Annalise

I guess it was tradition when my uncle Kurt was growing up that Friday nights were when they would have their family dinners.

It's crazy now that I think back, because I'm pretty sure we had one of those too once upon a time. Our's were on Mondays.

My parents had purchased a two bedroom loft in downtown Manhattan several years before they purchased their home in New Jersey. A few days before the first Thanksgiving the three of us shared together in New York — as a family — my dad found this antique, wooden dining table at some flea market. Begrudgingly, my mother let him keep it. She of course was looking for something high-end because we were hosting like fifteen people for Thanksgiving dinner, but quickly came up with the idea of turning this drab piece of furniture into one of my favorite things I've ever had in a home. Everyone that attended Thanksgiving that year — and new friends and old that would pass through the city on rare occasions — would sign the table with a Sharpie marker. My father had finally put a sealant over it a few years ago to preserve the precious memory. My mom had always said that eating at the table was like being surrounded by her friends and family. I would spend hours tracing my fingers over everyone's names and asking endless questions about them to my parents. One of them would always come up with a great story to tell. I could always get a sense that my parents missed home, but they would never leave the east coast, no matter how much their hearts hurt. There wasn't anything for them in Lima.

Until, of course, everyone moved from New York to Lima. Soon, there was nothing left for them on the east coast either.

My uncle Blaine had left a seat open at the table for my mom this evening, which almost had the same effect. However, Sam insisted on doing his stupid impressions during the entire meal so I didn't even notice.

I think that was their plan.

We talked lightly about the itinerary for tomorrow before Blaine and my father left it up to Kurt and I to plan. Sam was wrapped up in glee club assignments all evening so after a much needed shower and change of clothes, I joined my uncle back in the dining room to work tirelessly, making sure tomorrow was perfect for my mom.

"No calories," he winks, pushing a slice of chocolate cassata cake in front of me.

"Thanks," I smile, as I adjust my reading glasses and straighten the clump of a messy bun atop my head. "It smells delicious. I've been eyeing it up since before dinner."

"You're just like your father. You guys both have an enormous sweet tooth."

"That's for sure," I reply, as I cut into a sliver of the cake with my fork. Kurt ogles at me, as I marvel over his perfection. "Oh my God," I say, with my mouth half full. "It tastes so much better than I remember."

"I'm glad you like it," he replies. "It was your mom's favorite, too."

I nod my head and take a sip of the glass of milk next to me. "Yeah, uh, she attempted to make it a few times. Each time was worse than the last," I say, smiling and nodding as I bite into another sliver of cake.

Kurt chuckles softly. "Yeah, she was not a cook nor a baker. I don't really think your dad knew what he was in for when he married her. Rachel was not ready to be someone's wife."

"That's very true," I laugh. "Dad was always the better cook between the two of them."

"She wasn't a very good cleaner either," Kurt sighs. "I will never forget this one time — it was very shortly after we moved into the apartment in Bushwick... like a few days after — I asked her to help me dust up the house and make everything look really neat and tidy. She had never done it before. It wasn't rocket science," he states, reminiscing on a story that I'd have yet to hear, smiling as he does so. It's the most I have seen him smile since we had gotten to their home. "I went to clean the bathroom — Anna, I was gone for only like, five minutes. Ten at the most. I came back out and your mom was standing over the coffee table, which had this really beautiful glass top, holding a bottle of Dawn and a dish rag in her hand."

"Wait, what?" I ask, a little disbelieved and a little amused. "She tried to use dish soap to dust the glass coffee table?"

"Oh, there was no trying about it. Rachel had squirted a good portion of the soap onto the table and was getting ready to wash it like she was washing dishes or something."

"Oh my goodness," I chuckle. It sounds just like my mom — so typical. She definitely was not a house wife. I learned how to do most things around the house from my father, who took the role of being Mr. Mom with pride.

"It's just one of the many stories I have from our Bushwick days," Kurt replies. "For awhile, she were all each other had. I could go on and on about the crazy stuff your mom did while we were learning how to live on our own. Like the sweet potato casserole disaster on Thanksgiving... oh my."

"What happened with the sweet potatoes?" I ask, a little curious. This was one of the many reasons I loved spending time with my uncle. He always told me stories from my mom's life that she was either too embarrassed to tell or didn't have time to tell. The first year in New York was very hard for her — and I think she tried to block as much of that as possible from her mind. I take another bite of the cake as Kurt makes a fist with his right hand and rests it on his chin.

"So, your mom really wanted to impress all of us — your dad was coming home on leave for the holiday weekend — and she offered to cook Thanksgiving dinner. There were two problems here. The first was that your mom was a vegan way back when. I think that changed though when she got pregnant with you. She didn't touch dead animals. In high school, she opted out of the dissecting portion of biology. She hated thinking that an animal died to feed us. The second problem was that the only seasonings she had ever grown up on were salt and pepper. Anyway," he smiles, as his eyes meet mine. "After Blaine and Sam opted to take over cooking dinner for fear of your mom burning our loft down, she still begged to make something. Your dad's favorite Thanksgiving dish is..."

"Sweet potato casserole with the little marshmallows on top," we both say at the same time.

"Yeah, he loved those stupid little things with the marshmallows on top. I don't know why because it's gross but your dad is your dad and he likes weird food. So, she offered to make it because she knew that your dad was going to be looking forward to that the most after eating Army food for the past several months. She got a recipe from this cookbook that your grandmother had given to us as a housewarming present. Nowhere on the recipe did it say that she had to boil the potatoes first so that they could be mashed and well, she spent 45 minutes mashing raw potatoes. Now granted, we had left her alone in the kitchen for that extended period of time and not once did she ask for any sort of help. After trying to mash the raw potatoes with anything she could find around the loft — and I mean everything, she even tried to use a mallet at one point — she put the whole raw potatoes in the oven, coated them with brown sugar and cinnamon, and put the entire bag of marshmallows on top. She burnt the entire thing. It was a disaster."

