TEN DAYS TO GO!
Monday afternoon
Blushing Brides Bridal Shoppe
Rachel hopped out her VW Golf, Kurt following close behind. Today was the day she'd finally see what she'd be immortalized wearing in her sister's wedding photos. She knew her Mother had taken charge of this area, too, and she was more than a little anxious about it. She'd had various colors and types of fabric held up to her face and body, and extremely specific measurements taken (and she didn't care if the dressmaker was a professional, and another female – standing around in a semi-public area in nothing but her underwear had been humiliating!), but she still hadn't seen the dress before now, and that fact was making her very uneasy. That was one of the reasons she'd asked Kurt to come with her. If the dress turned out to be a true crime of fashion, Kurt could at least make her look as good as possible in it.
The bell clanged cheerfully as they entered the shop, only to find Santana and Brittany already in the foyer. Santana was slumped in a chair, a glass of complimentary champagne in one hand and an empty glass marked with her signature scarlet lipstick on the table beside her. Brittany was in the center of the main room, a tiara in her hair with a floor-length veil attached, watching herself in the three-way mirror standing in the far corner as she twirled around, swishing the layered tulle around herself in a version of the 'Dance of the Seven (Bridal) Veils'. A young woman in an ice-blue suit watched her closely, her anxiety detectable even behind her professional mask – the veil must be either very expensive or custom-ordered, and after several months of fittings and trousseau shopping, both online and during weekend trips to Columbus, Rachel had a fairly good idea of just how expensive bridal wear could be.
"Excuse me – I'm the maid of honor for Quinn Fabray."
The attendant beamed at her, and exclaimed, "Wonderful, you're all here now! Are you one of the groomsmen?"
Kurt smiled and shook his head. "Moral support and fashion consultation only."
An odd expression flickered over the attendant's face, before the smile reasserted itself. "I'll just go fetch your dresses, and you can try them on for possible adjustments."
As she slipped through a set of curtains, Santana sighed and knocked back the remainder of her champagne in one long gulp. "Okay, bitches. Let's get this show on the road."
Rachel handed her 'Wicked' jacket to Kurt, before she followed through the curtains. Just as she entered the main room, the attendant came out, staggering under the weight of three loaded garment bags. After a session of fumbling and near-dropping of the garment bags between the attendant and all three of them that wouldn't have disgraced an Abbott and Costello movie, Rachel, Santana and Brittany each found their respective bags and had shut themselves into adjacent fitting rooms.
Rachel hung up the bag on one of the provided hooks, and unzipped the garment bag.
She blinked.
Then she finished opening the bag and let it drop to the floor, leaving the dress in full view.
Rachel heard a stream of Spanish from the next stall, and was fluent enough in the language (her father taught it for a living, after all) to understand just how filthy it was. She paid no attention. She was too busy staring at the garment hanging in front of her.
Rachel took a deep breath, bit her lip, and changed into her maid of honor dress.
One by one, Rachel, Santana and Brittany left the cubicles, and exchanged pained glances. In a silent agreement, they lined up in front of the full sized mirror in the main room at the same time, and stared at themselves.
"I was sure we'd get stuck with ass bows," Santana stated flatly. "This fucking sash is actually worse. And she still managed to work in some bows."
"How many sequin trees were cut down for each dress, do you think?" Brittany asked, turning to examine the back of the dress in the mirror.
"I don't see why we have to have ruffles on the sleeves, the bodice and the hem," Rachel remarked. Granted, Kurt had often decried her fashion sense, but these dresses were truly ugly by anyone's standards.
The tea rose pink dress would have suited Brittany, but on Santana it looked insipid. The flamboyant Latina could have made the fuchsia dress work, but it totally overpowered Brittany's pale coloring. Cerise wasn't the best color for Rachel, but it wasn't the worst, either. But the style...
"I don't care how far back Quinn and I go," Santana stated. "I'm not paying to look like this in public."
"I realize that as Quinn's bridesmaids – and particularly as her sister and best friends – it's our duty to wear unflattering dresses in order that she might shine at her most beautiful. But Quinn has never needed this much help," Rachel stated.
