THIRTEEN DAYS TO GO
Friday
Schuester-Fabray-Berry-Pillsbury residence
Finn Hudson smiled widely as Kurt pulled his Explorer to the curb. "Hey, it looks like we're the last ones here," he remarked.
Jumping out of the passenger seat, Finn started walking past the cars parked up and down the driveway. A loud harrumph from behind him made him stop and wait for his stepbrother.
"Sorry, dude," he apologized.
Kurt rolled his eyes and smiled. "I know perfectly well that you've been looking forward to this since last summer."
Finn grinned back and they headed up past the gridlock, only halting by the pink VW Golf parked near the door. Finn leaned close to inspect the shining gold stars that lined all four edges of the back window.
While he smiled to himself, Kurt's long-suffering sigh came from behind him. "Rachel spent hours lining up all those stickers with military precision. You couldn't have found a smaller packet?" His voice changed to proud, and he continued, "It did turn out very nicely though, didn't it? Perfect for our diva."
"She sent a two page email telling me about the three different designs she narrowed it down to," Finn said as they moved to the front door. "When I gave her the stars with her Christmas present, I didn't think she'd block the view out the window! I'm glad she went with the design I picked."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Of course she did."
Kurt had long since passed the stage of needing to ring the bell, and they entered the two-story house unannounced. Something caught Finn's eye as he followed Kurt in, and he stopped by the coat rack.
"Wait, Rachel's still got this thing?"
Kurt turned around to reply, "Oh, the 'Wicked' cast jacket? Of course, she wears it at least once a week. Whenever so much as a thread pulls, she rushes to me for emergency repairs."
Finn chuckled, "I still remember her sending that MySpace video to the producers for her contest entry."
Kurt scowled in remembrance. "I still can't believe I didn't think of that myself. Given what sparked ND's first diva-off..."
Finn observed the danger signs, and took Kurt's arm, steering him back around. Finn had spent quite a few evenings here, first when he was dating Quinn and then for Glee club parties, and automatically walked past the foot of the stairs, turning left into the living room.
He and Kurt really were the last ones here. All the other members of the original New Directions were strewn about the room; they hadn't all been in one place at the same time since last summer. Quinn was sitting between Sam and Puck on the couch, while Rachel and Tina lounged on bean bag chairs between the coffee table and the TV. They faced the recliner that Mercedes had bagged, with Artie parked next to her. Santana and Brittany were sitting together on the loveseat, heads together, though Finn couldn't imagine what they'd be talking about so intently – after all, they already lived together. Santana was pre-med at UCLA, and Brittany was a dancer as well as being a Laker Girl. Over by the fireplace, Mike seemed to be showing Matt some dance moves. Even though Matt had only been around for a year before graduating, he and Mike had bonded over being the dancing football players.
As soon as he and Kurt entered the room, Rachel's head whipped around, and one of her famous smiles spread across her face. Lithely scrambling out of the beanbag chair, Rachel flung herself across the room to land almost face-first against Finn's chest.
Finn just chuckled and hugged her. Honestly, at times like this she didn't seem any different than the thirteen year old she'd been when they first met, back when he and Quinn were dating before Glee.
Finn shuffled his feet nervously, and ran his hand through his hair one more time before he rang the doorbell. Part of him still couldn't believe that he was about to go on his first date with Quinn Fabray – she'd been named head of the Cheerios while she was a freshman! Even Tommy Sherman, who he was going to replace as quarterback, had looked impressed when they'd run into each other at 7-11 two days ago.
The door opened, and Finn gave his best parent-smile – to an empty space. He blinked, then looked down to lock gazes with a pair of sparkling dark eyes, belonging to a girl who looked a few years younger than him.
"Oh, hi! You're" - Finn frantically racked his brain to remember – "Rachel, right?"
A million watt smile spread across the little girl's face, and she nodded. "You must be Finn Hudson. Would you like to come in and wait for Quinn?"
