Part Four: When the winter's in full swing and your dreams just aren't coming true
So, this is the year she's gonna figure things out.
Somehow she's made it to senior year and only now she's finally gotten the hang of the entire college business – just in time to start panicking about entry into working life.
Marley hasn't decided what to do with herself yet. She'll go wherever a job's offered, but somehow the idea of another place apart from New York or Lima doesn't register. So it stands to reason that she should ask for advice from older (and hopefully wiser) friends.
"When did you guys figure it out?" she asks idly as she works her way through a huge stack of internship applications. "Careers, life, the whole thing."
Quinn, Rachel, and Santana take turns to exchange comical looks, then burst into laughter.
"What?" asks Marley, baffled. "What did I say?"
"You never actually figure it out," says Santana, wiping a tear from her eye. "Ever. Unless you're Streisand here; then you come out of the womb with the mike clutched in your hand."
Rachel wrinkles her nose. "That was such a pleasing mental image, Santana; thank you for that."
"You're welcome."
Quinn leans forward. "She's right, Marley. Whoever decided eighteen was old enough to make massive life decisions was crazy."
"Like attempting to get married before graduating high school," interjects Rachel tiredly.
Santana and Quinn exchange a look over Rachel's head. "No one said that."
"You all thought it. I've always been a little psychic." Then she smirks; realization dawns over the faces of the other two. Quinn rolls her eyes, jabs a smirking Rachel in the side. "This is all your fault," she directs at Santana, "she was never this annoying before."
"Excuse you! Have you forgotten how she was in high school? She was plenty annoying on her own, bitch; if anything, I've been a mellowing influence on her." Santana shudders. "Ugh. I can't believe you made me say that."
Marley looks on, lost in her own thoughts. She's still processing the fact that Quinn had a crush on Rachel and slept with Santana. And yet, there seems to be none of the awkwardness that accompanies such high-level drama – she, Ryder, and Jake can barely interact normally and theirs was a basic love triangle.
Across from her, the conversation has degenerated into lazy bickering. Even though Santana called Rachel an annoying hobbit, and Rachel responded by saying that Santana is psychotic, the expressions on their faces are lazy, almost relaxed.
Quinn groans. "They're at in again. Seriously, those two are weird."
Marley shrugs. "Oh," she says, tapping her pen on the paper, "this asks for a brief self-intro. How do I do this?"
"Okay, pass it here."
"Where are you applying?" asks Rachel.
Marley shrugs. "All over."
Much to her surprise, Rachel nods approvingly. "Good, you ought to keep your options open," she says brightly. For someone who's had the narrowest life goals for the longest time, her advice is surprisingly general. Marley says so, and gets laughed at.
"What? Okay, as a Broadway performer, my skillset is highly narrow and focused, I'll be the first to admit. But in the early days, I wished I'd done some other normal things. Working at a newspaper, for example. Or a temp office job. It would've been fun."
Santana scowls. "Yeah, what she said, but you have gotta make opportunities for yourself. Like me. I haven't got my big break yet, but being a session singer pays the bills, and I spin a few gigs at night. I gots my name out there; it's just a matter of time."
Rachel smiles at her. "I know, baby. You'll make it one day, your music is wonderful; besides, I don't think I can be with someone who isn't as successful as I will be…" She cuts herself off with a laugh when Santana scowls at her.
"Don't be afraid to take a chance," says Quinn. And of course, she knows all about taking chances. The woman's just graduated with her Masters from Columbia, and there is no shortage of jobs being offered.
Marley looks at all three of them. "Okay," she says.
When the applications go out, they aren't just confined to record labels and studios; she applies to music magazines and night schools and even summer programs and bootcamps. She has enough saved up if she thinks she might want to join a workshop to work on some other part of her – skillset, as Rachel insists it be called.
Unique's enthusiasm for everything New York has pretty much assured Marley that her best friend will be headed to the big city after graduation.
"Oh, and that has nothing to do with Andrew," teases Marley. She's kidding, of course – Unique is the toughest, most independent person she knows – but the look of horror on Unique's face is always fun.
"Please, girl; he's the one packing up and following me to the city. That man just wants to teach, and he says he can do that anywhere in the world." She breaks into a smile, and Marley laughs.
"You're smitten."
"Completely. Can you blame me?"
She really can't. Unique brought him to New York for spring break, and Andrew succeeded in winning Marley over. She likes him, and loves him for Unique. "Nope," she says. "One of these days he's gonna reveal himself as some sleeper agent for the KGB or something, and then assassinate the president. At least we'll know he had a reason for being as nice and normal as he is."
"I used to wish that, but I'm starting to enjoy my nice and boring life with Andrew." Then Unique gets distracted talking about some of the internships and programs she's signed up for.
Marley hears through the grapevine that Kitty dropped out of OSU after getting pregnant, married her baby's father, and moved back to Lima.
She doesn't feel darkly triumphant (like Unique happily professes to be); just sad. She's never been the person who delights in others' downfall.
Just before her summer starts proper, the responses start trickling in. Marley picks the most miraculous one, the record label in New York, that was her dream position right from the start. The position itself differs little from the pack; like most internships, it involves a lot of long hours, coffee runs, and drudgery. But it's in her industry, it looks good on her resume, and she gets a taste of working life.
Rachel gets an odd little look on her face when she hears. "Marley, the internship is with Atlantic Records."
"Yeah?"
"That's under the Warner Music group."
Santana's jaw drops open. "You're shitting me." She pushes past Rachel to peer at the email. "No fucking way. I didn't know you're that good, Rose! You gots to put in a good word for me when you make it big, 'kay?"
Quinn smiles. "I'm so proud of you."
This year, their summers don't overlap. Marley spends a week in Lima, and the rest of her vacation is spent back in New York working, to earn a little more cash before her internship starts. Her professors want her to start assembling a professional portfolio in preparation for graduation.
Quinn has a little time before she starts her new job at a small publishing house, so she goes on a graduation trip with her Columbia friends. She's not planning on going back to Lima at all, as she's making arrangements to move to her new apartment. It seems odd that Rachel didn't include Quinn in her moving plans like she did last year, and Marley says so.
Quinn shakes her head with a laugh. "I'm moving in with Halley, Nicky, and Ed," she says, naming the friends from Columbia she went on holiday with.
"You are? Not that they aren't great, but – you've lived with Rachel and Santana for years now."
"They've decided they want their own place. Together."
"Ah." Marley still doesn't know what to say about Rachel and Santana dating. She's Brittany's friend – all of them are friends with each other, it's horribly complicated – but she can see how happy Santana is with Rachel. "They seem good for each other."
"They are, somehow," nods Quinn, "Rachel keeps Santana muzzled, and Santana mellows out Rachel's crazy."
"Don't let them hear you say that."
Their takeout order is finally ready. On the walk back, Quinn tells her: "You know, I applied to Yale in the first place because of Rachel."
"She forced you to apply?" asks Marley jokingly.
Quinn arches an eyebrow, chooses to ignore her. "She was the one who never stopped telling me I could do anything I wanted." She pauses at a crosswalk. "I was resigned to staying in Lima for good because I'd ruined everything, but she… she's persistent, to put it lightly. You know how she is."