"Not even hung over on the first day of her period," Brittany added, eyeing her reflection in the mirror and making a face.
"How is everything coming along?" the attendant asked, approaching them. All three of them turned their heads to glare at her. Her smile promptly wilted around the edges as she stopped in her tracks.
"Er... I realize that the cut isn't very suitable for your differing body types, but Mrs. Schuester was most insistent. She even selected the colors for each of you, and personally approved the placement of all the adornments of each dress." Shrinking at the united glare, she offered lamely, "They are all completely paid for already."
Santana sighed, and reached down to the foot of the mirror for the purse she'd brought with her from the cubicle, pulling out a silver hip flask. "I was afraid of something like this," she muttered, before she took a hefty swig.
She offered the flask to Brittany, who took a slug in turn. Santana then took it back and passed it along to Rachel. Rachel looked at the flask for a second, all her arguments about underage drinking running through her head. Then she looked at her reflection again, and belted back a shot like a seasoned drunk. At least until the burn of the tequila hit.
Even as she coughed and spluttered, Brittany asked, "Your mom decided on these dresses?"
Rachel nodded, her eyes watering, before she croaked, "Evidently."
"You must be so glad you're adopted."
Santana was rummaging through her bag again, and now brought out a thick garter, more like a thigh holster than a traditional piece of bridal lingerie, with an extra set of loops obviously meant to hold the flask. "There's only one way we're getting through this shit alive."
Brittany and Rachel both nodded in unison.
"Maybe we can try Scotch or bourbon for the wedding?" Rachel asked. "I don't think tequila suits me."
"How about vodka?" Brittany asked. "That way we can sing in Russian at the reception."
"Rachel, can I come in and look?" Kurt sang from behind the curtain that separated the dressing room from the lobby. "Please let me see you! Then I can start working on a proper hair and makeup design."
Rachel looked at the other two in alarm. "Should I tell him to leave? I don't want to put him in therapy or anything-"
"Coming in, ladies!" Kurt swept through the curtains. "Don't worry if you're in your underwear, I assure you it's of no interest-"
He looked at the assembled bridesmaids.
They looked back.
Kurt's eyes bulged in their sockets, and he gave a short, sharp scream, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he gracefully collapsed to the floor.
"Kurt!" Rachel cried out, picking up her skirt and running to kneel by his side.
Kurt stirred and muttered, "So many ruffles... such large bows... sequins... AARGGGHH!" Sitting bolt upright, he looked at Rachel frantically. "Rachel, I just had the most horrid nightmare – oh God, I wasn't dreaming." Looking her up and down, Kurt stated unequivocally, "Rachel, you cannot wear that monstrosity. You are my soul sister, and if anyone thought for a second that I actually allowed you go out in this... thing... I would die of shame, and possibly lose my placing at FIT."
"Kurt, the wedding's in a little more than a week! There's only one more dress fitting on the Master Schedule. How much can you do?"
Kurt's face was grimmer than she'd ever seen it, and held enough determination to take on Sue Sylvester and win. "You have no idea how much I can do, Rachel, but you – and that woman who calls herself your mother – are going to find out. You can depend on me, Rachel, I won't let you down."
Rachel heaved a sigh of relief, and bent forward to hug her best friend. If Kurt said he'd take care of it, at least she wouldn't be completely humiliated.
* MOH *
SEVEN DAYS TO GO!
Thursday night
Lima Lanes
"C'mon, man, chug!"
Finn rolled his eyes as Sam obeyed, downing the Jaegerbomb like a pro.
Of course, they'd all had plenty of practice during the proper Bachelor party back in Columbus last weekend. Finn was pretty sure he'd still been a little hung over when Kurt came home on Monday, even whiter than one of those 'Twilight' guys and babbling under his breath about magenta sequins being an offense against all the Gods of Fashion. He had vague memories of his Mom asking Kurt about it at dinner, and he'd muttered some really rude words, but then his Mom had asked something about moral support and dresses, and when Kurt had nodded, looking like he was about to barf, she hadn't even reproved him for using that word! He'd been too afraid to ask Kurt about it once his head wasn't threatening to burst if he nodded too hard.