Finn was a little surprised by this tiny girl talking like she should be at least ten years older and a foot and a half taller, but obediently followed her down the passage, and through to the living room.
"Would you like something to drink?" Rachel offered, every inch the gracious hostess.
"Thanks, but I'm fine. Quinn won't be that long, will she?"
Rachel checked the clock that hung above the fireplace. "Your date was for seven o'clock, correct? It speaks highly of you to be a few minutes early, but Quinn isn't going to come downstairs until at least ten past. She always keeps her dates waiting for at least that long; she has some deep-seated insecurities that give her a need to assert her dominance and power over all potential mates."
Finn blinked again. "You're in middle school, right?" At Rachel's nod, he added, "They should totally move you up a grade."
Rachel beamed at him as she gestured to the couch. "Actually, I already did first and second grade in one year. My Dad won't hear of me skipping any more grades, because he doesn't want me to be overburdened by the pressures of high school because I'm too young."
As Finn sat down, Rachel moved to the corner of the room, where a baby grand piano sat facing the entrance, with sheet music laid out on top. "I'm in the middle of my musical practice. Would you mind if I continued? To be honest, I do my best work with an audience, anyway - I consider it a good sign for my future Broadway career."
Finn shook his head, happy to oblige and maybe get in some brownie points with Quinn's sister, which could lead to brownie points with her. Okay, so a little girl probably wouldn't be all that great, but heck, he probably hadn't been any better at the drums at that age.
Rachel bent over the piano, played a few notes, then stood ramrod-straight and began to sing.
Finn's eyes widened, and he stared at the small dark girl in utter fascination.
It felt like her voice was flowing through him, making all the cells of his body vibrate in tune to her voice. Something inside his chest was quivering, as if her voice was floating across the room to lodge in his heart, tethering them together, singer and listener.
Rachel made her way through 'On My Own', blushed through Finn's geyser of praise, and finished 'Not That Girl' before Quinn finally made her way downstairs at quarter past seven. Finn was torn between going out with the newly-crowned hottest and most popular girl at school, and staying on the couch to listen to Rachel sing some more, something he accidentally let slip to Quinn on their three-month anniversary. Quinn stormed out of Breadstix and didn't speak to Finn for the next three days.
Months later, he found out that she'd lost her virginity to Puck on the second day.
Finn gave Rachel one last squeeze, before letting her go. She beamed up at him as she grabbed his hand to tow him over to where she'd been sitting previously. She pushed him down to sit on the coffee table – Kurt had slipped past them to claim the other recliner – and dragged the bean bag chair around to face him.
"What was your grade on your final paper for World Music History? Did you use my suggestion about the cross-pollination of Broadway and London's West End?"
Finn chuckled. He'd known she was going to ask that. "I got an A minus."
Rachel clapped her hands together as she gave a squeal of joy. Finn hoped that she'd leave it at that, because if she made him go into detail he wasn't sure he could control his word vomit. If he couldn't, it would probably come out that on his tutor's advice he'd cut about half the Broadway/West End stuff to focus on international music festivals, and how that had affected several artists who'd become well known in another country before their own.
Luckily, Mr. Schue strolled in and got him off the hook. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as Mr. Schue clapped his hands excitedly (no mystery where Rachel had picked up that trait) and glanced around the room. "All of the first generation of New Directions, back together again! This is wonderful, everyone, really."
As Mr. Schue stood directly under the overhead light, Finn frowned. Was he imagining things, or had Mr. Schue been sick? Neither Kurt nor Rachel had mentioned anything about Mr. Schue being ill in their emails, which were often full of Glee news, particularly Rachel's. Finn moved his eyes sideways, to where Rachel sat beside him. He hadn't noticed before, but now that she wasn't talking or moving, Rachel seemed kinda off, too. She didn't seem as bad as Mr. Schue, but she looked sort of pale, and she was definitely thinner than when he saw her during Christmas vacation, even though she'd mentioned several times how well she'd been eating since Ms. Pillsbury moved in with her and Mr. Schue last year.
