…
"You could… train to be plumber" she read from the newspaper holding in her hands.
"That sounds even worse than fixing cars" he replied.
She used the red marker to cross out the plumber advertisement in the "Help Wanted" section of the paper. He hadn't asked her to find him a job and yet, every single day she kept reading him the adverts. In all honesty, he didn't really care what they were doing. It was nice being back in Central Park, on a pink picnic blanket, next to her as she read him jobs he didn't want.
"What happened to your car?" she asked. "You can be a private chauffeur, drive people from the airport and stuff. All you need is some kind of business license."
"I left it in Lima."
"You left your car in Lima?"
"Yeah, I don't have any use for it here."
"But it's your car. You love your car."
"Cross out the chauffeur thing."
She did. They were running out of opportunities in today's edition. The entire page was filled with red crosses. He didn't want to be waiter or a garbage man or a security guard. He had money saved up so he could afford to be a little picky.
"What did your mom say when you said you were moving here?" she asked, folding the paper and sticking back into her purse.
"She was happy that I was doing something with my life" he replied.
"I told Judy about quitting today" she told him. "She, as expected, volunteered to book me a ticket home."
"You haven't lived in Lima for ten years. It's not really home to you anymore."
"No" she agreed. "I don't think I'll ever move back. What about you?"
He shrugged.
"Not now, anyway. Maybe when I'm older."
She nudged his arm softly.
"We are older now, Puck" she said. "We're almost thirty."
"Well, maybe when I have kids then. I mean Lima is tiny but it's a nice town for children and my mom's there."
She was quiet. He shouldn't have mentioned kids. It had always been a touchy subject for them. It was just that they had been spending so much time together. Day after day in the sweltering heat. Sometimes he forgot that things had changed and that they couldn't talk about certain things.
"You're right" she said. "It would be nice to have kids near your parents. I never thought of that."
"Probably because you never thought that you were having any more kids, right?" he asked.
"Probably" she said. "I guess I have to decide that on my own too now. No Henry to rely on now."
"It's tough not having a controlling boyfriend" he agreed flatly.
She nudged him again, a little harder this time, her elbow against his waist.
"He wasn't controlling."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend your ex."
She just rolled her eyes at him. In High School she would have yelled at him for saying something like that. Maybe it had been the hormones. She seemed calmer now.
"How many kids do you want?" she asked, probably wanting to change the subject.
"Two, maybe" he said. "Or three, if you count the one we already have."
"Two" she echoed. "Wow. Your poor wife. You have no idea how much child birth hurts."
"Almost as much as having a dislocated shoulder?" he teased.
She rolled her eyes again. She really had the prettiest eyes. He could almost understand Sam for only loving her for her looks. Almost.
"I think I would want one, maybe" she said. "I could handle being pregnant one for time."
"Good for you" he said.
"If I'm not too old."
"You're not too old."
"Maybe not now, but just wait. I'll have to find another guy and fall in love with him and live with him for a while and then get married, if he asks, and buy some kind of house and maybe then, have a kid. I'll be close to forty."
"Or…" he teased. "Just repeat history and don't use a condom. Worked last time."
…
She thought about Henry every day but she rarely missed him. He was connected to everything her life had been for the last couple of years. She couldn't think of breakfast without thinking what he had had every morning. She talked about him too, mostly with Puck, which should have been weird but wasn't since he wasn't in love with her anymore. She talked about him, but never with him. Until the night of the last performance of Rachel's show and she couldn't find the only dress that be suited both for the show and for the rather fancy after party. She was nervous as she called and even more nervous when he answered but he found the dress, it was in the back of the closet. He promised to steam it and she took the subway over to their old apartment.
"Hi" she said.
"Hi" he said.
He looked older. And more handsome. He was wearing a white t-shirt and slacks, it was too hot for a jacket in the middle of summer. He looked more relaxed too. Maybe he had finally taken some time off.
"I hung your dress in the bathroom. Do you want to take it with you or dress here?"
"I'm late" she replied. "So I'll just pull it on here if that's okay."
"Sure."
She dashed for the bathroom. It looked empty without all her things. He didn't have many colorful things, she noted, as she unzipped the dress and pulled it on. It was a little tight over the chest. Had she gained weight? She didn't really care.