So Finn didn't really see the point of calling this get-together a Bachelor party. It was basically just the same as any of their parties when the four of them got together on breaks, only with an excuse to book the members' section of the bowling alley, invite some of the other guys they'd known in high school, and hire some strippers. Puck had called him 'lamest Best Man ever' for booking it here, but Finn loved bowling, and that way he had something to do while he waited for all the other guys to pass out or throw up. Also, calling it a Bachelor party meant he was legally forbidden from taking photos of anyone for blackmail purposes later. Guess Matt had learned after the pictures Finn took the last time he was designated driver.
Sam slammed the glass down, the shot glass inside chiming against the bottom of the now-empty highball, just as Ke$ha's 'Take it off' started and the blonde stripper approached him.
Huh. Puck was grinning and cheering, but... something was off. Maybe everyone else was too drunk to see it, but Finn had known the dude since they were eight, and tonight Puck wasn't as nearly into the ladies as he was the drinking, and for Puck? That was just wrong.
Finn sighed, looking at the scantily-clad girl grinding herself against Sam, who really looked quite uninterested and more as if what he really wanted was another Jaegerbomb. Yeah, Sam was the one getting married, but still. Actually, it sort of reminded Finn of the days back in high school when he thought Sam would wind up dating Kurt, not Quinn.
The second stripper was headed towards him with a purposeful gleam in her eye, and Finn hurriedly shook his head, nodding towards Damien Kite (heck, the dude had saved him from God knows how many sacks as part of the defensive line. It was the least Finn could do). Not that Finn was all that into strippers in the first place; he'd liked the burlesque bar that his frat brother Renji had dragged him to once, and even told Rachel about it in one of their phone calls. She'd asked him lots of details about their routines, and he'd been relieved to truthfully be able to report that all the important clothes had stayed on. But the whole stripping with a bored expression on your face – usually to bad or way-overused music - wasn't sexy to him at all. Renji said it was because he'd never seen a proper stripper, one who understood that she was actually performing and liked it. Finn kind of thought that's what the girls in the burlesque bar were doing, and that was why he'd enjoyed it.
Anyway, the second stripper was small and brunette, and it gave Finn a vaguely queasy feeling. She changed course, and Finn decided to get out while the going was good.
Sam was now being urged to drink no-hands from a shot glass nestled in the cleavage of the blonde, making Finn roll his eyes even as he wandered out the black glass doors and into the general section of the bowling alley.
There were another sixteen lanes out here, with old-fashioned TV's pumping out the classic rock video station on cable. Finn smiled to himself in nostalgia. He'd always loved bowling, and it had become a major stress reliever in high school. No one had ever wanted to go with him, though – except Rachel.
After he'd rejected Quinn's attempts to revive their relationship his junior year, (almost six months after they'd broken up over the fiasco with Puck. Finn had always wondered about the timing; right after football season started) he'd brought Kurt and Rachel here almost every Wednesday night, right up until he left for college. Mercedes refused to join them because of 'the offense-against-God-awful shoes' and Kurt refused to actually bowl, preferring to sit on the sidelines and snark at them both impartially. Then as soon as he and Rachel went through three games, Kurt would drag them off to the karaoke night in the lounge, where they'd go through a set of 80's and 90's classics to general acclaim. Funny how bonding evenings with his new brother and said brother's best friend were far more fun than any date he'd ever had.
The first time he'd brought Rachel here, though, they'd been alone, and they always used the same lane after that.
Finn shifted his gaze from the merchandise display to lane twelve, and somehow wasn't at all surprised to see a tiny, dark-haired figure in a short pink skirt and a vintage 1950's black and white bowling shirt.
"Rachel!"
She turned and waved at him, that million-watt smile he loved breaking over her face. Finn met her at the counter that topped the ball racks, smiling in return.
"What are you doing here?" they asked simultaneously.