"Yeah."
"She practically harassed me to know what were my plans after graduation. What schools I'd applied to. She even offered to share an apartment with me if I planned on going to New York for college." She smiles at the memory. "So I applied to Yale to spite Rachel – close enough to visit, but far enough that I'd have space from her."
"And Santana?"
Quinn makes a face. "She actually got a cheerleading scholarship at Louisville, but she decided it wasn't for her. Rachel told me she just showed up at their apartment and made herself at home." She smirks and adds, "I'm pretty certain she only signed up for business courses at the local community college because Rachel badgered her into it when they started dating."
Marley sighs. "Did she say why she decided to come to New York? Was it because of…?"
"She'll never admit it, but probably. Yes. It hurt her bad when Britt started dating Sam." Brittany and Sam are ancient history by the time they all graduated from high school. The last she heard from Unique, Finn Hudson, of all people, had moved out to LA to be with her. Glee club is a giant incestuous tangle, and it hurts her head to try and understand it. "The relationship they had didn't do well with long-distance, and I guess they moved on to other people."
Marley nods. She can tell the conversation is taking a deeply personal turn, and she shifts the topic to moving, offering her services to Quinn, which the latter finds amusing.
"You? Lift heavy boxes?" Laughing, she prods Marley's arm.
"I'm stronger than I look," she insists, striking a ridiculous pose.
"I don't doubt that," says Quinn, still smiling. "If you insist, I'll buy you food."
"Deal."
She puts on her uniform, and grabs the apron, looping the ties around her waist for extra security, before fastening it with a slip knot. Beside her, a younger employee fumbles; she guides her through the motions, and congratulates her upon successfully securing the apron.
She feels old. It wasn't that long ago when she was the nervous junior employee being taught how to tie an apron.
They have another half-hour to opening. Oscar, who's unlocking the cash register, throws his hands up in the air when she approaches him, envelope in hand.
"No!" he exclaims. "No, no! What is it this time?"
Marley rolls her eyes, huffing a laugh. "Oscar," she says, putting a hand on a hip, "you've known this day was coming for a long time now."
"Is it the school holidays? I've told you we can work with that."
"I'm starting an internship! After that, I'll be getting a real job."
"You break my heart. Twenty-three years managing the finest Italian restaurant in town, and she says it's not a real job." Oscar sighs. "Fine, fine. Give it." He takes the envelope and shoves it in the back pocket of his trousers. "I will miss you. You're so much better than all those silly girls and boys who come to the big city to chase their dreams of being a star. They're here because it pays the bills! Who chases being a restaurant manager? Nobody but me."
Marley laughs. "I'm not quitting just yet, that was my two-week notice."
"And you think two weeks are enough to make another one of you?" Oscar claps a meaty hand on her upper arm. "You will come back. Work a bit. Maybe you come back to eat too. As long as you don't forget us." He glances at the far side of the restaurant. "Philip! We use newspaper on the glass!" He turns back to Marley, an aggrieved expression on his face. "You see?"
"I get it." Smiling, she goes over to help the poor confused boy, who's staring at the cleaning cloth in his hand in bewilderment.
She arrives after her shift ends, already dressed down in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and worn jeans. The ubiquitous newsboy cap gets stuck into her bag, and her hair is put into a messy bun. Quinn greets her on the sidewalk. "Hey," she says, wrapping an arm around Marley's shoulders. "Glad you came. You're just in time for the heavy lifting."
A burly black man walks past with a large box in his arms. "Good, I could use a break." He puts it down, wipes his hands on the seat of his pants, and offers one to Marley. "I'm Edgar, call me Ed."
She shakes it. "Marley."
"Over there's Halley," Quinn points to a swearing woman in a hijab, "and Nicky." The skinny guy waves tiredly when he hears his name.
"Hello, Quinn's hired labour," he says, and Marley giggles. "Help me, my arms are falling off."
Halley marches over. "Quinn, for the love of God, stop flirting and – oh." She offers an awkward handshake as Nicky guffaws; Marley tries not to blush. "Hello. Marley, I presume?"
"Yep."
"You're a bitch, Halimah."
"Shut it, Fabray, people make mistakes. Especially since my deduction was based on previous experience."
She likes Quinn's friends already – though, she likes Quinn, so it's not such a big jump in logic to assume she'll like her taste in friends. "You're Halley, right?" Marley interrupts, cutting Quinn and Halimah off mid-squabble.
"Short for Halimah, but that's what people I don't like call me." She grins at Marley. "Come, come, get a box. We only just unloaded everything off the trucks, now we need to wait for the super to give us the keys so we can haul everything up. I hope you brought your muscles."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "I hate all of you," she says, looping her arm through Marley's, leading her to a pile of boxes marked with her name.
"Says the woman who went through New York's apartment listings and was the first to sign the lease," says Nicky aside to Marley.
"I heard that!"
He makes a face. "Welp."
Marley smiles. She feels comfortable among these people; partly because they seem nice, mostly because she can focus on her work and doesn't actually have to talk to them. She hefts a box marked Fragile, careful to check that it's the right way up, and follows Ed into the lobby.
The apartment itself is spacious and airy, making it seem a lot bigger than it is; perfect for housing four people. Halley has her hands on her hips as she surveys the space, directing her friends like an air traffic controller.
"My room's the second door on the left," says Quinn, who's materialized behind her with another box. Marley lets her lead the way.
The room is modest in size ("I drew the short straw," remarks Quinn). The movers already shifted the larger pieces of furniture in – a bed, nightstand, dresser, bookshelves, and a desk – so all that's left is to unpack. "Put that in the corner."
It takes a short time to process. Most of the room is packed with boxes, and there's only one relatively uncluttered corner. Marley puts it down and turns to take Quinn's box from her, wrinkling her nose at its weight.
"You shouldn't be carrying boxes this heavy."
"It's fine," says Quinn dismissively. "It was years ago, and the doctors've cleared me for any strenuous physical activity."
"Strenuous, you say?" Nicky comes into the room with another of Quinn's boxes. "Do us a favour and buy us earplugs for when your new gentlemen callers stay over, then." He sets it down in the corner, examines it briefly, then sits himself on it.
"Fuck you, Nicky."
"Which raises an interesting question, really; if two of the four lease signers are in a relationship, do they have to pay a larger share of the rent for the biggest bedroom they will inevitably need?"
Quinn doesn't answer. She merely grunts and turns on her heel, disappearing outside. Nicky chuckles.
"Our Quinn's the most eloquent one in this house most of the time, really – remarkable, given how she just conducted herself."
Marley shrugs. She feels bad for being amused at Quinn's expense, but Nicky's genuinely funny, and he seems determined to make her feel at ease. "To be fair, lease and rent renegotiations aren't something I would want to think about when I'm just moving in."
"Fair." Nicky stands up, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. "I see why you two are friends now," he says as he wanders off downstairs.
With five people hauling, it takes a relatively short time for them to get everything off the kerb and into their respective rooms; unpacking, however, is another kettle of fish altogether.
Marley mops her forehead and checks the time on her phone. "What were you guys planning for dinner?"