"How are things going?" Henry called from outside the door.
"Fine" she called back.
"You need help with that zipper?"
"Yes, please."
She unlocked the door and let him in. His fingers felt soft against her back as he pulled up the zip. He was careful, none of her hair got stuck in the process. He had always been good like that. Considerate.
"You look nice" he said.
"Thank you."
"Say hello to Rachel and Santana for me."
"I will."
She knew that he was going to kiss her before he did. She knew him that well. The kiss told her that he had missed her. In that moment, she missed him too. She missed this life. Her life with Henry.
"Stay" he whispered against her cheek. "Stay here with me."
She didn't know if he meant for tonight or for all eternity, but she didn't protest. It was so calming to be kissed by him. She let him pull down the zip again and she stepped out of the dress all on her own. He had changed the bedspread, it was beige now, she had liked the old blue one better.
"Quinn" he panted. "Quinn…"
She didn't say anything else. It was nice to be wanted like this. He was messing up her makeup and her hair and she let him. He undressed himself and she didn't protest. They had sex on top of bed, with the cushions surrounding them. She forgot to make him use a condom. Puck's teasing words about getting knocked up again rang in her mind. Puck. Shit. What was she doing?
…
"She's just late" Santana said, fanning herself with the program.
"Quinn's never late" Puck argued.
"Quinn doesn't quit her job either but here we are."
They were supposed to meet at seven outside the theatre. It was almost 7:30 now. The show was starting soon. Where was she?
"Did you talk to her today?" he asked.
"No" Santana said. "I've been packing all day. I go to LA tomorrow, you remember that, right?"
"Yes" he mumbled absently.
He wasn't a worrier really. This was just so out of character for her. Maybe she was hurt.
"Do you have Kitty's number?" he asked.
"Calm down" Santana sighed.
He ignored her and found Kitty's number online. She picked up on the first ring.
"Hiro?" she asked, her voice light and flirty.
"No" he said. "It's Puck. Noah Puckerman."
"Oh" she said, but he noted that she didn't sound that disappointed.
"You wouldn't know where Quinn is would you?" he asked at the same time as he was looking up and down the street in search of her.
"I thought that she was at the show with you."
"She's not."
"Maybe she's just late."
He sighed.
"Quinn's not really the type to be late."
"Maybe she's caught in traffic. She had to go over to her ex-boyfriend's to get her dress. I think he lives somewhere around midtown? The traffic's always bad around there."
"Oh" he said. "She went over to Henry's."
Santana looked up from her own phone. She mouthed WHY. He ignored her.
"She said that she left her dress there. In the back of the closet or something" Kitty went on.
Puck said goodbye and hung up.
"She's probably late because she had to go and get the dress" Santana said when he had filled her in.
"Sure" he said but didn't believe it.
They had to go inside and find their seats. Quinn still wasn't there. The show started. Puck kept his phone on vibrate but she didn't text to say that she was coming or that she was stuck in traffic. He looked at the stage and heard the songs, and yet, he understood nothing of the narrative.
…
"I can't go like this" she said.
She had lipstick all over her face and the mascara was smudged under her eyes. Her hair was tousled due a lot of hairspray and then sex on a bed. She looked like a whore, she thought.
"Then stay" Henry said.
He was still in bed. Or on top of it. It was too hot to get under the covers.
"I have to go. It's the final night of Rachel's show."
"It's already started."
"I could sneak in."
"Quinn, just come here and lie down with me."
She didn't. She moistened some toilet paper and tried to remove all make up from her face. It would look better than this mess. Henry watched her.
"We forgot the condom" she said, in a way to punish him a little bit, to show him that everything wasn't okay.
"Sorry" he said. "I could pick you up one of those day after-pills."
"I'll do it myself."
"I'm sorry, Quinn. I was so excited to see you again."
"I know" she mumbled.
"You weren't protesting."
"I know."
The lipstick wasn't coming off. She went back in the bathroom and found some soap which she used to really wash her face. The soap was cheap and would ruin her skin forever but it at least washed off the smeared makeup. Henry joined her in the bathroom. He kissed her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
"Quinn" he said warningly. "What's up?"
"I have to go."
"Just wait here until the shows over and then go to the after party."