Kurt and I both burst into a fit of laughter. I'm laughing so hard at this point I almost have tears coming out of my eyes. I could so see my mom doing that. "That's why my dad never let her go near the kitchen... believe me, she tried."

"Oh, I know," he laughs.

"Did you guys end up eating it?" I ask through the bits of laughter.

"Absolutely not," Kurt laughs. "We bought extra sweet potatoes and marshmallows as a back-up. Blaine ended up making it and we just lied to your dad and said that your mom made it. She finally confessed to him what happened and he didn't let her live that down for a long time. Thinking back on it now makes me laugh. I needed the good laugh," he comments.

"I did too," I smile. "I definitely don't think my mom was ready to be the all-American housewife by any stretch of the word. I think that's why my dad did a lot of the stuff around the house."

"Yeah, but the love the two of them had outweighed any household chore. They worked really well together as a team. Your father loved your mother very, very much. I think he loved her more than they both knew sometimes. Things were not always perfect and they had their faults, but watching them fall in love was like a dream. It was like this beautiful and crazy dream. I think their faults is what made it all worthwhile."

"I know what you mean," I reply, as I finish off the rest of the dessert. "The way that the two of them interacted was almost like they were the only two in the room sometimes. I think that's what is making this a whole lot harder for my dad. He put so much effort into their relationship and they were finally in a really good place when the cancer diagnosis happened..."

"I know," Kurt sympathizes, exhaling sharply. "I know exactly what you mean."

"She was gone a lot. And I think the thing that made them grow stronger was all of their time spent apart. It was the longing that they had for each other and the urgency to spend every waking moment together when my mom came home from a Broadway tour. Now, she's gone forever and I think that's part of the reality that he can't face yet."

"Your father takes everything to heart, too," Kurt replies. "He feels everything. Whether you know it or not, the pain that you're feeling right now... that man is experiencing the same pain, only ten times worse."

"He's always been like that," I remind him. "That's who my dad is," I shrug.

"Always," Kurt smiles, as he clears his throat. "And how are you doing since everything happened? And I'm not talking about your mom's passing, Annalise." Kurt reaches his hand across the table to take a hold of my right hand, which is now resting in front of me on the cover of the spiral bound notebook. I should be pissed at him for changing the topic of conversation, but I'm not. It feels nice to know that someone cares about everything else going on in my life that doesn't involve my mom.

"I'm doing okay. Better, I guess," I shrug once more. "I had a psychiatrist appointment about a week ago and an appointment this past Wednesday with my therapist. The medication seems to be working. The unfortunate thing about bipolar disorder is that it's a trial and error process with the medication."

"Is it the medicine or the therapy that's making it... better?"

"With bipolar disorder," — the card that I was so kindly dealt — "there is no cure, unfortunately. I just take lithium to help reduce the severity and frequency of my mania. It balances out my highs and lows, so to speak. It calms me down and makes my brain feel at ease. So far, it's working. I haven't had an episode and haven't come close to having an episode in almost five months."

"Well, that is definitely a positive then... right? I mean, I know it's all still a little complicated..."

"No, what can be so complicated about it?" I ask, in a sarcastic tone. "No, I mean, in all seriousness, the medication has definitely helped. I never realized that there was... something wrong with me until everything happened the way that it happened, bad timing or not. As long as I don't drink alcohol, don't smoke marijuana, don't snort cocaine, don't go off of my medicine, don't drink an excessive amount of caffeine, and continue to go to my therapy appointments, we won't have another rooftop incident."

"No one faults you for that, you know," he tells me. "It's just a chemical imbalance in your brain."

"I know. You and just about every doctor at Mercy has told me the same thing."

"Well, it's the truth, Anna. I promise you... with the right doctors and medication, it will get better. There are so many success stories of people living with bipolar disorder that have managed it and they have all come out on top."

"Yes, I know," I smile, nodding my head. "It would be nice to be one of those success stories."

"Keep your head up," Kurt encourages. "When it rains, it pours, but there is a rainbow coming soon. I just know it."

"Actually," I say, as I smile a bit. To my knowledge, it is just he and I down here on the first floor. My dad is sound asleep in one of the guest bedrooms, Blaine is up in the master suite, and Sam is out on the patio, probably working on how many weeks he can incorporate country music into glee club assignments before any of the kids drop out. However, I begin to look around and make sure that no one is within earshot of my uncle Kurt and myself. The secret that I've been keeping about New York was eating me alive. After hearing them talk about it earlier and bringing up Danny and the fact that he was doing the show — he was playing my fucking love interest for crying out loud — and after this bleak and depressing conversation we were currently having, I just wanted to give him some good news. I didn't want him to think that this whole bipolar thing was going to hold me back from what I wanted out of my life. I didn't want him to think that I was done chasing the dreams that I had had since I was a little girl. "Can you keep a secret?"

Kurt

Dinner had not gone the way that I had hoped.

I don't think it had went the way my husband had hoped, either.

I don't know what I was thinking when the five of us sat down at the table for dinner together, ready to indulge in the seafood carbonara that Blaine had just worked on for two hours.

In fact, it was far from what I expected would happen.

I was hoping that we would all get the chance to talk together as a family. I was hoping that we would all discuss how tomorrow would go and maybe share ideas and the songs that we were going to be singing to honor our beloved diva. I thought maybe we would just leave our plates on the table, say to hell with it all, and start singing together in the living room as we did once upon a time. That was years ago. We had all grown up and we were all so... different now. We were all in a dark place and going through a dark time in our lives. Instead, we all just sat there and listened to Sam do impressions for 20 minutes, pushing food around on our plates.