He knew that Rachel was not only starring in the school musical, but was director, producer, and doing most of the musical arrangements and choreography, with help from Artie and Mike, and her sidekick Sophie from the AV club helping her on the lighting and sound design. She'd been handed complete creative control over the musical back in her freshman year because of one of Coach Sylvester's many schemes to destroy Glee club. She'd done such an awesome job that she'd kept doing it ever since. But even though she had it down to a science by now, it still had to be exhausting, wearing three and three-half hats – what was that, four and a half? Finn started to wonder what kind of hats they were – baseball caps, fedoras, or what, but another glance at Mr. Schue brought him back to the immediate question.
Maybe Mr. Schue had caught whatever it was from Rachel? For about ten years it'd been like that with him and his Mom; he caught a cold, and just as he got better his Mom would come down with it. But it tended to last longer with her, because she couldn't afford to take time off work and rest. Half the time it got worse and turned into the flu. That was one of the really cool things about Kurt and Burt becoming part of their family; there was always someone available to take care of someone else.
"I'm pretty sure I remembered the right pizzas for everyone, and they should be here in half an hour. In the meantime, can I take drink orders?" Puck opened his mouth just as Mr. Schue continued, "Non-alcoholic only, since Matt and I are the only ones here who are legal. Most of you might not be my students anymore, but I do still feel a need to act like a responsible adult." He made a face and added, "Especially where alcohol's concerned."
At the reminder, Finn couldn't help but snicker, even though he knew that would make Rachel glare at him. She and Mr. Schue had pretty much suffered the most out of New Directions' brief foray into alcohol abuse.
A ripple of laughter went around the room, and Mr. Schue shrugged and smiled. "So, we have Coke, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, Sprite, and I think we have a couple of cans of Mountain Dew around the place. We also have spring water and orange juice for those who aren't in the mood for soda. Who wants what?"
Finn opened his mouth to call Dew, when the front door slammed like a descending thunderbolt. Half the room jumped out of their skin (Brittany later said that she nearly went up in the air, flipped upside down and grabbed onto the ceiling lamp like Lord Tubbington during a storm). The other half – the half who hadn't yet left McKinley High – simply flinched, and looked various shades of depressed and angry. Mike already looked about five seconds away from turning into a puddle of misery on the floor, and Mercedes hissed, "Oh hell no! Can't the damn bridal ho leave them alone for five freaking hours?"
"Will!" came a shrieking voice from the hall. "Will! You have to speak to those morons! Just look at what they're trying to pass off as a centerpiece!"
Finn winced. Man, Mrs. Schue's voice still sounded like she could shatter glass when she was pissed. He still didn't understand how Mr. Schue had gotten out of the divorce with his eardrums intact.
An explosion of flowers appeared in the doorway, and walked forward. Finn watched the legs attached to the three foot high and two foot wide display in fascination, wondering if they were remote-controlled, until it occurred to him that they must be Mrs. Schue's.
The display really was pretty, though, with pink roses, deep blue lilies and snowy white carnations, with bits of that scratchy bush with the tiny flowers that always showed up in wedding bouquets – what had Kurt called it, when Mom and Burt got hitched? Baby's burp or something? Anyway, the tiny flowers were poking out here and there, and sort of lurking in between the other flowers like they were waiting to mug the others for spare petals in order to upsize themselves.
The floral tsunami moved unerringly to Mr. Schue and stopped next to him. "Will, just look at this disgrace! Can you even believe they're trying to pass this off as the centerpiece we painstakingly ordered? You need to call them up right now and make them see sense."
Mr. Schue sighed and dropped his head, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Terri, you have to let this go. They've already gone through three different display models-"
"Let it go?" Mrs. Schue screeched. "This is our daughter's wedding!"