"I can't stay here."
She found a come and began to untangle the mess that was her hair. Henry offered to help he but she declined.
"Why can't you stay here?" he asked.
"We're not getting back together."
"You sound like a teenager, Quinn" he noted tersely.
"I'm just trying to be clear."
"We were never high school sweethearts. This is not about you wearing my letterman jacket."
"I came here to get my dress" she said. "Nothing else."
"Okay" he replied. "But something else did happen."
She gave up on her hair, hoping that no one would look too closely at it.
"Is this about the condom?" he asked.
"No" she said, stepping once again into the dress. "Zip me up, please."
It was wrinkled now. He had steamed it and now it was back looking like it had been in the back of a closet. Rachel would be disappointed.
"I wanted you to call me" he said. "I wanted you to decide what you wanted to do."
"I came here to get my dress" she said.
"Quinn, please. Stop talking like that."
He placed both his hands on the shoulders. His hands were sweaty. She squirmed away.
"I have to go."
"Call me after, okay?" he told her. "I'll be up."
He handed her some money.
"You're paying me?" she snapped.
"It's for the cab" he sighed.
She didn't take the money. She wasn't that much of a whore.
…
She didn't show up until the intermission. He could tell that something was wrong. Her cheeks were pink but not because of makeup. Instead she looked feverish or as if she was blushing or if she had run a mile. Her hair was messy. Her dress was wrinkled. His first thought was that Henry had done something to her. Pulled her hair. Refused to let her leave.
"Hi" she chirped, giving both of them a hug.
She smelled like sweat. Not her own. It was disturbing that he could tell.
"You're late" Santana noted.
Puck said nothing. He knew now. She had had sex with him. It explained the cheeks, the lateness and the smell of male sweat on her skin.
"I know" Quinn sighed.
Her eyes flickered over his but he looked away. At his shoes. At his clothes. She had picked out his clothes. He had thought that things like that might mean something.
"Henry didn't iron your dress then?" Santana remarked.
"How did you know I was with him?" Quinn retorted, her cheeks turning from pink to red.
Puck looked away again. At the people around them in nice suits, sipping champagne. He wanted to leave.
"We were worried and called Kitty" Santana replied.
"Oh."
He couldn't leave. He couldn't show her that he cared. They were only friends. Friends didn't resent each other for sleeping with their exes.
"The dress was in the back of a closet" Quinn said as if it explained anything.
"Rachel's going to notice" Santana told her.
"She'll notice my hair as well. And my lack of makeup."
"I have my stuff with me. Let's go into the bathroom and make you look at least respectable."
They left. Puck leaned against a wall. He could leave now but he also couldn't. He had to pretend that everything was okay. He was bad a pretending. Always had been.
…
Santana's makeup was too dark for Quinn. The foundation, of course, but the lipstick and eye shadow too. Despite that, Quinn didn't protest when Santana did her eyes and her lips in the dimly lit restroom. They couldn't do much about the hair or the dress.
"No one will look at the dress now" Santana said. "They'll be looking at your rather unflattering lipstick."
"Thanks" Quinn muttered.
Her blood was still pumping heavily in her body. She was still sweating. She could smell Henry on her own skin.
"Do you have any perfume?" she asked.
"It's my signature smell" Santana replied.
Quinn rolled her eyes.
"Please?" she asked.
Santana squirted something onto her neck. Now she didn't smell like Henry anymore, she smelt like Santana. It was oddly comforting.
"Why did you do it?" Santana asked.
"Do what?"
"Have sex with him."
"How could you tell?"
Santana snorted.
"How could I not. You stink of it."
"Shit."
"Why did you?"
Quinn turned to look herself in the mirror. She looked like a little girl who had played with her mother's makeup for the first time. She didn't look like herself which was probably fitting since she didn't feel like herself either.
"I don't know."
"Did you go over to him for it?"
"No. No. He just… kissed me and… I let him. It felt nice, for the moment."
She had turned her phone off. She didn't want him to call her, every again. God, she wished that she had had the time to shower.
"Do you think Puck noticed?" she asked.
Santana raised one eyebrow.
"Why?"
"I just don't want everyone to know."
"Of course he noticed."
"He didn't say anything."