Halley looks bleary. "Uh, takeout? I dunno."
"Dibs on Chinese," chimes in Ed.
"Mexican!"
"Guys, we had Mexican yesterday. You cannot be serious."
"Um, we aren't all Nicky, and we can find something to eat other than beef quesadillas."
"Fuck you all. I eat other foods too."
Marley watches the back-and-forth exchange with increasing dismay. Even when stressed beyond belief, she's always made time to eat well. Quinn seems to notice the expression on her face, and ends the bickering with a curt, I-am-the-Head-Bitch-in-Charge, "Shut up, everyone! I can't hear myself think."
The other three stop and stare at her.
"Marley and I will go get sandwiches," she says, placing a gentle hand on Marley's shoulder, "which are non-greasy, nutritionally-balanced, and filling. Bonus, you three lazy creatures don't need to leave the house."
"That works," says Halley. Ed and Nicky look at each other, back at Quinn, and shrug.
"Cool."
"Sounds good."
"I'm glad we could compromise," says Quinn, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're going to Defonte's in five, so text me your sandwich orders." She turns to Marley, and her tone softens. "I'm gonna change first. Do you need a shower?"
Marley shakes her head. "I'm good."
"Great. Give me a minute."
While she waits, Marley goes over to the largest window in the apartment. The background noises of packing tape ripping, people's voices, and rustling of things being lifted out of boxes fade as she contemplates the view.
She shouldn't be this affected. She has no problems with food now, after years of counselling. Definitely not takeout food, or people eating takeout food, or people eating. She doesn't understand why she feels antsy and unsettled, though.
"Marl?" The nickname filters into her personal space; she turns to look into concerned hazel eyes. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she says with a smile. She rests a hand on Quinn's upper arm; part reassurance, part gesture for her to move so she can get her phone. "Let's go, then? I think your friends are starving."
Once downstairs, Quinn seems to lapse into pensive silence as she often does, though she doesn't appear to be as off in her own space as normal. If anything, she seems hyper-aware of Marley; her fingers on the younger girl's elbow warn her that the pedestrian crossing isn't ready, and a gentle tug on the tail of Marley's shirt guides her out of the path of an oncoming cyclist.
Marley gets it. Quinn isn't pressuring her to open up, but she is relentless in making Marley know she is cared for. It's a tactic she's employed in the past when dealing with Quinn.
At Defonte's, Marley picks the avocado, roast beef, and salad on wholewheat after being assured of its deliciousness. Quinn refuses to let her pay for a single thing, and they leave shortly after their sandwiches have been packed.
Outside, a hand catches her sleeve. "I feel like an ice cream," says Quinn, her gaze finding Marley's and holding it. "Walk with me?"
"Ice cream? In May?"
Quinn shrugs. "A craving's a craving. C'mon, I know a good place nearby that's better than whatever we got in Lima."
It's not an invitation. It's a command, but Marley is happy to comply. She nods, smiling when Quinn does, and lets Quinn catch her hand to lead her where they're supposed to go.
The exterior is much like Harlan's Ices back in Lima, but the selection of flavours inside is more extensive and interesting. Marley doesn't even have to fake her enthusiasm as she asks the girl behind the counter if she can try the dark chocolate raspberry ripple, and then the butter pecan, then the peanut butter jelly surprise…
Eventually, she does settle for a single scoop of the raspberry – which Quinn also pays for, much to Marley's displeasure.
"You carried heavy boxes all afternoon. The least I could do is buy you dinner and a dessert," says Quinn. She has a simple chocolate fudge for herself. They aren't going to manage ice creams on top of five sandwiches and bottled drinks, so Quinn sits at a small corner table. Marley follows.
By this point, the weight of the silence is too much for Marley. "I'm sorry," she says, "for being weird back there. I guess I'm not used to other people's eating habits, which really isn't any of my business, and I don't understand why I reacted that way."
Quinn, who's waited patiently for Marley to finish speaking, sets down her plastic spoon. "I don't care about that."
"Huh?"
She shrugs. "I really don't. I just didn't want to listen to them arguing; I'm hungry and tired, and I wanted sandwiches." She looks down at her cup. "And ice cream."
A surprised giggle bubbles out of Marley.
"Just because life's complicated doesn't mean it has to be that way all the time." Quinn picks up her ice cream and spoon, and resumes eating, a hint of a smile on her lips.
It's that smile that tells Marley that everything's okay, and it always has been.
She goes back the next day – early, this time, because she's scheduled for the evening shift. Marley buys them all breakfast from her favourite spot because she can.
A half-asleep Ed lets her in (and to be honest, she isn't even sure if he remembers her) and she sets up camp on the dining table. Marley surveys the half-unpacked kitchen as she works; the coffeemaker's out, as are half the pans.
"Breakfast," says Quinn hoarsely. She's still wearing pajamas crumpled from sleep, but she looks relatively awake. "Coffee?"
She hands Quinn a styrofoam cup, uncapping it so the aroma of coffee curls into the kitchen. "Spoonful of sugar, plenty of milk."
"You remembered."
"It's not hard."
"The last few people I dated never could." She takes a sip and sighs happily.
Marley holds her tongue. She's in no position to judge, and anyway, it's too early in the morning for dating discourse. "Since you're the first one up, you get the pick of the breakfast sandwiches."
"I thought Ed let you in?"
"I'm pretty sure he would've let the Queen of England in and not had a clue."
Quinn snorts. "That's true." She casts her eye over the row of sandwiches Marley's taken out of the bag, and picks the one that has the most bacon sticking out the sides. "Thanks."
Marley sighs good-naturedly. She sips her tea and starts on her own sandwich.
Slowly, the other occupants of the apartment file into the kitchen, making sleepy appreciative noises, and making short work of the coffee and sandwiches. "Thanks, Marley," says Halley, "and to what do we owe this generosity?"
She shrugs a shoulder. "I figured you guys would spend the entire day unpacking," she says, "and I have the evening shift, so I thought I would come help."
"You don't have to…" starts Quinn. Marley waves her off.
"Thanks." Ed pats her hand. "In exchange, we shall keep you fed."
"Isn't that the norm? Like, I've read that the social code dictates that you feed whoever helps you move in."
Halley laughs raucously. "You see, Eddy? Not everyone is as gullible as you." Addressing Marley, she says: "He helped me move into my room in Columbia and was honestly stunned when I bought him pizza. Like, who helps lug boxes for free?"
"Shut up, Halimah."
"I love you too." She makes kissy sounds at him.
Once the breakfast things have been cleared away, Marley expects to be put to work on something neutral – the living room, the rest of the kitchen things. Instead, she gets dragged away to Quinn's room. "Come help me," says Quinn, "or I'll never be done by today."
"Okay?" Quinn has less boxes than the others, but Marley doesn't voice her thoughts.
She gets tasked with unpacking books and arranging them in alphabetical order on the shelves. There are so many she isn't sure that all of them will find a place.
Quinn shrugs when it's pointed out to her. "I'll get another shelf."
"You won't have any space left to walk in here."
"Whatever." Quinn sits cross legged on her bed, sifting through what looks like a shoebox of photographs. Most go back into the box, but the occasional photo gets added to the corkboard to her left.
