate. She points to Shelby's cup on the coffee table. "I added marshmallows."
"Just the way I like it."
"I know."
It's comfortable, and also not.
They settle in side-by-side, quietly sipping at their drinks as the movie plays in front of them. Rachel isn't really watching, because she's thinking about Quinn, and she's thinking about what her mother is actively not telling her.
The thing is that Rachel is almost certain she knows.
So, once she's finished her hot chocolate, she sets her empty cup on the coffee table, reduces the volume on the television and turns to look at Shelby expectantly.
"Mom?" Rachel says.
"Sweetheart?"
She sucks in a breath, and then just goes for it. "Who is he?" she asks and, okay, she may or may not get some sick sense of satisfaction in seeing her mother's eyes almost bulge out of her head.
"What?"
Rachel smiles knowingly. "I know you, Mom, and there's obviously something you want to tell me. Also, based on the way you were blushing at your phone earlier, I think I'm smart enough to figure out that there's somebody new in your life."
Shelby can't meet her gaze, which is confirmation enough.
Rachel laughs softly. "Well?"
All Shelby does is nod, and Rachel notices the way she nervously bites her bottom lip, clearly contemplating what to say. Her reaction makes Rachel particularly anxious, and she can't help wondering just what her mother is hiding from her.
Who is he?
Rachel tenses slightly. "Do I know him?" she asks. "Oh, God, are you dating Franco? Because, I'm pretty sure we already talked about - "
"It's not Franco," Shelby says, shaking her head, and then sighing in defeat. There's no avoiding this, she reasons, and she's going to have to tell Rachel eventually. He's been bugging her about it for a few days now, and there's no escaping this conversation.
"Mom," Rachel presses, suddenly wary.
Shelby takes a deep breath, and then says, "His - his name is Brody."
Rachel frowns, the name niggling with familiarity at the back of her mind. She's pretty sure she's heard the name before, but she doesn't immediately recall where.
But, then it hits her.
Brody.
She knows of only one Brody, and he's the NYADA student she and Shelby met when they visited the school's campus together over the summer.
No.
There's no way.
She has to be referring to a different Brody.
"Brody," Rachel echoes. "Brody who?"
But, before Shelby can respond, Rachel's phone is ringing, and she freezes at the sight of Quinn's name on her screen as it innocently sits on the coffee table.
Just from the sight of it, Rachel knows something is wrong.
Rachel holds out a hand to stop her mother from speaking, reaches for her phone and continues to stare at it. It takes her a moment to work up the courage to slide her thumb across the glass, and then brings it up to her ear.
"Hello."
"Rachel?"
She doesn't recognise the voice, but it's definitely a woman's, which does nothing to ease her anxiety. "Speaking."
"Hold on, let me give Quinn the phone."
There's a bit of shuffling, and then there's a sound that Rachel wishes she didn't already know. Her heart practically shatters at the first sound of Quinn's sobs, and her features harden.
"Quinn," she whispers.
And then the voice.
The voice that has the power to break her.
"I'm sorry."
Rachel sucks in a sharp breath. "Quinn?"
"I couldn't keep my promise."
Quinn first started piano lessons when she was four years old. Mary once told her that Frannie was particularly talented with the instrument, and Quinn took it upon herself to get better and better. She stupidly thought that, if she could get good enough, maybe her parents would love her.
It's actually something she still enjoys. Besides playing soccer and cycling, playing the piano is one of those activities she's managed to hold onto throughout the years.
It's always been a given that she would continue to take lessons wherever she ended up for school, and she's been lucky to be taught by Dr Baron, who has managed to take her playing to greater heights.
Which is why the baby grand piano in the house in Hartford is probably going to be the number one thing she's going to miss when she finally leaves. It's a fine piece of art, really, and she's always admired it. The workmanship, and the detail. She wishes she could take it with her.
When she was little, she used to spend hours tracing the carvings in the wood with her small fingers, already knowing her touch was far superior to her sight.
The piano has always been her comfort.
Which is why she finds herself sitting on said piano's bench, her fingers resting on the keys. She knows many, many songs, but she doesn't actually feel like playing any of them at the moment.
She rather just wants to sit here and pretend that she's not actually wearing a turtle neck to hide the handprints on her throat, because she managed to embarrass her father by not letting Biff McIntosh kiss her at midnight the way she was supposed to, apparently.