"He's pretending that he doesn't care."
"Or maybe he doesn't."
The bell rang that signaled that act two was about to begin. Santana collected all her things and stuffed them back into her purse. Quinn tried to flatten a crease in her dress.
"Let's go" she said. "Rachel will notice if we're gone."
…
He couldn't concentrate on the second act of the show either. He hoped Rachel wouldn't quiz him on it. He sat in the middle, with Santana on one side and Quinn on the other. She looked different now, made up by Santana's makeup. Less fragile. Tough. He tried not to look at her. Instead he pictured her with Henry. He had only seen Henry once in his life, years and years ago, but he remembered the tweed suit, the gray speckled hair, the wiry frame. He picture them kissing. Having sex. He was punishing himself for imagining that there was something special between them. This was his penalty. He had to suffer sitting beside her for two hours whilst imagining her with someone else.
Afterwards there was the party. Rachel came out with her stage makeup on and a little black dress and they all toasted the show's success. A man in a suit held a short speech and wished the entire cast good luck with their next project. There was free champagne and beer. Waiters walked around with tiny canapés on silver plates.
"You were great" he told Rachel, hugging her tightly.
"Thank you" she grinned. "Stephen and I really went for it tonight. Last show and all."
He nodded.
"Did I tell you that I'm auditioning for Wicked next week? Isn't that crazy?" she went on when he didn't say anything.
"Wow, that's great."
"I'm going to get Quinn to negotiate me great deal if I get it. Like she did for Santana."
"Sounds like a plan."
She gave him a quizzical look before moving on to hug her boyfriend. Puck snagged a second bottle of beer. Quinn was talking to the man in the suit now. She was smiling and he was looking at with a hungry gaze. This was life with Quinn. Every man wanted her. It was only a question of who she wanted. Evidently it was Henry. It had always been Henry.
"Don't pout" Santana told him.
"I'm not."
"She's not going to fuck the director too if you're worried."
"She did have sex with him then?" he asked. "Henry?"
"Couldn't you tell?"
"Yeah but…"
"You hoped you were wrong?"
He shrugged. A second man, an actor, had joined Quinn's conversation with the man who was apparently the director of this terrible show.
"Let's get drunk" Santana suggested.
"You're leaving for LA in the morning. You shouldn't probably be hung-over on your first day as a paid actress."
"Good point."
"She smelled like him" he said. "That was how I knew."
"It was just sex, Puck. You, if someone, should get that."
He stuffed his mouth those ridiculous canapés and swallowed them down with champagne. He wished he had never left Detroit.
…
They all shared a cab home. Quinn was evidently staying over. He didn't ask why. He was a little drunk now and still hadn't talked to her all night. She took a shower as soon as they came home. When she came out, wearing only a white towel, she looked more like herself. All the hideous makeup was gone and so was every trace of Henry. Santana went to bed immediately after kissing them both goodbye and them wishing her good luck. Puck was still hungry and cooked some pasta in the kitchen. Quinn sat at the table and watched him. He ignored her.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.
"No."
"You seem mad."
"I'm not."
"I didn't mean to make you worry, I swear."
He didn't ask if she wanted something to eat. He just boiled enough pasta for himself and ate in the opposite end of the table. She was still only wearing a towel. He wished that she would put something else on. Something that would remind him less of sex.
"I didn't mean to have sex with him" she said. "I swear."
"You accidentally had sex with him?"
"No. Yes. I don't know."
"Well, you can do whatever you want with your life."
"Don't talk to me like that" she begged. "You're my friend."
Friend. The word burned in him.
"I just think you should have cut the ties" he said, struggling to keep his voice level.
"I know" she agreed. "I know, it's just that…"
"You realized that you want to be with him?"
"No" she said. "No. Of course not."
"Why did you go to him then?" he pressed her. "You have plenty of dresses. Why did you need the one he had?"
"I wanted it" she said. "And I thought that it would be fine. Innocent."
"You were wrong."
"Don't talk to me that like" she repeated but this time with more force. "Don't talk to me like I'm a slut you can look down on."
"I'm not" he said.
He was talking to her like she was the woman he loved who had slept with someone else but maybe that tone of voice was the same. He didn't know.