I knew we should have just went to Breadstix.

I am not bitter about how dinner went. What I am bitter about though is the fact that my brother decided to get up halfway through and go upstairs without saying as much as a single word to any of us when I brought up my ideas for tomorrow.

I lost my mom when I was eight years old — so in a way, I can sympathize with my niece. Losing my mom was something that I didn't think I would have to do until I was much, much older and losing her so young really took a toll on me. I saw my dad go through losing the love of his life, so in a way, I could sympathize with Finn. But what about how I was feeling?

No one — not a single person — has ever prepped me for what would happen when I lost my best friend. Why though am I feeling guilty for not grieving like the rest of them? Why am I wishing that we would all just... move the fuck on already?

"Kurt... did you hear what I asked?"

I look across the kitchen at Blaine, as he stands in front of the ajared freezer, while I am up to my elbows in soapy water at the sink.

"I'm sorry," I say, exhaling sharply. "I didn't."

"Do you think we should freeze the rest of the pasta? No one hardly ate any of it and I would hate to see it all go to waste."

"Yes," I reply, as I nod my head. "Definitely freeze it. It was way too good to go to waste. Not to mention those scallops are not cheap," I laugh.

"Are you... feeling okay?" Blaine asks. "You've been so distant this evening. I'm worried about you."

I was worried about me too, if we're being honest here. I thought that I would enjoy having Anna and Finn here with us for the weekend, but they remind me too much of her right now. Especially my niece. She is a walking, talking, clone of Rachel Barbara Berry, but has some of Finn's features that she has grown into as she has gotten older. Blaine and I made a pact to be strong this weekend — which is odd to think about, considering how my brother has always been so strong for us — but I promised Blaine I wouldn't shed a tear over her while they were around.

I haven't cried yet.

I didn't cry at her bedside when we were saying out final goodbyes, I didn't cry when I went to Saks Fifth Avenue to pick out my suit, I sure as hell didn't cry when Finn asked me to be a pallbearer.

I didn't cry at her wake.

I didn't even cry when they buried her in the ground.

People always assume that when you're sad, you have to show it and cry over that thing that makes you sad. And I am sad, believe me. Devastated, actually. Heartbroken. So many more words that I can think of using other than sad. Sad is what you are when your favorite contestant that you knew was going to win the whole reality show goes home early. Sad is what you feel when the grocery store is out of your favorite ice cream flavor. Sad is what you feel when a performer tells you they don't love something that you've created for them. Sad is not what you feel when you lose your best friend and you have to continue your life without her.

I think I was afraid to cry because for the first time in my life, I was afraid that if I started crying, I don't think I would stop.

That alone scared me more than anything.

"Why don't you get Annalise to help you with everything for this evening?"

I'm not sure how we ended up on this part of the conversation. One minute, we were talking about pasta and now we're back to Rachel's thing tomorrow.

"What?" I ask, trying not to sound rude for ignoring my husband. Blaine though... he understood. He had been the total opposite of I. He weeped at Rachel's bedside when we were all saying our last goodbyes. He could barely even get out of bed to go look for something to wear to the services. He was honored when Finn asked him to be a pallbearer, and had worn sunglasses over his eyes to hide the tears. He couldn't even stand to be in the same room at the funeral home when they let the immediate family in before the other mourners, and he was one of the last people to leave the cemetery after the funeral concluded.

Blaine and Rachel were close, sure, but she was my best friend. If anyone should be inconsolable out of the two of us, it should be me.

But Blaine's tears had been enough for the both of us. I just wished I knew what to say to him in a time like this, where all I feel is numb.

"It would give you two a chance to bond. I know you've missed her," Blaine says, as he continues to set dirty pots and pans down on the kitchen counter for me to wash. "Plus, I think her insight would be really helpful."

I nod my head as he kisses me on the cheek. "Yeah, sure, that sounds like a great idea."

"I'm going to finish up here then head to bed," Blaine states. "I have to call the florist to confirm the delivery time, and the decorator... and I have to meet with Marlon over FaceTime tomorrow morning to discuss the layout of the stage. You know how he likes to get an early start."

My face falls flat as he tells me this. I was really hoping to work with him on the itinerary for tomorrow. We always worked best together, and I'm kicking myself in the ass for volunteering to do this. "Did you want me to bring you up a piece of cake? Or maybe some tea?" Blaine and I normally didn't go to bed without one another as of late. We had been trying to spend more time together on a count of life is too short, don't go to bed angry, blah blah blah...

I wished he was holding up his end of the bargain tonight. I had been asking for his input and ideas all week. And now that we were down to the last moments of crunch time — I had to have the finalized copy turned into my super by midnight, which was a whopping three hours from now — he was bailing.

"No, honey. I'm okay. But, thank you," he replies. "Do you think you can finish everything up here? If not, I can call one of the guys in to help you. Or Anna."

"Anna is upstairs taking a shower — Finn is probably passed out," he hadn't come down since the middle of dinner — "and Sam is wrapped up in glee club assignments on the back porch."

"I can stay and help," Blaine says, as he lets out a lengthy sigh.

"You don't have to," I smile. "You cooked. And dinner was delicious. Thank you for cooking."

"Thank you for eating it," he chuckles.

"This should only take me a few more minutes or so. Why don't you head upstairs? I'll take the bacon out of the freezer and make breakfast for us in the morning."

"I'll wake up when you come upstairs to bed. I promise. I'm looking forward to hearing what the two of you come up with. It's just been a long day and..."

"I know," I reply, as I hang my head, sympathizing with him. We had spent the whole day cleaning and making sure the house was ready... and then we had to do that long drive to Cleveland and back... it was exhausting. Not to mention, neither of us have been sleeping well lately. "Tomorrow is going to be a hard day."