Quinn should be good at pretending, but she's really not.
As an only child, she was forced to keep herself occupied, and she did make up entire worlds for herself, but she feels too tired and old for any of that.
This is her reality.
If ever she needed reaffirming that she has to do everything she can to get out, then this is it.
She'll die if she stays.
Tori's convinced she'll die if she goes.
Either way, she's screwed, but there's a little bit more excitement in planning for her escape. Doomed if she does and doomed if she doesn't, and all that.
With a sigh, Quinn starts to play. It's a piece she learned sophomore year, right after she and Sam broke up. It's typically a sad aria, but it's got moments of… hope.
She's always been particularly fascinated by the way composers can showcase emotion in music, and she envies their ability to translate feeling with just a few bars and notes.
The piece is relatively short, and she brings it to a quiet end a few minutes later, her right foot resting on the pedal as the last note lingers.
"I always forget just how good you are."
Despite herself, Quinn tenses at the voice, and then turns her head slightly to see her mother standing in the doorway to the house's library. She doesn't say anything. She hasn't ever been able just to talk to the woman, and it's unlikely to happen now.
Judy Fabray looks pensive as she makes her way into the room. "How's your head?" she asks.
Quinn almost forgot about the ache in her skull. Because, besides choking her, Russell Fabray also shoved her against a wall, and she has a nasty bump on the back of her head from the impact… which also comes with a pretty nasty migraine.
"Fine," Quinn says, which they both know is a lie.
Quinn doesn't hate her mother.
In fact, she's quite certain she loves her, but she doesn't particularly like her. How can Judy stand there and ask her daughter about the injuries that her husband caused? All because Quinn refused to be used in some political game. It's not right, and Quinn really wishes her mother were stronger.
Russell would bend, if ever Judy made demands, because he needs to maintain his image of family if ever he wants to make it to the White House. They'll never elect a single man, and he'll do just about anything to hold onto this.
Quinn knows it.
She knows it, which is the truth she's going to use finally to get out of this Hell she was born into.
"Did Martha give you some painkillers?"
"I have my own," Quinn says curtly. "I've been in pain for long enough to have a personal supply."
Judy, predictably, doesn't know how to respond to that.
Quinn clears her throat, choosing to use the opportunity to broach a topic that might be slightly out of the blue. "Mom," she starts. "I want to get my Driver's License."
Judy's eyes widen. "Oh?"
Quinn shifts slightly, ignoring the pain in her shoulder blades. "If I'm going to be at Yale in the Fall, I think it would be nice to be able to get myself around. I don't want to have to rely on other people."
If Judy can tell what Quinn is really saying, she doesn't mention it. "That's probably a good idea," she says instead. "I'll take all your necessary documents out of the safe for you."
Quinn just stares at her.
"Don't tell your father."
That's a given.
"Is there anything else you need?"
Rachel can acknowledge she's acting childish.
She knows she's being a bit of a brat, but the last thing she wants to do is deal with her mother and her twenty-year-old boyfriend when Quinn is hurting.
If she's being honest, Rachel doesn't even know how to react to the news that her mother - her mother - is involved with a college sophomore, who is two years older than her.
Based on what Rachel remembers of their brief interaction with Brody, it was obvious he was a ladies' man. He openly flirted with the both of them, and he had quite the saucy conversation with one of the dance teachers, Cassandra July.
Rachel, admittedly, didn't think anything of it at the time. Truthfully, she hasn't given the boy another thought since then, but now she's being forced to acknowledge he exists… and he exists in her mother's life.
Rachel just wants to go home.
No.
She wants to go to Quinn. She wants to see her blonde girlfriend, hold her in her arms, and feel the safety of her embrace. She hasn't even been able to bring up all this stuff about Shelby to Quinn yet, because her blonde is caught up in an emotional hurricane of her own, and Rachel doesn't want to pile onto that.
She contemplates discussing it with Santana or Brittany, but she doesn't feel right talking to either of them before she does with Quinn.
So, instead, she does the completely mature thing and locks herself away in her bedroom and tries to distract herself from the idea that the thing her mother has been hiding from her is that she's dating a guy less than half her age.
What really pisses Rachel off is that Shelby probably wasn't even going to tell her. She had to pry it out of her.
