Chapter 6: Home Truths

A/N: firstly, thank you for all the reviews, it is really encouraging to know people are actually reading this. Secondly, this chapter was so long it had to be cut in two. I have stopped it where I think the natural break was, I just hope it works.

6 months later.

Rachel and I have fallen in to a routine. Once every third weekend or so, we set aside a day or an afternoon, where we spend time together. Some times its lunch, some times it's a trip to the theatre, some times she just comes over to my place and we watch DVDs and eat take out.

We are getting there slowly but surely. The long awkward silences have gone, and I have managed to learn some degree of tact, so the number of trips my foot makes to my mouth when I am around Rachel has dramatically reduced.

I have come to realise that Rachel does need me, just not in the way I originally wanted, or needed to be wanted. She doesn't need to be fed, clothed, rocked to sleep, have her knees bandaged or have help with her homework.

She needs female influence, someone who she can confide in and ask for guidance. As I've got to know her I have seen that though she may physically look grown up, emotionally she is still just a child. It selfish, but I am glad that I can still have some kind of influence on her.

The first time she saw my house, the one thing she couldn't get over, was the lack of photos adorning the walls and surfaces. There were precisely 3 photos on display, 1 of my parents on their 25th wedding anniversary, one of my sister and I, and the most recent school photo of my niece.

No one has ever commented about my photos or the lack thereof, but then not everyone grew up in the Berry house hold, where every square inch of the wall is covered in photos.

"Aren't you close to your family?" she asked, incredulous that I didn't have a home made portrait gallery over my fire place.

Thus launcheth the next chapter in the series of Shelby bares her soul: La Famille Corcoran.

"My mom and I are not close" I began. "Not any more. Growing up, we got on well enough, like a normal mother and daughter. Then we hit my teen years and I was hell bent on going to Broadway, and they were hell bent on me getting a normal career. My mom and I got so that we just argued and argued all the time.

My dad stayed out of it. The only thing he said was that if I went to college to study theatre then he wouldn't support me financially.

So I went off to college, studied English like a good daughter, but spent every spare minute of my time outside of class getting involved with drama and theatre. I worked double shifts at the IHOP to pay for vocal coaching and acting classes. I was determined that as soon as I turned 21, as soon as I had that degree under my belt, that I was going to go try my luck in New York.

I told my parents this the day after I graduated. They were still adamant that it was a pipe dream that could never come to any good. Which is why when I agreed to the deal with your fathers, I couldn't tell them.

As far as they were concerned I went to New York in the spring of 1994, when really all I did was board a bus for Lima, not Manhattan. They didn't offer to come visit, which is just as well."

"What about your sister?"

"My sister and I were close. Are close. But I couldn't tell her either. I didn't want to put her in that awkward position of lying to mom and dad.

She at least came out to see me in New York, after I really did get there. She came and saw every play, no matter how small, or rubbish it was. That photo of us was taken at the after party on the opening night of my first production."

"So none of your family knows about me? I'm just some thing you should be ashamed of.?"

"No" I insisted, "I have never been ashamed of you. I am ashamed of my own behaviour."

"So much so that you never told anyone?"

"That's not true. I told my mom"

"But you said…"

"Will you just let me finish?

For the first 3 years that I was in New York I didn't speak to my parents. We kept tabs on each other via my sister. Then my dad died unexpectedly. I realised that as much as I didn't agree with her on many things, that my mom was still my mom, and that perhaps I really ought not to cut her out of my life completely.

I started going back to Ohio once a year for Christmas, and I'd remember to send a card and flowers on her birthday. She in turn would always ring me on my birthday. It wasn't great but we were in contact at least.

Then about 8 years ago, two things happened. My sister got pregnant, and I found out I couldn't have any more kids.

It hit me really really hard. I was actually staying with my mom as I recuperated from the operation, because she was my next of kin and they wouldn't let me stay alone, and my sister had her hands full dealing with her first trimester.

I kept thinking about how this was my punishment for giving you up. This was my punishment for just handing you over and walking away. It was going over and over and over in my mind every single moment of every single day.

My mom couldn't understand why I was as depressed as I was, because as far as she knew I had no desire to even have children. One day, the torment just became unbearable, and I knew I had to tell someone or it would eat me up inside.