"We can talk more later."

"I love you," I tell him, as I steal a kiss from his lips.

"I love you too, babe. Goodnight."

I watch as Blaine exits the kitchen and makes his way up to our master suite. I hear a door open, but from the position of where he is standing, it doesn't sound like the door to our bedroom. It's nice of him to care about my brother, but I wish he would pass that same caring onto me.

Our relationship hasn't always been the most solid. There's a year age difference that separates us — meaning that I graduated high school before he did. We were lost for awhile. I moved to New York and this was a time before cell phones and the Facebook, so it was hard for us to do the whole long distance thing. One day, however, it all just clicked and we decided that we were in this for the long haul and wanted to be with each other for as long as forever would give us. We both applied and graduated from NYADA. I had gotten an internship working with Vogue my freshman year and Blaine was cast as Frankie Valli in Jersey Boys, where he worked tirelessly on Broadway for five years. At the end of the production, when they were looking for a fresh face and fresh talent, he quickly jumped into playing Elvis Presley in Million Dollar Quartet, a role that I never would have imagined him in. He absolutely loved it. After that three year stint was over, Blaine decided to hang up his blue suede shoes and become an advisor at NYADA, while I continued to design costumes for some of Broadway's highest grossing productions. By the time we were married legally in the state of New York, we had outgrown the city. I had a new job secured in Cleveland and we decided to dive in head first and endure the move back to Ohio.

The Cleveland years were even tougher than those first New York ones.

Blaine had become an advisor at Cleveland School of the Arts, which was a huge culture shock to him. Cleveland was vastly different than New York, but in a good way. He truly enjoyed being an advisor in their theatre department. He had gone back to school to obtain his teaching license, took the test a few times, but failed each one. It was tough with us being on opposite schedules and always clashing with one-another. There was a moment when I thought divorce was on the table, but the idea never hit paper.

We still go to counseling once in awhile but are learning how to work with each other and our schedules. I was extremely fortunate to begin working from home about five years ago, and Blaine took a job teaching theatre at The Ohio State University of Lima when he finally obtained his masters degree, meaning he would be close to home as well.

I loved my life. I love my husband. But there was always something... missing.

Blaine and I had wanted to have a family for as long as I could remember. When Rachel found out that she was pregnant with Annalise, it filled the void of the baby fever Blaine and I were experiencing as a newly engaged couple. Rachel and Finn would always joke that we were next. Our friends around us were too focused on their careers to have children — we were all still in our early 20's when Annalise was born — and Blaine and I were content with just us for the time being. We always envisioned what having a child of our own would be like. I would be lying if we said we never considered it. At one point, we interviewed surrogate after surrogate and even Rachel offered to do it for us as a last result, even though she hated being pregnant. We were interviewed by a few adoption agencies and considered being foster parents for a short time, but nothing ever seemed to pen out. Children just weren't in the cards for us. I mean, what child would want to grow up with two parents whose marriage was on the rocks for such a long time?

Blaine and I were in a much better spot in our marriage at this point. We were ready to have kids. However, we were almost forty, meaning by the time our child graduated from high school, we would be close to sixty. Blaine and I wanted to fill our home with as many kids as possible. Life, unfortunately, just happened along the way.

And now, I'm afraid it's too late.

Plus, bringing a child into our lives would not solidify the years of counseling that we had to endure to get our marriage to the point where we are now.

I shake the thoughts from my head, as I hear Anna stirring upstairs; walking too loudly across the hardwood floor, huffing as she pulled clothes from her suitcase, probably dumping them everywhere. For such a small girl, she sure knew how to make a lot of commotion.

"Hey, Lise," I hear Blaine say, as he knocks on the door of the guest room that she is currently occupying.

"Yeah?!" she asks a little too loudly. I sigh heavily, as I begin to cut the uncovered cake on the counter. Her voice sounds so much like Rachel's at that age that I am taken aback a bit.

"Your dad is trying to sleep," he tells her.

"Sorry," she says, whispering loudly. "I couldn't find my hoodie."

"I have one if you need to borrow it."

"No need," she replies. "I was able to find it."

"Okay, great. Are you heading downstairs?"

"Uh yeah," she says, as I hear her stand up, her feet hitting against the hardwood floor loudly. "I'm going to head down with uncle Kurt for a bit and then try to get some sleep."

"Okay sweetie. I'll see you in the morning. I love you."

"I love you too," she parrots back. I hear her zip up her suitcase and shut the door, as she begins to stomp loudly down the stairs. She meets me in the dining room and smiles at me — an actual genuine smile, not one of those fake ones she was wearing earlier — and I do the same thing back to her. Annalise is the love of my life; next to Blaine, of course. From the moment she was born I knew I needed to do everything to protect her at all cost. Watching her grow from this small little girl who would wear Rachel's prop shoes and hide our things around the apartment to a beautiful young woman seemed all too surreal for me. As I do another take and look at her — like really look at her — I'm still stunned by how much she has changed in just a short period of time. Her hair is dripping wet and hangs loose in a messy bun atop her head, probably on a count of not wanting to turn on her blow dryer and disturb her sleeping father. Her soft features compliment her face and I am so thankful that she didn't inherit Rachel's nose. There's no doubt who her parents are. She has Rachel's eyes and mouth, and Finn's high cheek bones. She has grown into her body — Annalise used to be so awkward as a child — and a pair of gray leggings and a purple and white NYU hoodie hug her curvy frame. When she was younger, I always thought she looked more like her mother. As she is getting older, however, I see Finn all over her, each time she enters a room. She did, however get Rachel's attitude: diva and all.

"Why don't you put some slippers or socks on your feet?" I ask her. "I don't want you to catch a cold."