And then Shelby had the nerve to suggest that they all have a meal together, which almost made Rachel throw her phone across the room. Sure, her emotions were already high from her absolutely confusing phone call with a distraught Quinn and an entirely too calm Martha, but how dare Shelby suggest such a thing?
Rachel is counting down the days until she goes back to school.
Boy does she have a lot to talk to Dr Howell about. She's even made a list, which she's been adding to with every hour that passes. The woman is in for the shock of her life. Rachel even scheduled a double session for the next morning.
The sound of her phone distracts her from her thoughts, and she reaches for it on her bed. She knows it's a text from Quinn, and she's not wrong.
Quinn: I think my mother knows.
Rachel immediately sits up on her bed, her heart jumping into her throat.
Rachel: Knows what!?
Quinn: That I don't intend to come back. Not that I'm gay.
Quinn: Well, I guess that remains to be seen, really. She might know, and she's just choosing to ignore it.
Rachel: Why do you think she knows?
Quinn: Just a feeling. She's being too helpful with getting me the things I need.
Rachel: Things you need?
Quinn: When we next see each other, I will be a licensed driver.
Before Rachel can reply, she hears a hesitant knock on her door, and she lets out a long-suffering sigh.
One thing at a time.
Rachel: No way? When is your test? How are you feeling about it?
She sets her phone on her duvet and slowly clambers off the bed, reluctance practically pouring off of her. She doesn't know if she's going to be able to be civil with her mother, but she's going to try.
Rachel opens the door to reveal Shelby dressed as if she's leaving the apartment, looking unsure and a little lost.
Shelby can accept that she didn't expect her daughter to handle the news well, but she didn't really anticipate an entire shutout. She doesn't know how to go about fixing this, or if she even can. Their relationship was already strained before Shelby decided to date someone more suited to Rachel's age group.
"I'm headed out," Shelby says. "We need some groceries for your last few days, and I need to check in with Marty." Her manager. "Would you like to come with me?"
Before, Rachel might have immediately said yes, but she gives pause now, and then asks the all important question: "Are you going to see him?"
Shelby's lack of response is answer enough.
"I'm good," Rachel says, and then shuts the door. She immediately leans her back against it and sighs, sliding to the ground and feeling like a complete bitch.
She doesn't trust herself not to blow up at her mother if they actually are to interact, so this separation is necessary if they're going to have anything to salvage when all this is over.
She just wishes that none of this was happening.
Not this Brody situation. Not this Eric problem, and definitely not this Quinn predicament.
Maybe a nap is what she needs.
"You have a visitor."
Quinn looks up from her laptop screen to see Martha standing in her open doorway. She's sitting on her bed, checking up on the list she and Hiram drew up, regarding her independent future. She has a few more things to do before she returns to school, effectively leaving her family for good.
"Who is it?" Quinn asks, which proves to be pointless when Tori pokes her head around Martha's tall form and smiles winningly.
Despite Quinn's lingering irritation with the brunette, she can't help the slight smile that spreads across her face at the sight of her old friend.
Because, well, they were friends before they became lovers, and maybe it would be okay to get that back. Though, Quinn is still wary of Tori, and she's especially anxious about what Rachel might think about all of this.
"There she is," Tori says brightly. "Get dressed. I'm taking you to lunch." Which is code for: we need to talk where nobody will overhear us.
Quinn almost says no, because the last thing she should be doing is talking to Tori, when she should be talking to her girlfriend.
Still, this is probably going to be the last time she sees this woman, and that makes her sad. There's very little she's going to miss about this life, and Tori is one of them.
So, she says, "Sure," and then hops off her bed.
The bruising is almost gone now, and it's nothing a little makeup won't hide. It takes almost twenty minutes to get her looking decent, Tori lounging on her bed all the while. It's almost reminiscent of the old days, but everything is different now.
Quinn is in love.
She thought she was, before, but looking at Tori now makes her reevaluate all of it. If she recognises that she's never really felt that way about Tori, then she can only imagine what Tori ever felt for her.
"Ready," Quinn finally declares, grabbing her purse.
"Leave that," Tori says, getting to her feet. "It's my treat."
"I might want to get something," Quinn says, because it's been a while since she's actually been out and about in Hartford. She doesn't hate the city, not really, but it's doubtful she'll ever be back.
Willingly, at least.
Maybe she'll buy a touristy t-shirt, and some fuzzy socks for Rachel.