Marley sighs. She continues her work in silence, resisting the urge to flick through some of the more interesting-looking books, until the box is empty and she folds it up. "Done."
"Cool. Thanks." Quinn appears done with her corkboard as well, standing facing the wall. The tip of her tongue peeps out of the corner of her mouth, brow furrowed.
Marley walks over. "Need help?"
"I'm fine, thanks," she says absently. "No wait – could you stand over there –" Quinn gestures to the other end of the room behind her "– and tell me if this is crooked?"
"'Kay." The younger girl complies.
Quinn peels the backing tape off the mounting strips and holds the entire thing up. "Is it straight?"
"Uh… lift the left corner a bit; no, too much; the right corner now… can you move the whole thing up by a fraction of an inch…? Perfect, stop there."
She presses the corkboard in place and steps back, hands on her hips, to admire her work. "Looks great. Thanks, Marley."
"Anytime." Her eyes travel over the photos on the board; many of the faces are familiar to Marley. There's the senior Glee club in various performances. Rachel and Santana. A young girl in various stages of growth with Quinn's hazel eyes. Puck, but only with the girl – Beth, thinks Marley. She recognises the photo of them covered in frosting.
And there's herself. Smiling from a couch she vaguely recognises as belonging to the loft Rachel, Santana, and Kurt shared. A few that she remembers posing for, on trips to Yale, back in Lima, and here in New York.
"Rachel gave me one of these things on my last birthday," says Quinn. "She said they're for conceptualising your dreams and goals, but I think I prefer it like this." Her fingers trace the outline of photo-Beth's chubby cheek, then she turns her head to look at Marley, a smile jumping to her face a little too quickly, too wide. "Are you hungry? Do you wanna get a snack?"
She finds Quinn's hand, tangling their fingers together, and gives it a firm squeeze. "Yeah," she lies.
Back in her own apartment, Marley calls home. Millie answers on the first ring.
"Hi, sweetie. I thought you'd gone to bed."
"I am in bed," she giggles. "I just wanted to call you. Sorry I'm not home much this summer."
"Stuff n' nonsense, Marley Rose. You're exactly where you're supposed to be, and I'm fit to burst with how proud I am of you. Speakin' of which, doesn't that internship of yours start tomorrow?"
"Yeah. I have to be at the office at nine sharp."
"Send me photos tomorrow, okay? I wanna see and hear all about it."
"Sure thing, Mom."
"I miss you already."
"I miss you so much."
Millie chuckles softly. "We could go back and forth like this all night. You came home, we spent our quality time. You're growin' up, you can't be expected to be spendin' all your time with your ol' mom. Now go to bed, and call me tomorrow with all the news about your first day, alright hon?"
"Okay, Mom. Good night, I love you."
"Love you too, sweetie."
On the first day, she's shown around a surprisingly homely office. The people seem nice enough, but it's not them she's there for; Marley fell in love the instant she was shown the studio with all its top of the line recording equipment. NYU's facilities aren't lacking, but the professional-grade equipment excites her beyond belief.
She takes photos, of course; of her cubicle (which she knows she'll spend little time at). The exterior of the place, and the door to the studios. She even gets her fellow intern, Sandra, to snap a photo of her with the studio logo.
The internship is a lot less terrifying that it seemed at the beginning. She knows her stuff, and she's used to hard work; her boss likes her enough to let her do more things than simply running errands for the execs.
At the end of her first month, Marley is packing up her things as she gets ready to leave. She's got a long, glorious weekend ahead of her, and she wants to start it off right with takeout and a good book –
"Hey, Marley. Got a minute?"
Alex, a fellow intern, slouches awkwardly at the side of the desk. He's a senior at Cornell doing Music Theory and Composition, with sandy hair and the greenest eyes Marley has ever seen. She smiles and hopes fervently he doesn't come bearing more work. "Alex. Hey. Sure thing, what's up?"
"I was wondering if you're free tonight or something. We could… get some coffee, or a drink, if you'd like."
It takes her a while to fully process that he's asking her out. "I – wow. Tonight? Now?"
"We don't have to, if you've got plans or stuff already," he backtracks, "I was just hoping that we could spend some time together one of these days. Without all this crazy stuff, y'know." Alex jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the studio; she stifles a giggle.
"Okay, yeah. Uh, I've got plans tonight so it's a little soon, but I'll give you my number, and we can work something out tomorrow or Sunday?" Marley pulls a Sharpie from her shirt pocket, uncapping it, and writes her phone number on the back of his hand in neat digits. "I've gotta go. See you." She flees before he can say anything else.
When she hears about this emergency, Unique comes online immediately and demands for Marley to accept her call.
"Why do you need to be on Skype?" asks Marley, disgruntled. "There is such a thing as calling and texting, y'know."
"Marley Rose, I love you, but you are being incredibly obtuse right now and when I go up there next I will slap you for it," declares Unique. "This is the first chance you've had at a date since – I don't even know? Since Jake and Ryder? – and I am baffled why you didn't take up the boy on his offer that very instant. Is he cute?"
"Yeah, he is." Alex is long and lanky, with a smile that could power an apartment block, and has always been a perfect gentleman when they were working together.
"Are you straight?"
"Unique!"
"Work with me here. You haven't had a date in ages, and when this cute boy asks you out, you aren't falling over yourself to sink your claws into him. You'd only turn him down if you don't like his boy parts."
"Oh, my god. I can't even talk to you now, you're being ridiculous. How does Andrew stand you?"
Unique sniffs. "Nice try. Andrew knew from the beginning what he was signing up for, and that boy has had nothing to complain about since. This is about you, Marl. What's holding you back?"
She sighs. "I honestly don't know," says Marley, "he really seems nice. I just… I was actually gonna arrange to meet him for a coffee tomorrow afternoon."
"You do that, and you report back to me."
"Fine. Now scat." She ends the call to Unique's uproarious laughter.
She's meeting Quinn the next morning for breakfast, so it's the perfect opportunity to seek advice. "You have a date?" Quinn looks surprised. "What's his name? How come I haven't heard about this sooner?"
"Alex's a fellow intern at Atlantic." Marley sits on her bed. "He kinda surprised me yesterday afternoon; I gave him my number. We're going out for coffee at this shop near work. What does one wear?"
Quinn laughs, crossing the cramped room to Marley's closet. "Didn't you date Jake Puckerman? How do you not know this?"
"I had no idea what I was doing back then, okay," Marley defends herself. "We'd just go out after school; I didn't dress up or anything. Anyway, you have tons more experience than I do."
"Okay. So, coffee date." Quinn tosses a few articles of clothing onto the bed, most of them vintage finds from thrift stores around the city. Quinn and Unique made a formidable team when it came to finding items; Rachel, not allowed to join in the selecting of clothes, joined forces with Santana in getting the best price for them (in some stores, almost reducing the storekeeper to tears). "You want to be casual, but not too casual."
"Mmhmm."
"Which one of your flannel shirts were you gonna wear?"
Marley gasps in protest. "Were you assuming I was gonna wear one?"
"I know you, Marley Rose."