She takes a seat across from me at the dining room table and does her infamous half laugh. "Uncle Kurt, it's the middle of summer. I will be fine."

I huff loudly and look her over once more. "Annalise, your hair is soaked and the air conditioner is on. You're going to get sick."

"We could always do this outside you know," she states, rolling her eyes.

"Too many mosquitoes," I say, wrinkling my nose. "They're awful this time of year."

"Okay," she chuckles, as she opens the notebook to the first page. "We'll veto outside then. But I'm not putting slippers on... I hate wearing things on my feet when I don't have to."

"Fair enough. I'll turn the air down then," I tell her, compromising, as I get up from my seat at the dining room table and make my way over to the living room to adjust the thermostat.

Normally, she and I would be talking up a storm right now. I typically couldn't get my niece to shut up whenever the two of us got together — but she's so quiet as of late. Ever since her diagnosis a few months prior, she's just been afraid to be herself. I always loved that about her: that she was her, Annalise Caroline Hudson and didn't give a fuck about what anyone had to say. I had helped raise her and shape her into that person with that attitude. This version of Annalise sitting in front of me this evening certainly wasn't her. This thing... this bipolar disorder was what was slowing her down. It, combined with losing her mom, had stolen her away. I needed my niece back. I didn't want my niece to be this person — this stranger — that was before me today. Annalise and I used to tell each other everything: and now I know absolutely nothing about her life. What classes will she be taking this fall? What is her apartment like? Does she have any friends? What sort of music is she listening to now? Does she have anyone special currently in her life? These were all things that she used to keep secret from her parents and confide in me about. Now, I just get half-ass answers from the skeleton of the girl that she once was.

I've lost touch with her — so maybe I'm the one to blame here. In a way, I was very grateful for the time that we were able to spend together this evening. I promised myself that I would do my best to be patient with her this weekend.

"No calories," I wink, as I push the piece of cassata cake that I had cut earlier inches away from her hands.

"Thanks," she smiles, placing her oblong, oversized frame reading glasses over her hazel eyes. She adjusts the messy bun atop her hair, and I smile at her once more. There are glimpses where I see both Rachel and Finn in her over various times throughout the day. I didn't see either of them in her right now. I had instead saw her for what she was: a scared, lost, young woman who was on the edge of breaking down, but was trying to keep it all together for herself and her family. I admired her for this.

We spend the next fifteen or so minutes talking about the two things that have become a tragedy in her life — her mom and her mental illness. I try to make the conversation as light hearted as possible and bring up stories from mine and Rachel's Bushwick days. It wasn't exactly the conversation that I was hoping for, but I know that it felt good for her to let some things out. Ever since that fateful February rooftop incident, Blaine and I had done extensive research on bipolar disorder to better understand a little about what to expect with her illness. We have both learned so much and tried to be there for support... but Finn didn't really like to talk about it. It was almost as if he thought she would wake up one day and be cured. It was comforting, to say the least, that she was taking charge of this shitty hand that she was dealt in life. She was on a great regiment with her doctors that included therapy and the correct medication, which were all positives to say the least. I was so wrapped up in our conversation that I almost missed the next words she said to me.

"Can you keep a secret?"

I smile a bit to myself and let a small chuckle escape my lips. Of course I could keep a secret. Unless that secret had something to do with her mental health and well-being, I would hold it close to my heart for as long as she wanted me to. I had just hoped she didn't run off and marry some random guy. I had prayed that she wasn't pregnant. Rachel had asked me those exact same words when she peed on four different sticks, confirming that I was going to be an uncle. I was preparing for the worst and hoping for the best.

"I don't really know how to say this to you," she states, as she tucks a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. "I haven't really told a lot of people yet and I'm kind of afraid to say it out loud."

My palms are sweating at this point — and I could feel my mouth beginning to go dry. I knew it. She was pregnant. "You can tell me anything. Just know, honey, there are options out there. There's ado..."

"Wait, what?" Annalise asks, a little confused at first. She scoffs loudly, then laughs even louder. "Oh my God. Do you think I'm pregnant?"

"Well it's just... I..." I stammer. "Your mom said something really similar to me and..."

"Uncle Kurt," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not pregnant. Absolutely, 200,000% not pregnant."

"I guess I was just preparing for the worst," I chuckle.

"I know better... my mom struggled to have me when she was a little older than I am now. I would never put myself through that — ever."

"Okay, well, I'm relieved," I laugh. "I'm so happy you're not because..."

"I know. I have a bright future ahead of me and anything is possible."

"You didn't like, run off and get married or something, did you?" She shakes her head. "Good. Just checking."

"Anyway..." she rolls her eyes. "Back to what I was saying before you accused me of being just like my mom..."

"Well, you are."

"So, you know that job I got in the admissions office over the summer? The one where I've been answering phones and doing clerical work and stuff?"

I nod my head. Dear God, what was I supposed to be expecting now? Maybe she met a nice man at work. Maybe they started dating and he would be in attendance at Rachel's thing tomorrow. "Yeah," I say, swallowing hard.

"Well, I sort of lied," she laughs. "I have a job, but I'm not answering phones and stuff. It's more... risqué, so to speak."

Risqué... at eighteen years old?! Has she lost her mind. "Risqué?" I parrot back, raising my brow.

"It's unexpected. It's not risqué, I suppose. I'm not like, taking my clothes off for money or anything."

Thank God. "So, wait... are you not working? I'm confused. What do you keep driving to the city for?"

She takes a deep breath and scours the room once more. "I'm telling you this because I trust you. If I find out you told anyone, I'll be really upset, okay?"

"Just tell me!" I exclaim. I couldn't take it anymore. The anticipation was eating me alive.

"I'm starring in an off-Broadway play."