Without warning, she heaved the flower display at the fireplace. Matt and Mike ducked to either side to get out of the way – Matt even flipped into a handspring to keep from doing a faceplant on the carpet – and the lovely thing fell apart in a riot of broken blooms and shattered china. Finn and all the others who'd just come back to Lima stared at Mrs. Schue in shock, and maybe a little fear. Everyone else just looked away, various degrees of disgust and anger on their faces.
"Terri, are you crazy? Someone could have been really hurt!" Mr. Schue exclaimed, his eyes automatically roaming over his students to make sure everyone's limbs were accounted for.
"Will, are you blind? I specifically asked the roses to be French Rose in color! These are Persian Rose, bordering on magenta for God's sake! How can you stand there and tell me to let it go?"
"But I just wanted pink roses," Quinn murmured, her face blank with astonishment.
Mrs. Schue turned to look at the couch, and her face brightened. "Quinn, sweetie, when did you get in?"
"Umm, we got in two days ago, Mrs. Schue," Sam ventured.
Mrs. Schue frowned, and demanded, "Why haven't you reported to me for your next assignment? This is your wedding too, Sam, and it's really only fair that you make some contribution."
Quinn darted a quick glance sideways to her fiancée and licked her lips, before venturing, "Mother, don't you think you're going just a little overboard?"
"Quinn, I'm doing all this for you and Sam! While you're busy up at college with keggers and all-nighters, I'm here constantly going into battle against incompetent florists, and caterers who simply won't do as they're told, and don't get me started on just how unreasonable the concierge at the hotel is being! He's almost as bad as Sam's mother!"
Quinn blinked. "Mother, has anyone suggested that things are starting to get a little out of hand?"
Finn heard a sort of rumble, almost a vibration, and tore his eyes away from the rampaging Mrs. Schue to see Artie, Tina, Mike, Mercedes, Kurt and Rachel all glaring at Quinn. Were they growling? Finn had a sudden flashback to a National Geographic special he'd seen once; the scene playing out in front of him reminded him uncomfortably of the bit where the entire tribe of wild beasts united to tear apart a hapless prey animal (after seeing what was left, he'd almost barfed).
He couldn't have said later what made him look at Rachel, but he almost gasped. Rachel was very nearly white, which was a real challenge with her olive complexion, and her jaw looked like she was grinding her teeth. Her eyes were narrowed almost to squinting, and she was staring at her sister with something very close to hate. It only lasted for a few seconds, before Rachel's eyes dropped to her lap, a guilty expression crossing her face, before she silently stood and slipped out of the room.
Finn looked to his brother for some kind of explanation, but Kurt's anxious face kept moving back and forth like a tennis spectator between the doorway Rachel had just disappeared through, and the other recliner. Finn followed his gaze to where Mercedes sat, and nearly choked. New Directions' own lady of Motown was as red as her cocoa skin would allow, her lips pressed together so tightly that they had nearly disappeared, and Finn was a little surprised that he couldn't actually see steam coming out of her ears. To be honest, Mercedes looked like she was about ten seconds away from leaping across the room and tearing out Quinn's throat with her teeth.
Finn managed to catch Kurt's eye long enough to nod to the doorway, then point to his chest. Kurt's whole face relaxed in relief, and he nodded back before turning to Mercedes, starting to murmur soothingly while Finn got to his feet and did his best to leave sneakily. Someone must have been watching over him, because he didn't trip over his feet even once.
Finn and Rachel had always had to be on the same team for games of Flashlight Tag - he just had a knack for finding her. She still had guests, so she wouldn't have shut herself in her room... Finn followed his Rach-dar (sort of like sonar, only with much sweeter pitch) and headed to the kitchen.
Rachel was bent over the kitchen counter, elbows on the counter and her face buried in her hands, while her whole body trembled. Finn hurried across the tile floor and gently rubbed her back. Rachel lifted her face to look at him, her face blotchy, and sniffled once, before she threw herself at him just like she had only a few minutes ago, only in sorrow instead of joy. While she buried her face in his chest and sobbed, Finn wrapped one arm around her slender waist, and used his free hand to keep rubbing her back, while he hummed an off-tune rendition of 'Funny Girl'.