"Well, you don't know me enough because I wasn't even thinking of it."
"Right. Okay." Quinn tosses something at her; Marley eyes the deep purple tunic top that's landed on her head. "Wear this."
"Fine. So, jeans?"
"If you must." Quinn yanks a plain black pair of skinny jeans from the closet. "This, your purple top, and a scarf. Very hipster."
Marley rolls her eyes. "I didn't even know you knew that word."
"Don't underestimate my hipness to today's slang." Quinn waits for Marley to finish putting on the outfit before nodding her approval. "Okay, looking good."
"Great." She reaches for her favourite newsboy cap, cramming it on her head – ignoring the sigh that escapes Quinn –and slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. "Thanks for the help, Quinn!"
Alex is early, but not as early as Marley. She's settled in a good spot facing the door so she can spot him. "Hey," he says, smiling as he pulls out his chair. "I'm really glad we could do this."
"No problem." Her stomach roils with anticipation and anxiety. "Shall we get drinks?"
He nods. At the counter, he doesn't let her pay for her drink, but they pay for their own snacks. "I know this is casual, but I just think it's good manners for the asker to buy the drinks," he explains sheepishly.
Marley laughs. "I'm not complaining."
The conversation is lively, starting with work, the execs, then music in general. Alex turns out to be a huge fan of folk singer-songwriters in the style of Damien Rice, and bashfully shows his writing notebook to Marley.
At six on the dot, Marley's exit call comes in. She stares down at the ringing phone, mutes it, and then continues talking about their respective colleges' workload.
"You loved it."
"It was fun," defends Marley, "Alex's a really nice guy, and he's interesting to talk to. We have a lot in common."
Unique snorts. "You ignored my exit call. So you loved it. When are you going out with him again?"
"There's this diner on Seventh near Cornell he swears by, we're going Tuesday after work."
"Keep me posted. The next date is an acceptable time to take photos, you'd better send me some or I'll die of anticipation."
"You won't actually die, you drama queen."
Quinn brings takeout over to Marley's apartment. Gavin and Andie are home, so they retreat to Marley's room to eat. "Believe me, it took everything I had not to sneak a bite on my way here," says Quinn. She tries to sit on the edge of Marley's bed and gets shooed away.
"Sit at my desk. You'll rumple your clothes." Quinn is dressed immaculately, even on a Saturday; a marked contrast to Marley, who ditched her coffee outfit in favour of sweats and a tank top. She sighs but complies, letting Marley sit cross-legged on the bed, a box of chow mein in her hand.
"I'm guessing it went well," says Quinn with a small smile.
"Yeah. He likes a lot of the same stuff, and we spent the whole time talking about books and music. He writes songs too."
"That's great."
Marley notices then, that Quinn picks at her food, and is more taciturn than usual. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired. It's been a week from hell at work; you won't believe the amount of projects that've come in, and how many my boss thinks I can proofread in a day."
"You didn't have to come over." Marley lives in the East Village, close to school, but Quinn's apartment is out in Brooklyn. "I could have gone to your place."
"Nah. I had a craving for beef chow mein." She grins at Marley, but it feels… off, somehow.
"But, Quinn – "
"I don't want to talk about it," she says quietly but firmly. "Please."
It's not awkward at all, the first day back at work. She's attached to a senior producer to learn the ropes, and so she doesn't see much of Alex.
But when she comes back to her desk from the studio, there's an empty paper cup with a teabag inside sitting on it. A yellow sticky note instructs her to get hot water from the office pantry whenever she's back.
Marley stops by Alex's spot on her way back; to her surprise, he's there, muttering to himself as he sifts through Excel.
"Thanks. For the tea, and the note." She holds up the steaming cup.
"Oh, hey, Marley." He beams at her. "I wasn't sure when you were gonna get back, and your tea might've gotten cold. Nothing sucks more than cold tea, really, and – " Alex purses his lips, waving a hand, "– yeah. Gonna stop rambling now."
"No, it's good."
"Good. That's really good." He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So I was thinking – "
"Are you – "
They pause, and share a laugh. "You first," she says.
"No, you."
"What are we, five?"
Alex grins at her. "Fine. So – are you free this weekend?" There's a David Bowie exhibition I wanna see – that is, if you're a fan of him."
She smiles. "I love David Bowie."
"Great! That's great! So, do you wanna go with me?"
"I'd love to."
Back home, Marley contemplates her phone. This is the first time in her life that she isn't home in Lima, her mom downstairs singing as she works.
She should give Quinn a call. She's seen a lot of Quinn lately, with coffee outings (tea for her) and meals – albeit eaten out of cardboard boxes in each other's rooms, but – Quinn has been a little weird all this while. Marley doesn't know why, because she won't open up.
An idea strikes her. She pulls up Google on her phone, and types away.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Quinn."
The voice on the other end doesn't lose its tension. "Hi, Marl. What's up?"
"Oh, uh – is now a bad time? I could call back later…"
"No, no. I'm just – surprised. You don't normally call me…" Quinn trails off. When she speaks again, her tone is softer, more relaxed. "What's the occasion?"
"Nothing, really. Just wanted to say that even though we've known each other for years now, we can still hang out." She laughs, a nervous 'ha-ha' that makes her cringe, glad that Quinn can't see what a mess she is. "Not that… god, I'm bad at this. Not that I'm saying we can't."
Quinn laughs. "Of course we can. Was that all you called me to say?"
"No, of course not! I was wondering if… you were free this weekend? We could do something other than eat or drink or…" Marley trails off, blush intensifying when she hears Quinn's quiet laughter on the other end.
"I'd love to," responds Quinn. "What did you have in mind?"
"A Medusa exhibition?"
Marley flushes scarlet. She does that a lot lately, and she worries she might be coming down with something. "Yeah. I saw an ad for this exhibition the other day when I was out with Alex, and – I thought you might be interested."
Quinn walks ahead and appears not to have heard – but then tosses her a sly smile over a shoulder as she skips up the stairs. "And what makes you think I'd be interested, mm?"
Marley chokes back a laugh. "I went through your entire book collection! I didn't miss the hardcover copy of The Complete Guide to Greek Mythology!" She jogs up the steps, caught up in Quinn's enthusiasm.
"You like mythology too!"
"Yeah, but I'm not the one with a copy of Medusa on my shelf!"
"You got me," says Quinn, eyes alight with mirth. She takes out her purse, and is rebuffed by Marley.
"Asker pays," she insists, taking the money out of her purse.
"I make more than you."
"You're only here because I asked you."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I'm buying lunch after."
"Deal." Marley buys two tickets and hands one to Quinn. They let the attendant scan it.
Inside, Marley inhales the weighty atmosphere. She loves the unique feeling that she finds in museums and art galleries, of reverence and admiration of art handed down over centuries. Quinn, as she expected, already has a guide pamphlet in her hand, and offers one to Marley. "No, thanks. I'll depend on you to tell me what's going on," she says.
Quinn rolls her eyes. "As though I'm an authority."
"Technically, you have the pamphlet, so yeah."
Quinn laughs, and then swats her with it. "You're ridiculous."
"And how have you not known this earlier?"