My mom came in to bring me a cup of tea that morning, and I just blurted it out. Then she sat down and I told her everything. She refused to believe it at first. Then she went quiet for a very long time. Finally, she turned to me, looked me straight in the eyes and called me a stupid little girl, and that she never thought that I would go so far, be so callous, just to chase a silly dream.

We never talked about it again, except when we both agreed that it would not be a good time to tell my sister about this.

6 months later my sister had a bouncing baby girl. I went to see her in the hospital, and my worst fears were confirmed. Alicia looked exactly like you did. After I held her I had to run out to be physically sick.

I knew I couldn't stay. I was longing to tell my sister why, but I couldn't, not now with a new baby and her being so happy. I heard they were auditioning for the touring production of Evita. I managed to get myself a small role, and I took it, even though the pay sucked and the schedule was gruelling.

It gave me the opportunity I needed. For 18 months it took me from state to state, giving me the perfect excuse to never go visit my sister or my mom. One day, near the end of the run, I received a letter from my sister containing photos of Alicia at age 20 months. When I dared look at them, I saw that Alicia was taking after her father, all blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked nothing like you, or rather how I imagined you to look like.

It meant I was safe to return back to Ohio, I'd already decided that I wanted to be nearer my sister.

I decided to settle in Lima, which meant that my sister was only a few hours away, and that if anything happened to my mom I could be there, but wasn't so close I felt obligated to visit regularly.

We fell in to the same routine as before. Flowers on her birthday, phone call on mine. We saw each other at gatherings at my sisters house about three times a year, but other than that we didn't communicate, with my sister working as an envoy between us both. It's been that way ever since."

"That's so sad. I can't ever imagine not being constantly in touch with my dads"

That's because your mother is too well versed in being a cold hearted bitch I want to say, but I don't.

"Don't be silly" I say, instead " I love my mom. She loves me. But its just best for us that we don't communicate that often." and I left Rachel to puzzle over that one.

The next time she came round to my house, she showed up with a framed 8 x 10 photo of herself. I recognised it as the one I saw on her dads wall, of her on stage as a small child.

She presented me with the photo, with the explanation that normal people, those who had a life, at least had photos of their friends and other people they cared about around the place. I then proceeded to un-do all the progress we had made in the past few weeks by saying I couldn't accept it.

"why not?" she demanded "It's a copy, my dads still have the original"

"Because" I tried to explain, hating myself for the look of rejection I caught dart across her face, "that's not you."

"Of course its me"

"No, I mean. To me, that's not you. When I have photos up, they are to remind of the people I care about, in a context that is special or means something for me. That photo of my parents, it was the last one I have of them before we fell out. it's the way I want to remember my dad. The one of my sister and I was in New York, when she came out to see me.

That photo of you means nothing to me. Not because you don't mean anything to me, but because I didn't know you at that age. I have no memories to associate with it. When I think of you I think of a tiny tiny baby or as you are now. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"That you are still too ashamed to have a photo of me in your house, which, if I were to listen to you, no one visits you in anyway. Yeah sure I do."

"Rachel!" I exclaimed, but I knew it was no good. She's a stubborn as me and I knew it wouldn't be any use in reasoning with her.

She sulked, and we spend an uncomfortable 30 minutes until Finn arrived to collect her.

I spent the next few days feeling like the worst person in the world, and wondering how I could rectify the situation. Up until she mentioned it, I hadn't even thought about adding a photo of her to my meagre collection, but then it became my obsession, a way to prove that she did mean enough to me, and that I wasn't ashamed of her.

My salvation came in the form of my friend Rob Hughes. We were old friends from my New York days, a veritable Will and Grace pairing. He was in the touring production of The Phantom. Around the time of regionals he learnt that the show was coming to Lima and he had sent me 2 tickets with a note telling me I had better be there front row to watch, and that we could go out and celebrate his big 40 afterwards.

So a few weeks previously I had gone to see the show, and had taken Rachel with me as my guest. Afterwards we found ourselves joining the party that the cast had thrown him in the ballroom at the hotel next door. Someone had set up a karaoke machine on stage, and at some point, admittedly with very little convincing, Rachel and I took to the stage to belt out a duet.