I'm a little stunned, to say the least. So stunned that I can't form any words at the moment. I didn't even know where to begin.

"Please say something," she says, exhaling sharply. "Anything would be better than nothing at this point."

"I..." I didn't know what to feel, to be honest with you. My niece was born to be in the spotlight. It is what she has known since she could walk and talk. Her mother thrived in the spotlight and she was damn talented, too. Annalise was so much like Rachel in that way. Rachel was a total diva, whereas Anna was not. She had been brought up mostly by Finn and he corrupted her music taste when she was in middle school that all this girl knew was country and classic rock.

She corrupted herself on her own when she fell in love with the Jonas Brothers.

But a musical? An actual musical where she was on stage? Annalise hadn't performed since she was a junior in high school, so the fact that she got the courage to actually try out was thrilling to me. I know that she had nailed her audition for NYU's theatre department on the first try...

She was a natural up there on stage. I was so happy for her that she had finally found something that actually made her happy for the first time in a long time. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, I'm not too sure what to say either at this point," she laughs.

"What sort of show is it? Is it a revival of something?"

Annalise shakes her head. "Uh... no. It's a new show. It's called Greetings from Asbury Park."

Wait a minute. I recognized that name from... holy shit. That was the name of the show that Mr. Schue's son was in! No wonder why her eyes lit up when she came into the kitchen earlier and asked all of those questions about him.

"The..."

"Yeah, the same one that you guys were talking about earlier."

"Is it a big part?" I ask, biting down my lip.

She smiles widely, as a hint of pink flushes over her cheeks. "It's the lead."

"Like the actual lead?" She nods her head. "Like you have more than one line?"

"I have a lot of lines," she chuckles. "And a lot of solos, some duets with Danny... he's playing my love interest in the show."

"Oh my goodness, Annalise."

"I know, right? Am I absolutely insane?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "You're not. Not at all." I take a sip of my un-attended, watered down Chardonnay and smile once more at her. "What's the show about? What's it like working with Danny? Have you told your dad yet?"

"Woah... slow down, uncle Kurt. What's with the 21 questions all of a sudden?"

"I'm just... I'm so happy for you." And I really was. I was so happy that she seemed relieved. Almost as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She takes a deep breath and says, "it's about two kids named Mary and Johnny..."

"Fitting, it's Springsteen," I smile, interrupting her train of thought. She gives me a death stare. "I'm sorry!" I exclaim. "Continue."

"So, it's about two kids named Mary and Johnny who have been in love since they were kids... and it tells the story of that love and it's set to all of these Springsteen songs... it's a really powerful, moving show about growing up and finding yourself... finding love... the moment I read the script I knew I had to play that role. I've been rehearsing for it since the last week in May... right after graduation, before mom entered into hospice."

"Did she..."

"She knew," I smile. "She knew that I had gotten the lead. She so badly wanted to help me with my audition, and she did. I sang one of her favorite songs from her Rock of Ages days and the director absolutely fell in love. I didn't even have to do a callback, which was kind of weird..."

"Whose your director?"

"The Broadway train wreck known as Jesse St. James."

Well, no wonder why she didn't get a callback. She didn't need to have a callback being Rachel Berry's daughter. Jesse has been obsessed with Rachel since our sophomore year of high school — he was on the rival glee club that was absolutely unstoppable — but had really hit a snag when drugs and alcohol took over his life. Everything he touched turned to shit and I prayed that he wasn't doing anything harmful to my niece during this production. My happiness soon turns into worry. I know Jesse personally. And he's not a nice man. He's vindictive and manipulative... he probably has her on some crazy diet and work-our regimen. Now I'm terrified for her mental health at this point. And I'm pissed that he was such a dick to her about her coming out here for Rachel's thing. I know the breakup between the two of them was sour... but he didn't need to treat Annalise poorly because of it. I mean, he did give her the lead which I guess was great. Maybe too great. I didn't know at this point if he had any sort of an ulterior motive... but I was inclined to find out.

"Jesse St. James?" I parrot back.

"Yeah," she laughs. "Minus him being a dick for me coming out here for mom's celebration of life — which I found kind of weird especially since he said they knew a lot of the same people and had only met her a few times, so I thought he would understand — he's actually not too bad." Oh my God, she didn't know her mom and Jesse had any sort of past. I was not going to be the one to break that news to her. "He's a hard ass, sure. But this is his comeback and I think he wants me to be the best that I possibly can be. I know that I'm never going to win 8 Tony Awards like my mom did or anything like that. But it feels so good to be dancing and singing and stuff again... and acting. Pretending like I'm someone different for a few hours a day. And Danny... oof. It's pretty cool, actually. He's so freaking talented. He can sing, he can dance, he can act... when he sings, he means it. He kills it every single day at rehearsal. I was shocked when he came into the room. It's like the years and miles between us had never really happened... he was my first boyfriend you know."

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? He kissed you when you guys were playing outside one time and I thought your dad was going to have a heart attack."

She giggles. "Yeah, well he is hot as hell now, too. He's even hotter than he was back then. Thank God he doesn't look anything like his dad..."

"Have you told your dad yet?"

"Absolutely not," she snarls. "My dad would kill me."

"What makes you think that?"

She bites down on her lip. "My dad doesn't want that for me. He doesn't want the stress of a show effecting my grades and my studies... I just got out of the hospital when I found out about the show. My mom just told me to try out for fun and to see if I still had it in me. Clearly I did but my dad doesn't think about those things. My dad thinks about me getting a degree and becoming like a lawyer or something."

"You? A lawyer?" I laugh. Annalise was great in school — but only because she had to work really hard at it. She may have gotten her mom's talent, but she had her father's brains for sure. Nothing except performing came easy to her. "Your dad just wants you to be happy, Anna. That's all he's ever wanted for you."