"I think it was the intellectual-looking books and newsboy cap. Hides the dorky bits."
"Since you persist in calling me a dork, Quinn Fabray, don't forget I went through your book collection – here and in Lima. I know things."
As they banter, they wander through the prescribed course as the guide states, and Quinn insists; Marley finds it amusing how Quinn's just as anal about the museum as she is with her books. Although she would have been content to spend her Sunday afternoon just watching Quinn, Marley quickly gets caught up with some of the pieces of art on display. "I like this one," she says, pointing at a painting.
"The Caravaggio?"
"Whatever," she says, just to make Quinn scowl. "Yes, the Caravaggio," relents Marley, hugging Quinn's arm to her, "sorry for offending your artistic sensibilities."
Quinn just looks away and mumbles, "Alright," which is a little subdued for her, but Marley attributes it to the hush of the museum.
She lingers by the gift shop on the way out. "It's all gimmicky stuff," says Quinn.
"Says the woman who bought a foam Statue of Liberty hat and 'I Heart NY' shirt," Marley snipes back with a grin.
"It was an ironic statement and a gag gift in one."
She laughs. She's really enjoying this outing; it's been a while since she's seen Quinn this happy – and if it means going out of her comfort zone and teasing her, Marley would gladly do it. "Whatever you say. So, lunch?"
"Of course. What do you feel like eating?"
"Buyer picks."
Quinn arches an eyebrow. "It doesn't work that way."
"Fine. What's close by?"
"Chinese?"
"Okay."
"Okay? That was quick," says Quinn.
"I'm not a picky eater. Besides, your treat." She honestly couldn't care less where they end up, as long as it's with Quinn; the incident with Quinn's roommates has taught her that Quinn will always take care of that aspect of her.
Quinn beams. "Chinese, then."
She has a miserable day. It's half comedy of errors, half definite proof the universe is out to get her. Marley doesn't want to go into details, because it only depresses her.
When she unlocks her front door and flops on the couch, shedding her jacket, hat, and bag along the way, Marley wants nothing more than to sink into the cushions and forget that the day ever happened. Except, of course – she has to forget that she still needs to eat dinner, and she hasn't the energy or enthusiasm for that.
Marley weighs it against the guilt of not eating, and comes up pretty damn conflicted.
"Hey, yourself."
Marley's hallucinating now. It must be the hunger, because no one has hallucinations this vivid for lesser reasons. "Go away, hallucination-Quinn, and let me die in peace."
A warm pressure rests on her shoulder, squeezing briefly. "That's the first time I've been called a hallucination," says Quinn, sounding amused, "and I'm counting the time Rachel mistook Santana's pot brownies for her vegan batch and ate six before we could stop her."
"... Quinn?"
"The actual one." Quinn nudges her until she sits up properly – the whole time, she doesn't stop staring.
"What're you doing here?"
"Andie called me. She said you were having a bad day." She guides Marley up and over to the dining table, sitting her down. A tall glass of milk follows. "Drink," commands Quinn.
She does, slowly. Quinn nods, satisfied, and then takes something out of the oven and sets it in front of her.
Marley gapes at the dish of mac and cheese. "What…?"
"I made it myself," says Quinn. "Eat."
She does, ravenously, almost moaning at how the rich cheesy flavour fills her mouth and warms her insides. There are chunks of other things mixed inside – broccoli? Chicken? – which she savours. All the while she is conscious of Quinn watching her.
Only when Marley scrapes up the last bit of pasta from the dish and sets the spoon down, does Quinn move. She puts the dish to soak before sitting back down.
Marley notices it's eerily quiet for a Wednesday evening in her apartment. "Where's everyone?"
Quinn smiles in a manner that chills Marley. "I suggested that they should give you some quiet time. Gavin and Andie went out; Stan's in his room."
"Suggested?"
"Strongly."
Marley smiles.
The kettle whistles; Quinn excuses herself, returning shortly after with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The rich scent wafts through the air. Marley accepts her mug gratefully.
"Thanks."
Quinn props her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her open palm. "No problem. How are you feeling?"
"Much better." She returns Quinn's smile, albeit shyer. "It was amazing; the food, the hot chocolate, everything. I didn't know you could cook like that."
"I can't. I got the recipe from your mom a while back, when we were in Lima."
Marley's jaw drops open. "No wonder it tasted familiar. But it had all the extra stuff inside, my mom doesn't do that."
Here Quinn looks a little abashed. "I wanted you to eat something nutritionally balanced, so I desecrated your mom's recipe."
She flushes. "Thank you. I… that means a lot to me. I really appreciate you doing that."
"It's not a big deal."
Marley laughs. She feels so much better now, like she can fly. She's about to ask if Quinn wants to watch bad movies with her all night, but her phone rings, startling them both.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Marley," comes Alex's voice. "Sandra said you got chewed out by Iversen today. How are you feeling?"
Marley glances over at Quinn; the other girl is preoccupied with her hot chocolate, and doesn't appear to be paying attention to her. "Much better," she says.
"Great. Listen, I was wondering; if you don't have any plans tonight, I could come over to your place to hang out? I'll bring popcorn and movies; I've got that movie you said you wanted to watch. Princess Diaries, yeah?"
Is that Alex? Quinn mouths. Marley nods.
Quinn's expression smooths over. "I should go," she says, taking her mug to the sink, "I won't get in the way of you two..."
"No!"
"Huh?" asks Alex.
"I mean…" Marley clears her throat. "I don't think thats a good idea, Alex. I'm really not up for company; I was actually just gonna take a shower and go to bed early."
"Oh, sure, of course. I'll talk to you later, then? Good night, Marley. Take care."
"Bye." She ends the call, sets her phone down before she can consider that she's turned down her boyfriend to spend time with her best friend. "Hey, Quinn, hang on a sec."
She has her tote on her shoulder. "He can come over; I'm on my way out," she says, smiling.
"He's, uh, not coming."
"You told him not to come?"
"Yeah. Like – you're already here; you came all this way to feed me comfort food. That you cooked." Marley feels like she's ruining it somehow. "It's freezing out there, and it's a long way to Brooklyn."
Quinn chuckles. "I've lived here for two years; I think I know how to brave a New York winter."
Marley hesitates. There's no way she can get Quinn to stay without sounding too needy, but… "I'll make you my mom's special peppermint tea?"
Quinn shakes her head. "You make a compelling case," she says, following Marley back into the kitchen, dropping her tote beside her chair.
"And board games later?"
"You have board games?"
Marley grins. "Technically, Stan does." She gets up. "I'll be back in a few minutes, let me see what he's got." She pads over to his room, knocking on the door briskly.
He has his oversized headphones on as he blasts away at some game on his computer, but pushes his swivel chair over to her when she enters. "Hey, Marl. Feeling better?"
"Loads, thanks."
"Great. What can I do for you, babe?"
"Can I borrow some of your board games?"
"Certainly. Help yourself, they're on the shelf over there." Stan doesn't go back to his game, however; he hovers next to the shelf.
"Hey, Marl?"
"Hmm?"
"Your friend Quinn. Do you know if she's, uh, is she seeing anybody?"
She blinks owlishly at him. "Uh, not that I know of. Why?"