Finn didn't think he'd ever seen Rachel this upset. She hadn't even been this bad when she snuck over to see him and Kurt the night Mr. and Mrs. Schue told her they were getting a divorce. No, wait, she'd been worse than this after they'd lost their first Regionals, when everyone thought New Directions was over for good.
Luckily, before he reached the bridge and slaughtered Streisand any more, Rachel lifted her head and gave him a wan smile.
"Thank you, Finn, I needed that."
For once, Finn was thankful for his freakishly long arms, because it meant he could reach into the wall shelving and grab the box of tissues Ms. Pillsbury kept in pretty much every room of the house. Rachel grabbed one and blew her nose hard (and was he nuts, or did she even do that in tune?), before balling it up to dab at her eyes. Finn used the arm he still had around her waist to steer her over to the sink, where he soaked the pristine washcloth in the tap, squeezing it out the best he could in one hand, and handed it to Rachel. She smiled – the last one had been 10 watts, this one was about 40 – and gently pressed the washcloth to her red and puffy eyes.
A minute later, Rachel lowered the wet cloth with a sigh, and leaned her head sideways to rest on Finn's chest. "Where on earth did you learn this trick? Kurt's moisturizing routine?"
Finn chuckled quietly. It was a years-long running gag in the Hudmel house; any kind of unusual knowledge, from his Mom calling a football play to Burt being able to spot a fake Gucci handbag was said to be learned from Kurt's moisturizing routine. "Nah, my Mom. Before she met Burt, once a month she'd spend the night on the couch with a bottle of red wine, some chocolate, and about three boxes of tissues and watch at least three movies in a row that always left her bawling her eyes out. I still can't figure out why she enjoyed it so much – she just says it's a double-X chromosome thing."
Rachel half-giggled, half-hiccupped, and then sighed.
"I saw the way you guys all reacted to Quinn. I know you said your Mom was obsessed with this wedding, but I didn't realize she was this bad. I thought you guys were turning the phones on to the answering machine between ten at night and six-thirty in the morning?"
Rachel's expression turned ugly as she stared out the window. "That stopped working in early December. She backed off over Christmas break, or you would have seen it yourself. She doesn't stop, Finn, ever. If we try to ignore her long enough to get things in our own lives done, she forces herself on us in person and she spends five minutes ranting about what a bad sister and father we are and we don't understand how important this wedding is, and that's before she begins her tirade about whatever issue she has now."
Rachel looked up at him, her eyes desperate, and Finn felt that tether inside his chest start aching in sympathy. "About a month ago, she called my father during one of his Spanish lessons – have I mentioned she has all our schedules memorized, so she knows when we have so-called 'free time'? 'Free time' meaning time she thinks is better used to obey her orders about the wedding, not used for things like lesson plans or rehearsal or preparing for my college auditions – and he had his phone on silent and locked in his desk. Even though she'd already spent fifteen minutes of his lunch time complaining about how the caterer refused to import cherry tomatoes from Florida for one of the salads, and Dad told her at lunch that he wasn't going to answer the phone anymore because he was holding tests in all his afternoon classes. She stormed into the staff meeting after school, and literally dragged him out of the staff room by his tie – right in front of Principal Figgins and Coach Sylvester! – and spent ten minutes screeching at him for being a failure as a father and why couldn't he pay for a string quartet to play during dinner and the bridal party dances, before Coach Bieste came out and used a wrestling move to physically escort her from the premises! When Dad made it back to the staff room, Principal Figgins asked Coach Sylvester to call one of her friends at the courthouse and pull some strings to get a court order forbidding Mother from coming within twenty feet of the school."