"I did a mistake. Fine. But you can't condemn me for it. That's wrong and sexist and…"
She stood up, knocking over the chair behind her. He stood up too.
"Quinn, I didn't mean it like that…"
"How did you mean it then?" she asked.
And he couldn't tell her. So she left. In the wrinkled dress since it was all she had. He watched the cab drive off with her in it and hated himself.
…
She woke up the next morning and felt like shit. Kitty had already left for work and the room was empty. Quinn turned her phone on. Henry had called and texted her three times. Santana had sent a good-bye text. Nothing from Puck. She turned the phone off again, pulled on some clothes and went down to the pharmacy to buy the day after pill before she forgot about it and ended up pregnant again. She spent the rest of the day in bed. Hating herself. Hating Henry. Hating Puck. Hating Santana for leaving right now.
…
He missed her terribly. It was of course heightened by the fact that Santana was away but still, he missed her. He wished that he had controlled his feelings better or lied better when she had asked him why he behaved like he had. He wasn't angry with her. It wasn't like they were dating and she had been unfaithful. She didn't even know that he still loved her. They only talked about being friends. She had done nothing wrong and he had let his feelings get the best of them. And now he missed her. Terribly. He missed their daily excursions. He missed her reading him the newspaper. He missed her smile and her laugh and how her skin turned pink if they spend too much time in the sun. He managed to miss her for three days before calling her.
…
"Hello."
She sounded reserved. Cold. Almost like the Quinn he had met at Rachel's lake house. The one he had been angry with for ten years.
"I'm sorry" he said.
"For what?"
"For acting the way I did. For saying what I said. It was unfair to you. I'm sorry."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes" he promised. "I do."
She was quiet a little while. Puck's fingers were clamped around his phone so that he wouldn't miss a single word.
"I shouldn't have done it" she said. "It was stupid. It gave him hope and messed everything up."
"Do you forgive me?" he asked.
"Yes" she said.
"You can do whatever you like. I wasn't being sexist, I wasn't calling you a whore, I was just surprised."
"Okay."
"I don't want to fight with you again" he said. "We wasted too much time fighting."
"You're right."
"And I miss you."
He hadn't meant to say it. The words slipped out. She inhaled slowly on the other end.
"I miss you too."
"I got tickets for ballet" he said. "It's Swan Lake tonight. Do you want to come with me?"
"If I say no, who are you inviting?"
"Actually, I have no backup plan. You're my only option."
"Okay, then I'll love to come."
He smiled into the receiver.
"Good. "
…
She let apologize once more before telling him to knock it off. They were okay now. She had forgiven him and herself and even Henry. It was nice to sit down in the soft chairs, lean back and watch the dancers move in front of her. He was wearing his nice clothes again. She had thrown away the black dress and wore a purple one instead. If only she had worn this one to Rachel's show…No, she was letting that go.
"I don't understand" he whispered. "What's going on?"
"He's falling in love with her" she whispered back.
"She's a swan" he argued.
"I know."
"That's creepy."
"Don't judge" she teased.
"I'm not being sexist" he whispered back. "That's just… weird."
"It's a fairytale, Puck."
"Yeah, but still."
"Just lean back and enjoy" she instructed.
He did. And she ended up mostly watching him instead of the recital. She loved seeing how he reacted to the jumps and pirouettes and to the music. She had seen Swan Lake so many times over the years that it was nice seeing it from his point of view.
"Stop watching me" he whispered. "You're as creepy as the prince."
She smiled.
"Sorry."
"I should have bought the program. I don't get any of this."
"It's pretty though, right?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Yes. Beautiful."
She smiled and placed her head on his shoulder. Her forehead touched the skin of his neck. He smelled nice. Laundry detergent. Santana's brand. They stayed like that until the encore. Quinn cried when the Swan Queen died. She always cried at that part. Her tears dripped against his shirt but he didn't seem to mind.
"I missed this" he whispered.
"Me too" she whispered back as if they had been apart for years and not just a few days.
…
After the night at the ballet things went back to normal. They spent the days together again. She went back to reading him ads for jobs he didn't want. They even went to Woodbury Common to buy cheap jeans together with a group of German tourists. He tried on heaps of denim jeans and paraded them around in front of her in the Levis store.
"Nope" she said to third pair. "Not those."