"He doesn't want me following in either of their footsteps. He wants me to be my own person and have my own interests. I can't help it. I followed my mom around all of the time and I fell in love with every theatre she ever worked in. I would watch her rehearse every single day as she improved little by little — not like she really needed to but still. I envied her. That's why I did drama club in high school. That's why I am majoring in theatre. That's what I want for my life. I could maybe lose interest and do something else along the way... just I don't think that's going to happen. Ever. But you can't tell him, okay? He's going to think I'm over working myself and will end up in the hospital again. You just have to promise me you won't tell him."

"I promise," I tell her. And I mean it. Her secret was safe with me. I didn't want to destroy their relationship more than it already had been. She would tell him on her own terms — when she felt safe to do so.

"So, enough about me... I think we've wasted like, forty minutes or so." It had really only been about twenty, but, I would let her think whatever she needed to. She had her fire back and her game face on. This was the Anna that I was used to. I felt so happy that she chose me to confide in. I felt so honored that she would be representing our family on stage. I didn't even care if it wasn't on a Broadway stage. This was clearly something that she was missing and needed from her life. It reminded her of her mom. So, I was all for it at this point. And I knew I would be there on opening night, cheering her on from the front row, just like I had done a thousand times with the woman that created her.

"It's okay," I smile. "I've really enjoyed our conversation together."

"Me too," she laughs. "But seriously, you have to have this turned into your super in like, two hours, and we're just wasting time at this point. Do you have any ideas about how tomorrow will go?" I shake my head. "Well, at least we're on the same page."

"I don't know how these things work," I tell her truthfully. "I've looked up so many celebrity memorials in the past few days... my Google search history is morbid."

"Odd," she replies. "But I get what you're saying. I don't know much about these things either. I mean... how do you say goodbye to someone like her, again?"

"I'm not sure," I reply. "I've been toying with one idea back and forth in my head for awhile... but it's kind of lame."

"I'm sure it's not," she replies. "You weren't put on this Earth to do lame things, uncle Kurt. What's your idea that you've been toying around with?"

"Well... when we were in glee club, Mr. Schue would start the week with an assignment. He would write it on the dry erase board in big, bold letters and he kept it up there all week. It was sort of like our theme — we went through a lot — and the week would be devoted around songs pertaining to said theme."

"I like it," she tells me, frantically scribbling in her notebook. "So would people be assigned songs to sing?"

"No," I tell her. "And maybe that has been our problem all along. I've been harping over what songs everyone is going to be singing and killing myself all week waiting for people to get back to me on it that I've lost sight about what tomorrow is really all about, which is your mom."

"So, you want it to kind of be like a free-for-all?"

I shake my head. "No, I want it to be like a glee club assignment. Like what we're used to. We work best when things are a little choppy and spur of the moment. And I don't think your mom would have wanted it any other way." I smile. "I have so many ideas now."

"I do too," she replies. "I just... don't know about singing..."

"Come on," I tell her, as I get up from my seat at the dining room table. I grab a hold of her hand once she gets up from hers, too. "I want to show you something, and then you tell me whether or not you want to honor your mom tomorrow doing the only thing that you know how to do better than her."

The music room is my absolute favorite room in our home. I insisted that we had somewhere that we could express how we were feeling while Blaine and I were going through our remodeling process. This was the only room in the house that I had total control over and the only room that Blaine had allowed me to splurge on a bit more to make sure that we had all of the tools needed to make sure that the songs in our hearts never disappeared.

"Where are you taking me?" Annalise asks frantically, as I lead her down the basement stairs. "This is really weird... do you guys have like a dungeon down here or something?"

"No, we don't have a dungeon down here," I say, trying to hold in my laughter. "This," I tell her, letting go of her hand as I turn on the overhead chandelier, "this is our escape."

"Holy crap," she replies under her breath.

"You like?" I ask, as her eyes marvel over the room in front of her.

"I love," she smiles. "This is...wow."

I give her a few moments to take it all in. Inside of the room is everything one would need to create a musical masterpiece. There are black satin couches formed in a v-shape that accentuate well with the gleaming white, soundproof walls and matching carpet. Off to the side rests a matte black drum set, a Baby Grand piano, and two acoustic guitars. An array of microphones rest on the small painted stage on the far back wall of the room. On an accent wall is various pieces of sheet music: songs that mean the absolute world to us from our lives both inside and outside of high school and the glee club. I was able to place them all together so that they looked more like wallpaper that just paper scattered on a blank canvas. On the other walls are posters from the various Broadway shows that we had worked on — shows that our Rachel was the star of. Annalise stares longingly at each one, no doubt taking herself back to a time when that was all her mom could eat, sleep, or breathe. There's one from the revival of Funny Girl, which was the first show that her mom had ever been the lead in in New York. Next to that is a poster from Jersey Boys, followed by one of Rock of Ages. On the wall directly across is a framed poster of Million Dollar Quartet, followed by I Fall To Pieces, which was the Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn show that Rachel was best known for — the show that won her five Tony Awards. I was even able to snag ones from our days at McKinley — Rocky Horror, West Side Story, and Grease, the show that they had put on the year after we graduated.

"There's a spot on this wall for your show, too. I'll be the first one in line opening night buying a poster to put on this wall."

"You're going to make me cry," she tells me. "Thank you."

There's not much more to the room, other than an old wooden bookcase that I had fixed up and stained black to match the rest of the room's decor. It houses an array of sheet music, sorted alphabetically. All of the shelves are filled up, and our Tony Awards — Blaine's two and my three — are displayed on the top shelf, as a reminder of how far we have come in our lifetime together.

"Your mom had something very similar to this in her basement growing up," I smile. "It was important to her to always keep the music going."