Then they both laughed.
"Bachelor party in the members' bar," Finn told her, nodding back towards the black glass doors. "You?"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Quinn's having a sleepover with Santana and Brittany, as a sort of a precursor to the Bachelorette party in Columbus this weekend. I'm sure that alcohol and probably pornographic movies will be involved. Despite being the maid of honor, and the only member of the bridal party who can claim to be both intelligent and sane, I was told to stay home, because I was too young to party seriously."
Finn shuddered. "I don't even want to think about what they've got planned. The strippers at this party are bad enough."
Rachel's eyebrows reached for her hairline. "Strippers? Then shouldn't you be in there with them?"
Finn snickered. "Please, I'm a frat brother. I see a bunch of drunk stupid guys and babes taking off their clothes in public at least once every party. I'd rather be out here with you."
Rachel blushed, and her smile actually reached a million and a half watts, making him feel warm all over like a sunlamp.
"Well, I've only just started. Care to join me?"
"Love to. Want to split a pizza?"
"Love to."
* MOH *
Twenty minutes later, Finn was chewing on his last slice of pizza.
Then Rachel asked out of the blue, "Finn, do you remember the very first time you brought me here?"
Finn nearly choked. "Yeah, I do. You'd quit Glee to do 'Cabaret', and I was trying to talk you into coming back, because we needed you for Sectionals."
Oh, yeah. He remembered everything.
"This pizza is really great," Rachel smiled.
"Yeah, I think they import the pepperoni from Michigan or somewhere," Finn replied. "Hey, d'you mind if I ask you something?"
Yeah, it wasn't anything to do with why he was here, but it was something he'd been wondering about since he started dating Quinn last year. He'd never had the nerve to ask Quinn, but he didn't think Rachel would rip his head off or anything.
"Sure."
"If you and Quinn are Mr. and Mrs. Schue's kids, how come you're Berry and she's Fabray?"
Rachel gave him a sad smile, reaching for her drink. "We're adopted. It's why Quinn goes to Christian Crusaders while I go to temple, and I get a menorah on the sideboard by the Christmas tree." Taking a long drink on her straw, she continued, "When I was eight and Quinn was ten, our parents' cars collided during a storm. Her parents died straight away. My Daddy didn't last long, but my Papa stayed alive until he reached the hospital. He had a good chance, according to the doctors, but... I guess he didn't want to stick around without my Daddy."
Finn blinked for a second. Wasn't there one too many fathers there? "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Your parents were... um... an alternative couple?"
Rachel nodded. "I was born using a surrogate. Dad and Mother had just been approved as foster parents, so they were next up on the list. There aren't a lot of available kids in Lima, so they jumped at the chance to take us, even though we were too old to be cute and lovable. Well, I was."
"But didn't they look for your birth mom?"
"She signed away all rights to me at birth. Dad says that if I want to look for her, he'll help me. I've thought about it..." Rachel looked down at her plate. "I think Mother always saw parenting as something to be achieved. Not someone to be. I'm not sure how well she copes with the reality of things."
Finn looked down at his own plate. Yeah, so he didn't know Mrs. Schue very well, despite dating her oldest daughter for almost seven months the year before. But he got the feeling she was mostly about being a mother where other people could see her. At least that's what he'd heard his mom muttering under her breath while they drove home from the Schue's Christmas party for the Glee club and their families.
"So... how's Glee?" Rachel asked. "My Dad doesn't talk about it at home. Mother doesn't like hearing about it."
"Okay, I guess. Everyone misses you."
Rachel looked thoughtful – maybe a little wistful? – for a second, then shook her head as she told him matter-of-factly, "They miss my talent." She looked at him with a tinge of pleading for understanding in her eyes. "I love Glee, I just don't see the point in wasting my energies somewhere they're not appreciated."
"I appreciate you," Finn told her instantly. "I miss you every rehearsal."