Finn's jaw was somewhere near the middle of his chest by this point, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say except, "Does Quinn have any idea how bad it's been?"
Rachel laughed scathingly, and it set his teeth on edge like styrofoam rubbing together. "Why would she tell Quinn any of this? Quinn might decide to actually take some responsibility for her own wedding, and if she took over there wouldn't be any need for Mother to martyr herself in the name of this wedding. How could she be held up as such a shining example of maternal devotion then?"
Finn pulled her closer and wrapped both arms around Rachel, holding her gently. Rachel laid her head back on his chest, and sighed, "She suggested at Thanksgiving dinner that she move back in with us, 'just temporarily, because it would be so much more convenient for wedding business, and it'll be just like the old days!'. She said that right in front of Emma!"
"Jesus," Finn breathed.
"Dad told her instantly that there was no way in hell that was happening, and he paid a fortune to have all the locks changed the next day, during the holiday weekend. I think that's when the phone calls increased to four a day. Until Principal Figgins had the court order served, my main staff at the musical had several emergency plans in place – on their own initiative – to keep Mother away from me during rehearsals. We're already planning our Regionals set list, but I think I would have been asked to step out of Glee to end the constant disruptions if I wasn't so important to our performances, and Dad wasn't our teacher. Even with all this, it's still easier for me, because all I can do is errands – because I can't be trusted with any important decisions – and grunt work. Dad not only gets calls to force the service companies to do what she wants, but calls about the budget as well. After all, it's not like she can pay for anything. She's only a store manager at Sheets 'n' Things, and we can't ask Sam's family to pay for any of this spectacle – it might give them the authority to make decisions about the wedding themselves!"
Finn wanted so much to make things better for Rachel, but what could he say? It's not like Mrs. Schue was going to change or get any better, and it wasn't like Quinn was going to notice or appreciate someone else's suffering for her dream wedding. All he could do was hug her tighter and offer, "Well, one way or another it'll be over soon."
"Thanks for trying, Finn, but that doesn't really help. We still have thirteen more days of this." Rachel sighed, and ventured, "Finn? You know how I always hug people I love when they come home, or after I haven't seen them for awhile?" Finn nodded, even though she couldn't see it since her face was tilted down to the floor. "I haven't been able to hug Quinn once. Every time I see her face, I want to scream at her and never stop for putting us through this. God help me, Finn, but I'm on the verge of really, truly, despising my own sister."
Finn had never been so glad to smell Kurt's cologne in his life – he was way out of his depth, here, and sinking fast. He looked up to see his brother flying towards them, latching onto Rachel to comfort her in a hug from both sides.
"Oh, sweetie, it's okay. You may be a Broadway legend in the making, but you're still only human. You're going through hell – or at least one of the lower circles of purgatory – and it's because your sister is a selfish bitch queen. No, don't argue, whatever character growth she achieved during her time in Glee has now been countermanded by her demanding a wedding that would make the contestants on 'Uptown Wedding' jealous and not taking charge of it herself. She's put an unacceptable burden on you and Mr. Schue, and you have every right to resent her for it. But Rachel, she's going to be your sister for the rest of your lives. If you slip over the edge, you'll damage your relationship with her for good, and do you really want that?"
Rachel sighed again. "No, I don't. She's been my sister for ten years, and I'd like that to continue, even if she does drive me up the wall with her shallowness most days. If I repudiate her now, how will I ever see her grow out of being a Cheerio?"
Kurt gave her a quick shoulder-rub, and suggested brightly, "Why don't we start on the drinks? Between the two of us, we know what all our crowd wants. Why don't we pour the first lot, send Finn down with the tray, and get Mr. Schue to take the rest of the orders?"
Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath, and nodded. "I made sure we had a couple of cans of Cherry Coke for Tina, and Sprite for Mike. Mercedes only likes 'real' Coke, Artie the same, I have Diet Coke, there's a jug of ice water in the refrigerator for you, and Quinn has Dr. Pepper. Finn, the Mountain Dew's in a 2-liter bottle in the refrigerator door."