"I'm in shock," Annalise tells me. "I thought the rest of the house was gorgeous but this... this is the cherry on top."

"I knew you'd love it," I tell her. "Performing is in your blood. One day you'll have a room like this in your home with all of your posters and awards and accolades displayed for all to see that said you couldn't do it because you lost your mom and have bipolar disorder. And everyone that passes through will remember how truly gifted you are and all that you struggled through to get to that point, just like your mom, your uncle, and myself had to."

"You think so?"

"I know so," I remind her. "You are just like your mother when it comes to music."

"Yeah, but I'm a little more... tractors and yee-haw than she was," Annalise replies.

"That's because Sam poisoned your brain," I chuckle. For as much as Annalise loved performing, Broadway musicals didn't interest her all that much unless her mom, Blaine, or herself were starring in them. The poor girl didn't even know that Footloose or Guys and Dolls were plays before they were movies. Oddly enough, the daughter of Rachel Berry turned her nose up at the history of show tunes. We tried to take her to many of musicals in our New York days — even the off-Broadway stuff that we knew may be bad — but she just fell asleep. I never knew someone that could go see Chicago or Cats and fall asleep halfway through the show. But those country music festivals where you camp all day and sweat with the person next to you and don't shower and just eat random processed fair food? She ate those right up. I know that Broadway was only to make her mom happy. NYU wasn't her top choice and neither was Kent State, which was the only school she applied to in Ohio because of their rigorous musical theatre program. She really wanted to go to Vanderbilt and live in Nashville, but Rachel would have rather seen her run away and join the circus.

"Sam did not poison my brain," she laughs. "I just happen to really like country music and the stories that it tells."

"You liked High School Musical too at one point," I remind her.

"Zac Efron was the only reason I liked High School Musical. I didn't like it because it was a musical."

"It made your mom happy for a little bit," I laugh. "She thought her daughter was finally crossing over from the dark side."

"Too funny," she replies. "So, what did you bring me down here for? Was it to just show me this room because this definitely could have waited until tomorrow... though I'm really glad you showed it to me tonight."

"I brought you down here because I have an idea for a song for you for tomorrow. A song for us to sing, actually."

She shakes her head. "You know I can't keep up with you. I'm going to look like an idiot up there tomorrow."

I sigh heavily, as she takes a seat on the couch and crosses her legs like a deformed pretzel. She takes off her reading glasses and rubs her eyes thoroughly, before placing them on the seat next to her. I make my way over to the bookcase and find the sheet music I was hunting for in no time. Annalise moves her glasses as I join her on the couch.

"You can read music, right?" I joke, as she nudges my arm a bit.

"I'm Rachel Berry's daughter. I better be able to read sheet music," she chuckles. "She may not have taught me a whole lot during her short time here, but this... this is like second nature to me." Annalise places her glasses over her eyes again, and glances over the title at the top of the page. "I've never heard this song before."

"You definitely have heard this song before. We took you to see this play."

"When?" she chuckles. "I've never heard this song before in my life."

"You'll know it when I play it for you," I tell her. We definitely did take her to see this show — October 24th, 2005. It was a Wednesday and we got all dolled up and went to Sardi's beforehand. The only reason I knew the date so well was because it was the day that Rachel had gotten the call that Funny Girl would no longer be running and this was the only thing I could do to lift her spirits back up. "It's a very difficult song to sing for an alto..."

"Soprano," she chuckles. "I'm a soprano now. Jesse has me taking vocal lessons now because there's some high notes in the songs... I didn't know I could go as high as I do. I guess I was always scared to," she glances over the pages of sheet music resting on her lap. "I don't know if I can go this high..."

"We can always change the key," I remind her. "If you can go high and you're not afraid to anymore, I will make you go high... trust me. I used to work on it with your mom all of the time." I shake my head. "Why don't I play it for you, and then we can decide together if this is what you'd like to do."

"It's kind of a... sad song, don't you think?"

"It's not necessarily a sad song."

"It's not a very happy one either," she replies, as I get up from the couch and stroll over to the docking station built into the wall. As I plug my phone in, I turn to face her as she asks, "why this song?"

"Annalise, if you don't want to sing it, you don't have to."

"Why this song though, uncle Kurt? Of the millions of songs out there... why this one?"

"Your mom and I hold this show so near and dear to our hearts," I smile, closing my eyes for a moment. In that moment, it's almost as if I'm back. I'm back on stage at the Gershwin Theatre, New York City, spring of our junior year. She and I had snuck in there after having breakfast at Tiffany's, and Rachel had confessed that she didn't have to choose between love and Broadway. Theatre would always be her first love and she was going to do whatever she could to make it to New York, with or without my brother by her side. There was no changing her mind. "This song got your mom and I through some really hard times in our life. She was my duet partner, respectively, and with your mom and I being total divas," Annalise belly-laughs at that comment, "we were always at each other's throats to get solos in the glee club. In that moment though, she and I knew that we were going to be best friends for the rest of our lives."

"And you're sure you want me to sing this with you? It sounds too sacred. What if I mess up?"

"You're not going to mess it up," I tell her. "Your mom would love for me to pass the torch down to you." Annalise smiles, and places the sheet music on the couch next to her. "What do you say, Hudson? Do you want to sing this with me?"

Annalise nods her head and wipes a stray tear from her eye. "It would mean the world to me."

"Alright then. Let's do this."

"What about turning everything into your super?" she asks. "You only have a little bit left to go until midnight and..."

"And let's just enjoy where we are right now. I will get it into him, even if I turn it in after midnight. He will understand."

Annalise and I had a long night ahead of us. However, as I take a seat at the piano, I truly didn't care. In this moment, I felt like I had a part of Rachel back — a part of Annalise back.

And, it feels like I have a part of myself back, too.