Stan sighs. "God, you're so adorably obtuse sometimes. I was wondering… do you think she'd be interested in going out with me some time?"
Marley frowns. It's not a secret that out of her housemates, she's closest to Stan, but he's being incredibly annoying right now and she doesn't understand why. "Oh my god, Stanley. Just ask her yourself – she's outside now, and we aren't in high school anymore."
"First of all, that's not my name. Secondly, do you think it would be weird? Like, she's your best friend and I'm your roommate."
"Of course it's weird. Like you're being right now." She grabs the closest box. "Thanks." Marley stalks out.
"Marley? Everything alright?"
She's outside, clutching the game in a death grip. Quinn looks concerned. Marley shakes her head, wills away the agitation with a few deep breaths. "I'm fine. There wasn't much choice."
"I can see that,"says Quinn with an arched eyebrow. "Trivial Pursuit? Clearly, you're a masochist for picking such a brain-intensive game."
Marley gapes at her – until she notices the corners of Quinn's mouth twitching, and she scowls. "You're mean."
"I do my best. Come on, let's get the things set up."
Gavin calls a house conference over breakfast, much to everyone's dismay.
"Please tell me this is an actual household emergency, and not a party announcement," grumbles Stan.
Gavin looks affronted. "Halloween is coming, and it would be scandalous to let it pass without commemoration. Parties are always household emergencies, Stanislaus."
"That's not my name!"
Andie groans. "Gavin, everytime we go against our better judgement and let you throw a party, something bad happens."
"Does not. My birthday?"
"Someone puked all over our bathroom."
"Couldn't be avoided," snipes Stan, "someone spiked the punch. Thrice."
"Andie's thesis presentation party?"
"I found a diaphragm in my room," says Marley. Andie gags. "Luckily it was on the floor, otherwise I would've needed to burn my mattress."
Gavin frowns. "End of finals?"
"Gavin, no," says everyone else simultaneously.
His pout deepens. "No one would ever guess you sad socks are college students. C'mon, we're only young once."
"It's not so much our being sad socks," replies Marley, "as it is your parties always getting out of hand."
"Can't help it if I'm the most happening thing this side of the East Village." He puts up both hands in a peace gesture. "Okay, okay, that was terrible. Fine. How about if I swear, cross my heart, promise on my mother's grave, to take care of the cleanup myself?"
"Swear on something you actually care about. Like… your NYU All-Faculty Beer Pong champion's trophy," Marley suggests.
"Your underwear collection."
Andie makes a disgusted face. "Oh my god, you actually still have that? I thought you'd gotten rid of it, you goddamned perv."
"They keep piling up, alright? I can't help it if people just give them to me!" He waves a dismissive hand. "We digress. Y'all are savages. Fine, I accept your terms." As he wanders off muttering to himself about party arrangements, Stan walks over to Marley.
"I'm gonna do it."
"Huh?"
"The next time I see Quinn," explains Stan. "I'm gonna man up and ask her out."
"Oh." She feels strangely agitated. "You don't have to ask my permission, I'm not her keeper."
He blinks. "Wow, Marley. If you feel so strongly about me dating Quinn, you could just say so."
"I don't care whether you're dating Quinn or not," she informs him coolly, "'cause it's none of my business. Anyway, she hasn't even said yes yet." And Marley stalks off to her room, shutting the door behind her.
She flops on her bed, clutching a pillow to her face. Marley's torn; part of her wants to tell Stan to stay away from Quinn. The other part doesn't understand why she's being so irrational about the whole thing.
What seems like half of Steinhardt shows up to Gavin's Halloween party. Being Gavin, he has a strict costume policy, and dresses as the Lone Ranger. Stan (reluctantly) joins him as Tonto because he hasn't got any better ideas. Andie cuts arm and leg holes in a burlap sack and calls herself a bag of sugar.
Marley didn't know what to get. She didn't want to do a couple costume like Alex suggested, but she couldn't think of what to get. At her wits' end, she went to Gavin.
"Sweetheart, may I say I am so glad you came to me," he says. "I'll get you a costume, don't worry! Let me take a few measurements, and we'll be done."
She trusted him with her costume, and that's why she's now standing in the kitchen mixing punch while dressed as Supergirl.
"You look amazing, sweetheart!" says Gavin. "Doesn't she?" he prompts their roommates.
"For once, he's right," chimes in Andie. Stan nods along.
Marley isn't entirely comfortable; the skirt's too short for her liking, and too much of it is skintight. But at least it's not a gorilla costume.
Her own friends have yet to come; for now, she talks with her roommates' friends (and a surprising number of people from her classes).
"Marley!"
Rachel, dressed in a Cheerios uniform, runs up to greet her. Santana trails behind in a McKinley Titans football uniform. "Wow," says Marley, "this is a blast from the past."
Santana shrugs. "We were too lazy to get real costumes."
"As if. Rachel's been dropping hints for weeks about wanting to redo high school and she insisted on a couple costume. If you didn't already know, S is so whipped it's not funny."
Marley turns towards the familiar voice. Quinn's dressed in armour, a sword strapped to her side, her hair loose around her face. "Wow. Hi, Quinn."
Quinn smiles at her. "Nice costume, Rose," she says, eyes traveling up and down Marley's figure. "Though I'm a little surprised. Spandex?"
She flushes red. "Gavin."
"Of course."
"Let me guess. Eowyn?" asks Marley. Quinn beams ar her and nods.
Santana snorts. "Oh my god, Q, she's just as nerdy as you."
"Says the woman who persisted in calling me a hobbit throughout high school," says Rachel.
"It was for English!"
"Right, right." Rachel wraps her arm around Santana's.
"Hey, Marley." Alex comes up from behind. He's dressed as David Bowie, complete with makeup and a guitar slung around his neck. "I love your costume."
"Thanks." His hand brushes hers, and Marley threads her fingers through his. "Yours is pretty good too. Is that a wig, or did you dye your hair just for tonight?"
"Dye. The wig looked weird. I don't get much opportunity to dress up, so Halloween's when I go all out."
"Could've fooled me," Santana stage-whispers. Rachel glares. "We're gonna get drinks," she says, glancing at Quinn, "you coming?"
"Uh, yeah."
Before Marley can say anything, Rachel's dragged Santana away, Quinn trailing behind them. She frowns; she could've sworn there was something odd about the way her friends are behaving, but then remembers that Quinn's never been much of a party person.
She's just about to go after her friend when Sandra appears, grabbing her arm and talking excitedly about her costume.
By the time she's been dragged around the party, meeting most of the attendees and socializing, Marley's ready to peel off her costume and hibernate for a solid week.
Then she sees, on the periphery, Quinn and Stan. They seem to be getting along famously; Stan's got his charm turned all the way up, and Quinn…
She has this soft smile on, that Marley knows well. Somehow, seeing it directed at someone else burns Marley up. She turns away and presses herself into Alex.
Originally, she'd planned on being in Lima for Thanksgiving, just like every year. But this time, she has a choice to make. Marley's new project is some up-and-coming singer's debut album, but the timeline means she won't be able to go home.
It'll be the first time in her life that she'll be missing a holiday with her mom.