Finn broke away, instantly missing the warmth of Rachel's slight body, and headed for the refrigerator while Rachel and Kurt busied themselves with glasses and the tray.
Kurt made eye contact with Finn, and nodded. "It's okay, I've got this now."
Finn nodded in return, passing the trust to his brother, and gratefully headed back to the living room with the tray in his hands. He couldn't hear Mrs. Schue anymore – with any luck, Mercedes had asked Coach Bieste to teach her some of those wrestling moves. Better yet, Puck had weighed in and he'd made a crack so provoking that Mrs. Schue's head had exploded.
* MOH *
Kurt waited until Finn was well out of earshot, before he asked his fellow diva, "So. Just to really pile the pressure on you, when's the Great Revelation?"
"What are you talking about?" Rachel replied, busily pouring Coke into the two tumblers patterned with spots (when Emma had moved in last year, she'd brought the set of glasses with the different patterns with her, to make it easier to remember who had what at Glee parties). "I hope Noah and Sam still like Coke. Do you think that we should get out the potato chips as well?"
"When are you going to confess your love to Finn? You've been head over heels for the man since you were fourteen years old, darling. If you wait much longer, even Finn's going to figure it out for himself, and then you'll lose all control of the situation."
Rachel sniffled a little, and ducked her head so that her long dark hair fell about her face, screening her expression from his gaze. "I can't, Kurt, not now. Finn knows me better than anyone, with the possible exceptions of you and Dad. When I tell him, he's going to understand all of it – that when I say 'I love you', I mean 'I love you forever'. He hasn't dated one girl for more than a month since he broke up with Quinn. I brought up the subject last Christmas, and he told me straight out that he wasn't ready for his one and done."
"One and done? Wait, that sounds familiar..." Kurt frowned in thought, trying to figure out where he'd heard that phrase from.
"You've probably heard Carole say it," Rachel explained. "She used it about Finn's father, when I asked her about him. When I questioned her about Burt, she told me not many people were lucky enough to find it more than once."
"Carole does have a way with words, sometimes - I think it's where Finn gets his knack for song writing. But it's ridiculous, really, how perfect you are for each other now that we're all grown up." Kurt caught himself, and frowned reprovingly. "No trying to distract me from the discussion at hand, missy. He may not be ready for some hitherto unknown woman to walk into his life on a permanent basis, but you spent two years burning up the stage with him during duets, and every time he comes home he sees or talks to you at least every other day – and at least half the time, he's the one to initiate contact. When he's not home, you talk on the phone and exchange emails at least once a fortnight! He already knows what he'd be getting into with you, and all the available evidence suggests that he wouldn't mind one bit. I thought you'd decided that a wedding was the perfect romantic atmosphere."
Rachel's head whipped up, and she glared, "That was before my mother went completely off the rails! I want Finn however I can get him, and I know that a lack of a wedding ring doesn't mean lack of commitment or stability in a relationship... but I want to be his wife someday, Kurt. I know I'm young, but Finn's the one and done for me. Even when I dated Jason and Owen I knew that – I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't fooling myself in my enthusiasm. I know I can be a little over the top sometimes."
Kurt nudged her shoulder with his, and smiled. "Just a little. But only about the important things."
"If I tell Finn now, he'll take one look at her, think about how she'll react to having a second wedding to plan after having five years or so to rest up and get new ideas, and be too traumatized to even think of going through it himself! And if he spends some time reflecting about what she's capable of doing to get another opportunity..." Rachel shuddered. "Even if I swear up and down I'm happy to simply elope in Vegas-″
"Vegas!" Kurt exclaimed, shuddering at the thought. "Rachel, you can't. I simply cannot be Best Man at a wedding officiated at by Elvis."