"These look exactly like the other two" he protested.
"No, these have higher waist, it doesn't suit you."
"Gee, thanks."
She shrugged. Her phone rang. She silenced it without looking at the screen. Henry. He kept calling. Every day. Several times. She never picked up and he never asked her about it. What was there really to say?
"Try the black pair" she suggested. "You need a pair of nice black jeans."
"Fine."
He pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the blue jeans. He folded them up and put them in the NOT-pile. The black jeans were more comfortable, almost soft on his body. He liked them, he decided. He would buy them whatever she said.
"Perfect" she said as he stepped out. "You can wear those when we go to the ballet the next time."
"Are we going again?" he moaned even though he didn't mind sitting in the dark with her.
"They are dressy enough without making you into something you're not" she went on as he hadn't spoken at all. "Would look good on a job interview."
"The kind of jobs I can get won't need me to show up in a nice pair of jeans" he said.
"No?"
"Nope, you're confusing your career with mine again."
"Oh well, it's a pair of black jeans. It can't hurt, right?"
A shop girl came up to them. She was younger than them, blonde and had a name tag that read STACY.
"How are you doing?" she asked, slowly, probably expecting them to be from Berlin.
"Fine" Quinn replied. "I really like this pair."
Stacy eyed Puck up and down. He knew that look. It wasn't a pants check. Quinn noticed too, raising her eyebrows in confusion and amusement.
"A very masculine look" Stacy said.
"Very" Quinn agreed.
"A date jean" Stacy went on.
"We were just saying that" Quinn lied.
He rolled his eyes at her.
"You were just saying that it was a good pair to go to a job interview with" he sighed.
"Oh, it's that too" Stacy promised him.
She proceeded to touch him. Or the jeans, but he was in the jeans so she was touching him by default. His hips, his ass, his thighs. She was talking all the time, about length and fabric but he wasn't listening. Quinn was holding a hand in front of her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"You look great in these" Stacy finally told him.
"Thanks" he muttered.
She hovered in front of him for a few more seconds before giving up and going back to help Olga and Hans at the other end of the store.
"She wanted you to ask her out" Quinn told him.
"I know, I'm not stupid."
"Why didn't you?"
"She looked twenty."
"So?"
"I'm almost thirty. I'm too old to date college girls now."
She laughed.
"True, you have to stop yourself sometimes or you turn into my ex."
"Q, you should tell him to stop calling."
She shrugged.
"I don't want to talk to him. He'll get it eventually."
She handed him another pair of blue jeans. These were lighter, looked worn. Not appropriate for the ballet.
"Try them" she said.
He did. He would do anything for her.
…
He bought three pairs of jeans. She bought them ice cream.
"I have enough clothes" she said. "You don't."
"It's too hot to wear jeans now."
"Fall will come" she promised.
They sat the small café in the middle of the outlet complex. Tourists flocked around them. They were the only ones speaking English. It made him feel like he was in Europe.
"When fall comes, we will get jobs" she continued.
"Okay" he agreed.
"We'll be adults then."
"Okay."
"We'll spend the rest of our lives working for the man. We deserve some time off."
"You don't have to convince me."
The heat was still almost strangling. The ice cream melted faster than they could eat and in the end, Puck drank the last scoop from his cup. Quinn handed him a napkin to wipe his face.
"Seriously, though" he said. "You need to talk to Henry."
"I don't want to talk to him. Or about him, really. I'm done with him."
Puck let it go. It wasn't like he loved talking about Quinn's ex. If she was done, so was he. He guessed. It still bothered him when the phone rang.
"What about Cindy?" Quinn asked.
"Cindy?"
"Your girl? In Detroit?"
"So it's okay to talk about my ex but not about yours?" he teased.
"I was just wondering."
He leaned back in the plastic chair. His shirt was sticking to his back with sweat.
"I haven't talked to her in a long time. We didn't really part as friends."
"Why not?"
"We… I don't know. I guess she liked me more than I liked her."
Quinn titled her head into her right hand. He could see that she was sweating too. He loved to see her sweat, it was proof of that she was actually a human being and not some physically perfect person.
"Poor Cindy."
"Yeah" he agreed.
And poor me, he thought. I like you more than you like me.