It was the honest truth, too. He did miss her. He missed her never-ending energy that somehow made him more awake, her boundless enthusiasm that always got him fired up to perform. Her complete faith in him, so different from Quinn's constant criticism – when Rachel was around, he felt like he could do anything. When Rachel did have something to critique, she always suggested a way to do better next time. He missed her smiles, both the ones that made him feel warm all the way through, and the smiles that made him feel like he could be better than just the too-big, too-clumsy stupid Lima loser. Most of all, he missed her singing, the music of her voice that touched places he didn't know he had before her.
Searching for something to say, some way to persuade her, he stood up and walked to the head of the alley, before picking up Rachel's pink ball.
"It's your last ball."
Rachel took it from him, and smiled.
"Just do what you did before. Only better."
Rachel took a deep breath, and kissed the ball, before sending it spinning down the lane. She did everything she had the first time – in fact, everything she shouldn't – but it was better. She actually made a strike!
Finn laughed in disbelief, and turned to Rachel, who was jumping up and down in jubilation. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to open his arms and sweep her up in a hug.
When her lips met his, it felt more than natural. It felt like something he'd been born to do. She tasted like pepperoni and strawberry lip gloss and something beneath that was sweet and tangy all at once, and Finn was addicted with just one taste. Craving more, he gently traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, asking for entrance. They parted, just slightly, and he did it again. Rachel had to give him this, he couldn't take it. Just as her lips opened enough to give him access, he remembered where they were – and why they were here in the first place.
Finn hastily broke off the kiss, and dazedly realized that the world hadn't stopped after all. They'd only kissed twice.
"Come back to Glee," Finn asked simply.
"But what about Quinn? I know she wants to get back together with you."
"I don't know what's going to happen with Quinn. But we miss you in Glee. We need you in Glee."
"I'll have to quit the play."
"I'll help you with the play," Finn offered immediately. "I can join the crew, or something. Or you could just do Glee part-time – Mr. Schue could help you with the choreography at home, couldn't he? And you can come back full time after you're finished with the play. I mean, you started off doing both anyway, right?"
It wasn't fair to make her quit something she wanted and deserved – something that Quinn couldn't steal the spotlight at – just because he wanted so badly to go to Sectionals, and prove that he'd made the right choice in bucking the high school caste system.
"Thank you, by the way," Rachel told him. "For persuading me to come back to Glee. If I hadn't, then I wouldn't have become such good friends with Kurt and Mercedes. They were the main reasons I became close to Tina, Mike and Artie, too. The very thought of trying to survive high school without them having my back... well, it gives me the shivers, to be honest."
"I dunno, Rach. When I recruited Kurt and Mercedes after Mr. Ryerson got fired and you took over, they had a lot of fun. That's why they came back for 'Grease' the next year, and brought Tina and Artie too. Then Mike joined up for 'West Side Story' last year, right?"
Rachel smiled back and nodded. "I have to admit, being able to claim that I needed to work on this year's musical was a great escape for me from all the wedding mania." She laughed and added, "Remember the Jets baseball cap you sent me, as my first NYC present from you? Well, it's kind of become my trademark during the musical productions, and I use it every rehearsal and meeting. It's my official Boss Hat – whenever I put it on, everyone knows I'm acting as a Person In Charge, not part of the cast. Even Principal Figgins recognizes it; he saw me wear it last week, and asked if I was still working on the final layout for the program."
"What are you putting on this year?"
Rachel's smile turned into a mischievous grin. " 'Anything Goes'."
* MOH *
"Are you sure that it's okay for you to be taking me home?" Rachel asked anxiously as she fastened her seatbelt. "I can just call Emma to pick me up like we originally planned – aren't you designated driver?"
"S'Okay," Finn told her. "We all came in my car, so they're not going anywhere without me. Besides, judging by past experience they'll all be going strong for another hour at least. I'll be back long before then."
As the car pulled out onto the road, Rachel leaned her head back against the headrest, and let her mind drift, lulled by Finn's company and the music playing from the radio.
Maybe it was because they'd just left the bowling alley where they'd spent so much time, or maybe it was because Bruce Springsteen's 'I'm On Fire' had just started playing, but Rachel found herself remembering the first time Finn had taken her home from Lima Lanes.