Marley takes consolation that at the very least, Millie won't be alone; she'd been invited on an art trip with her watercolour club. She had been about to decline when Marley broke the news that she's stuck in New York.
Adding to the string of spectacularly bad luck is the fact that none of her friends are spending the holidays in the city. Her roommates are all at their parents' homes or abroad; Quinn will be out of town, joining Santana's family in Lima while her mother's in Minnesota; Rachel's fathers are coming to watch her latest show in New York before they all head back to Lima together… even Alex invites her for Thanksgiving dinner back home in Topeka, Kansas with him when they meet for dinner.
"Sorry," she mutters, "I'm stuck here for the holiday."
"That's too bad." He kisses her hair. "For what it's worth, I think it's great that you got that album project, though."
"Because it looks great on my resume, or because the alternative is a Vanilla Ice comeback EP – which is what you got attached to?"
He groans. "Both?"
She laughs into the shoulder of his overcoat. "It's rather apt for the season, you have to admit." Marley starts humming Ice Ice Baby.
"Stop," he orders, tugging at her sleeve, "before I get that horrible song stuck in my head – too late."
"Not even sorry." They scoot across the road and around the corner, finding themselves outside Marley's building.
"This is your stop," says Alex, turning so he's facing Marley. "I'll see you when I get back. Take care of yourself." His arms slide around her waist, and Marley snuggles into his embrace. "God, I'm gonna miss you."
"I'll miss you too. Give me a call when you're home."
"Will do."
"Looks like I've got the whole house to myself," she says aloud, standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips. "Oh – sorry, Valentino; I forgot about you," she addresses the fish tank in the corner. While Gavin had finally gotten rid of his underwear collection, his one-night-stands persisted in leaving him weird gifts; Valentino the arowana was, by far, the icing on the multi-tiered weirdness cake.
She's vaguely aware that talking to herself is a sign of senility – and talking to a fish isn't much better – but there's no one to judge her for it. "I haven't baked in a while; since there's no one hogging the kitchen with their dirty dishes, I think I can indulge," she tells Valentino. Marley sets her music blaring, humming along with Janet Jackson as she gathers ingredients.
The butter cookies are done soon, and she sets them on a cooling rack. Half the fun is decorating them; Marley makes herself tea and sits down to wait. "Happy Thanksgiving, Valentino," she says, clinking her mug with the tank.
The doorbell rings. Marley sighs. It's unlikely the UPS man would be delivering, and she's not really in the mood to deal with grumpy Mrs. Schwartz from downstairs.
She glances through the peephole and does a double-take, fumbling to unlock the door. "Quinn?"
"Hey. Happy Thanksgiving."
"What are you – you know what? Forget I asked, you've had this habit of showing up unannounced on my doorstep for years now." She holds out her arms for a hug, which Quinn readily gives. "How'd you know I'm not in Lima?"
"Facebook."
Marley blinks. "Oh. Right."
"Plus your mom told me." She follows Marley into the house properly. "Who's Valentino, by the way?"
Marley points at the tank. "Mom told you? What?"
"The fish is named Valentino?" Quinn suppresses a giggle poorly. "You're joking."
"I wish. Stan named him after Rudolph Valentino. He said it was only fair that he's not the only one in this house saddled with a horrible name."
"Isn't Stan short for Stanley?"
"Nope. He won't tell us what it's actually short for." She sits on the couch and pats the seat beside her. The mention of Stan sours her mood; she's still not over what happened at the Halloween party. "You haven't answered my question yet. Why'd my mom call you?"
"She was worried about you being lonely." Quinn takes the offered spot. "I think she has good reason to think so, if you only have Valentino for company."
Marley tries to look offended, and fails. "Can we stop talking about the fish already?"
Quinn smiles. "Sure. So what were you up to, before I showed up unannounced and ruined your plans?"
"Decorating cookies, binging on said cookies as I catch up with all my shows, calling my mom, and then bed."
"Cookies?"
She nods in the direction of the kitchen. "They should be cool enough soon, I was gonna get the stuff for decorating. Wanna help? Since you missed out the last time."
That last sentence was thrown out casually, but she turns her head just in time to catch Quinn's wince. "Sorry. I was being my usual closed-off self."
"It's all good." She gets out some white icing into small bowls, mixing food colouring into each one to create an autumn palette.
Quinn holds up a bag of mixed red and orange sprinkles, and laughs. "You take your Thanksgiving cookies seriously."
"Like a heart attack. Do you mind giving me a hand? Help get the icing into the ziploc bags…" She demonstrates how it's done. "Then we wanna get it all into one corner, then poke a hole with a skewer."
By the time she gets the cookies laid out, Quinn is eagerly awaiting her, makeshift piping bag in hand. "Is it weird that I'm really excited about this?" she asks, reaching for a turkey-shaped cookie.
Marley laughs. "Nah. This is one of the traditions I look forward to every year." She carefully outlines a cat with black icing. "We didn't have much money when I was little, so Mom and I would bake and decorate these as our holiday treat."
"I'm glad you're sharing this with me."
Marley shakes her head. "I'm glad I'm not eating them alone. Valentino's not a fan of cookies." She finishes off her cat with whiskers.
"Were you planning on finishing the whole batch by yourself?"
"The first one back gets a share; I think it'll be Gavin since his parents live in Astoria. He'll be pleased, since the last time I baked, Stan ate everything before he could."
"Wow."
"He's a black hole." She attempts to steer the conversation away without seeming too obvious. "Weren't you supposed to be in Lima with Santana's family?"
Quinn shrugs. "Santana decided to stay and travel back with Rachel and her fathers; didn't feel much like being the odd one out."
"Ah. Well, I'm not doing much here anyways."
"Do you know when Stan will be back?"
Jealousy curls in the pit of Marley's stomach; her pumpkin cookie acquires a large orange splot when her fingers tighten on the bag. "No. Why?"
"I wanted to apologise to him; I think he's avoiding me," says Quinn ruefully.
"Huh?"
"He asked me out at the Halloween party. I turned him down."
"He – what?" She's not sure which surprises her more; the fact that Quinn turned him down, or that she's reacting this strongly. "Why?"
Quinn gives her a lopsided smile. "He's sweet, but I don't see him that way. Besides, I'm not interested in dating anyone at the moment."
"Why not? I mean – isn't there anyone remotely attractive in the vicinity?"
"Of course there is," replies Quinn. "They're not available, though; so there's that." She hands the now-meticulously-decorated turkey cookie to Marley. "Since you let me in, you get my first cookie."
She bites into it without thinking. The buttery cookie and sweet icing go untasted, though, as her mind takes in this new information. Anyone would be lucky to have Quinn; Marley wants to pry so badly, but Quinn's wearing that closed-off expression of hers, and she doesn't want to drive her best friend away.
"Good?" asks Quinn.
Marley chews. "Amazing," she lies.
Author's Notes: Chapter title comes from Knee Socks by Arctic Monkeys. Extended author's notes and further meta about this story can be found on my Tumblr; I'm yumi-michiyo there.
On an unrelated note, with this chapter I've passed the 1 million words uploaded milestone :)