"Elvis? Don't be ridiculous," Rachel told him. "We'd be married on the Terrazza Di Sogno at the Bellagio Hotel, with the famous fountains timed to go off just as we kiss for the first time as husband and wife. The Bellagio has an in-house Rabbi, and custom-made Huppah, Prayer Shawl and Kiddush Cup available as part of their wedding packages."
"Oh well, that's a different matter altogether. But no matter what, I design your wedding dress-″
"As well as all my Tony gowns, and you get veto on all my Grammy choices, yes, I already swore in blood, remember? Anyway, having Terri Del Monico Schuester as a mother-in-law is enough to make any man run screaming, even Finn. In his last email, Finn mentioned that coming back for the wedding means he won't have enough money to travel during Spring Break. I'll know for sure by then that I've been accepted into Tisch, and Dad's already planning a trip for us to New York during our own Spring Break, so we can scout out the area around the school and catch April Rhodes' new show – you're invited, by the way, Dad's going to talk to your parents about it after the wedding. If I tell Finn during our visit to him, I can also reassure him that the two of us will be together in New York for at least two years, and the rest of our lives after that – hopefully with you and Blaine nearby, of course."
"Of course," Kurt replied. This obviously wasn't the time to share his doubts about the 'you and Blaine' part. He loved Blaine, he really did, but somehow Kurt wasn't convinced they'd be together at college graduation. They'd still be close, he knew that, but a couple? He wasn't sure.
"Telling him in the town where our shared past took place would be romantic, but it will be just as romantic in the place where our future will begin. The most important thing is that I tell him properly, at the right time. Well, most important apart from him saying yes. This way, if he says 'no' or even 'not yet' I won't have to be constantly reminded of his rejection."
Kurt slid his arm around Rachel's slim shoulders, giving her a small squeeze. "Finn doesn't have any trouble saying you're important to him, and that he cares about you. Getting him to see he loves you is just a matter of making him see that you're more than his and my mutual friend – and that you're no longer the tiny thirteen year old he used to ferry between singing lessons and ballet. But honestly, Rachel, you have to tell him soon."
"Soon," Rachel promised.
Kurt heard his brother's distinctive thumping gait approaching, and let go of Rachel to face the door. As Finn appeared in the doorway, he asked, "What do you think about whisking Rachel out of range tomorrow night? Do you think you can talk Carole into letting Rachel sleep over? I can't imagine our mother letting Terri Schuester get the best of her."
Finn smirked. "Mom would curb-stomp her like the Master Chief. I'll talk her into it, no problem. You know she loves you anyway, Rach. Maybe Mr. Schue would let you come over for dinner as well?"
Rachel smiled. "It would be nice to have a meal without sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for the phone to toll."
"Toll? Um, Rachel, phones ring."
"As in 'ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee'," Rachel explained. "It's from a piece by John Donne. That particular line refers to church bells tolling a funeral knell."
"You think about phone calls from your mom like a funeral? Rachel, you really need to get away from her for awhile. Lucky for you, she left after handing out these monster booklets to everyone in the wedding party."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Booklets? That's the Master Schedule, our bible for the next two weeks. At least she's finally deemed it complete after version six. I suggest you keep it with you at all times, because I'm sure that pop quizzes will be forthcoming."
"Umm... anyway, Quinn promised to go by the florist first thing tomorrow and make the final decision herself."
Rachel sighed. "One point of contention down, several dozen to go. Can't wait to see how my sister decides the Wedding Cake Crisis."
Kurt was about to ask Rachel to be more specific about which Wedding Cake Crisis – the flavoring, design for the decorative piping, or if the topper needed to be wearing an exact duplicate of Quinn's wedding dress – but decided to leave well enough alone. He still remembered hiding under the table during the great Buttercream vs. Fondant battle, and had no desire to live through another such incident. From now on, Quinn could damn well take up some of the burdens of her own wedding, or Rachel's friends would find a way to make her. Rachel's audition for Tisch was in two weeks, and she had far more important things to do.