Finn was quiet after their kiss, and Rachel worried all the way home. She made a few attempts to start a conversation on the way back, but they were all feeble and she couldn't blame Finn for not taking them up.
Was he sorry that he'd kissed her, and about to ask her not to tell anyone about it? Did he feel guilty for kissing Quinn's sister, because her kiss had been enough to make him decide to reconcile with her? Was he feeling like a pedophile, because he still thought of her as an eighth-grader in pigtails?
Finn pulled over to the curb outside her house, leaving the engine running.
On the radio, Bruce Springsteen sang about having a bad desire.
Rachel stared at her hands, folded in her lap.
Finn stared at his hands, still locked around the steering wheel.
"Rachel… I shouldn't have kissed you. But that kiss was real. I hope you know that."
"It was my first kiss," Rachel told him softly. Finn looked at her in alarm - but she didn't sound sad, or anything. Neither of them said anything more, and the silence filled the car, until Rachel undid her seatbelt and opened the door.
After she climbed out, she bent down to look at him through the open passenger-side window. A soft smile curved her lips as she added, "You haven't said you're sorry."
"That would be a lie," Finn confessed. "It was a really nice kiss."
Rachel's smile grew just a little. "Yes, it was. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome."
"Well, goodnight Finn."
"Goodnight, Rachel."
"Rachel? We're here."
Rachel jumped, staring at Finn. "Oh! I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Finn smiled. He looked at her darkened house, and added, "Given what's been waiting for you at home these days, I'm not surprised you don't want to go in until the last minute."
Rachel bit her lip, not wanting to leave the warm, dark and cozy space she shared with Finn. Taking a deep breath and filling her lungs with his scent (she was so glad he'd finally switched from Drakkar Noir), she gathered her nerve and climbed out of the car.
She bent down to look through the opening of the door, and asked, "I'll see you Saturday night at your place?"
Finn nodded and smiled. "Mom's already planning what to serve up for dinner, and Kurt's already picking out movies that have nothing to do with weddings or romance."
"Well, goodnight Finn."
"Goodnight, Rachel."
As always, Finn's car didn't pull away until she'd safely shut the front gate. Humming 'My Secret Love' under her breath, Rachel made her way along the fence and into the garden that ran down the side of the house, before sitting down in the lovely little gazebo that had been her Dad's first Christmas present to Emma after she'd officially moved in. She huddled into the knee-length heather gray wool coat that Kurt had personally selected for her, and sighed wistfully as she stared up at the moon. Hopefully, the cold air would do her some good.
This was something she hadn't been able to talk to anyone about, even Kurt. He knew about her love for Finn, and her yearning to be his love in return. But he didn't know about her longing for Finn – her need. Her craving to taste his kiss, her hunger to feel his hands on her body, and to feel his skin beneath her fingertips. Rachel was dealing with her own burgeoning physical desire on top of years of unrequited love, and the strain was beginning to tell on her.
She was startled out of her thoughts by the rumbling of a car engine, almost in her ear. This wasn't the cars typical of her quiet suburban street, but a muscle car, something that Vin Diesel (Kurt's guilty pleasure lust object) would drive in one of his movies.
The fence was made of brick with inserts of decorative ironwork spaced along the top. Rachel stood on the gazebo bench, but couldn't quite see over the fence. Going up on her tiptoes, she blessed her years of ballet training for giving her superb balance, holding onto the ironwork that made up the supports for the gazebo roof for extra security.
She was glad of it when she saw who was getting out of the car – someone wearing her 'Wicked' jacket, and her Jets cap! Then she took a closer look at the inside of the car, illuminated by the ceiling light, and gasped out loud when she recognized Noah Puckerman. How was he even able to walk, let alone drive, after all the rum and Cokes he'd had at the alley?
Then the girl wearing Rachel's clothes turned around, and Rachel lost her balance in shock, her grip on the gazebo framework the only thing keeping her from tumbling off the bench.
It was Quinn.