Tori makes to reach for her hand to get them on their way, but she thinks better of it at the last second, which is a good thing, too, because Quinn would have made it awkward.
"Shall we?"
They take Tori's car, driven by her long-serving driver, Olivier. Quinn wonders if Tori actually knows how to drive, and it saddens her even more when she remembers that Tori is giving into the life that's been set out for her.
The ride is made in silence, and Quinn watches the buildings pass by with thinly-veiled fascination. She's never really taken the time to look at the city, and she wonders about how much she's missed out on by hating the life her parents forced her to live.
Quinn sighs, and Tori glances at her.
"Everything okay?"
Quinn nods. "Just thinking."
"About?"
The way she asks the question makes Quinn know Tori assumes she's thinking about Rachel, which is true. Rachel is constantly on her mind, but she's thinking about a lot of other things, as well.
"Things," Quinn answers.
Tori shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable. "Her?"
Quinn frowns, hearing something very particular in her tone. "Tori," she says. "What's going on here?"
Tori doesn't respond, because Olivier pulls up in front of Tori's favourite bistro. She lives and dies for their carrot cake, and Quinn has always been a sucker for their bacon; a rare indulgence for her.
Tori just gets out of the car, and Quinn has no choice but to follow. She says a quick thank you to Olivier, and then heads into the bistro. They find a table near the front windows, and they sit opposite each other.
Quinn orders a Cafe Latte, and Tori gets a Cappuccino.
In silence, Quinn goes through the menu, silently contemplating what she could probably get away with eating, now that she'll be back playing soccer. Her coach is a little on the crazy side.
She literally can't wait, though. It's her last season, and she's determined to make it to the Championship. She's convinced she can lead her team to glory.
Eventually, she decides on fried chicken, bacon and waffles, with maple syrup. She can't help cringing at the number of calories she's about to consume, but she ran for almost an hour this morning, and she reasons she can work the rest off later in the house's gym.
"Is she better than me?"
Quinn looks up, frowning. "What?"
Tori clenches her jaw. "Is she better than me?" she repeats.
Quinn has an idea she already knows the answer, but she still asks, "At what?"
Tori meets her gaze. "Making you happy."
It's a loaded question, because Quinn doesn't know how to be happy. With Rachel, she knows she's been the closest, but that means very little when the emotion is still foreign to her. "Yes," she answers anyway.
Tori nods sharply. "And, is she better than me?"
This time, the meaning definitely isn't lost on Quinn. Sex isn't something she's currently comfortable discussing with Tori, especially when it concerns Rachel.
At Quinn's extended silence, Tori's face twists into comprehension. "Oh my God, the two of you haven't even done it," she deduces. "Fuck, Q, are you dating a prude?"
Quinn visibly bristles, her features darkening as her eyes narrow to slits. "Don't talk about her like that," she says coolly. "What we have is more than just sex, but you obviously won't understand that."
Hurt flashes in Tori's eyes, but it's gone in an instant. "Is that what we were, huh? Just sex?"
"I don't know," Quinn says; "you tell me, T. You're the one who's always been emotionally unavailable. I didn't think you would be doing us both a favour when you ended it, even if it was for deplorable reasons."
"I got engaged," she argues.
"Exactly," Quinn agrees. "To a man."
"I love him," she says, and her words come out as if she wants to hurt Quinn with them.
Quinn doesn't care. "If you really do, then I'm happy for you," she says. "I don't know what you were expecting, T. You ended things to be with your perfect guy. Did you expect me just to hang around, waiting for you to want me again when it was convenient to you?"
Based on the look on her face, it's obvious that's exactly what Tori expected.
Quinn laughs humourlessly. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," she says snarkily. "While you've been planning your wedding, I've been falling in love with a girl who loves and respects me. A girl who is unafraid to feel what she feels, and isn't willing to keep it hidden away from me."
Quinn accepts that their inability to hide their feelings might end up being their downfall, but she can't bring herself to care right now.
"Now, are you going to accept that truth and stop acting like some jealous, scorned ex-lover, and have lunch with me, or am I going to walk out of here and never come back?"
Tori takes a moment, and then nods.
It takes them another moment, but they eventually move on to easier topics of conversation.
In the end, Quinn ends up with her t-shirt.
And Rachel's fuzzy socks.