About a week or so after our minor tiff over the photo, I got an email from Rob, saying it was great to see me again and "I was going through some of my photos from that night, thought you might like one of you and the illegitimate kid."

I opened the attachment to find a photo of Rachel and I, on stage, mid-duet. Neither of us are looking at the camera, we are both looking off to the middle distance of the audience, she is in full flow, arms raised, mouth open, I'm also singing, but clearly trying not to laugh at the antics of someone in the audience.

Now that was a photo that meant something to me, and expressed who we were. I had it printed out and framed, and added to my mini-display. The following week, Rachel arrived early, and I was still getting ready, so I told her to wait in the front room will I hurried back upstairs to put on the rest of make-up.

When I came back down 5 minutes later, I clocked her sitting on the arm of the sofa, staring at the photo.

"When did you get this?" she asked, picking up the frame.

"Oh that thing" I say,, "well I found the photo lying around and thought it might look quite nice in a frame. Come on, or we'll be late for our reservations." I turned to walk out, but not before I notice her gently replace the frame with a huge smile on her face.

As I said, I am learning, slowly but surely.

Any way, the last time we met up, Shelby's Story of the day, was about my time in New York. As a knock on from that, today, Rachel has come round to go through my playbill collection, from both the plays I was in, and the ones I just saw as an audience member.

She is working her way through the B's ( so sue me I keep them alphabetised) and I am trying to remember what ' 34th and 6th at 7.45" that I scribbled on the top corner of one of them. referred to, when the door bell rang.

Given that the only visitor I was expecting was currently critiquing my headshot photo, ( I think I was the only person in the world who could not pull off the 'Rachel' cut in the mid 1990s), I assumed it was the mail man or some such other delivery person.

Swinging the door open, I found the last person in the world I would have expected to grace my front porch: my mother. Talk about speak of the devil.

"Hello" she says, with an odd look of relief on her face, which quickly turns in to one of minor irritation, as I continue to stare at her dumbstruck.

"Shelby, are you going to let me inside?"

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"What am I doing here?" she parrots. "Shelby, I haven't heard from you in months, now I know that's normal for us, but then I got talking to your sister last weekend, and she confessed that save a card and a present in the mail on Alicia's birthday, she hasn't heard a peep from you properly in six months, that every time she phones you're never in, and that you keep sending her messages saying that you will catch up soon, but you never do. So I got worried and decided to come down here and see for myself what was going on."

"Why didn't you call?"

"So you could have made up some excuse to avoid me? Now I am 62 years old, so I would quite like to come in and sit down if you don't mind."

I step back and let her in, all the time my heart is pounding. I don't want to have to explain about Rachel. I want to carry on in our nice bubble where its just me and Rachel getting to know each other and no one can come along and interfere with that.

I glance in the front room. Rachel is still pouring over a playbill, in such deep concentration that I doubt she is even aware of the conversation that has just played out in the hallway. In fact I know she hasn't realised because she is the nosiest person in Ohio, and would be 'fake' reading right now while pretending not to eavesdrop.

Mom meanwhile has taken off her coat and shoes, and set down her suitcase. Suitcase? Dear lord how long is she intending to stay?

I have precisely 10 seconds to decide how I am going to handle this, without upsetting or offending 2 of the people I love the most. Given my past record, this does not bode well.

Mom turns toward the front room and spies that I am not alone. "You have a visitor?" she states

"Yeah, about that, I .."

But its too late, mom strides in to the living room, me following in her wake. Rachel, not looking up from the paper in her hands, hears feet on the floor, and naturally assumes its me returning, and chooses that exact moment to drop the m-bomb.

"Mom, did you actually meet Ramin Kiramaloo? Because…." .

Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, the word seems to echo round the room.

At the lack of immediate response she decides to look up and realises that we are not alone. "oh hi" she says to my mother, and then turns to me as if to say 'are you going to introduce us?"

Meanwhile my mother is also giving me a look that vaguely constitutes to 'did she just say what I think she just said.."

So it looks like its up to me to make with the explanations. Ok, here we go..

"Mom, this is Rachel Berry. Rachel, this is my mom Elizabeth."

There we go, I've formally introduced them. I don't need to elaborate further do I?

"Nice to meet you" Rachel slaps a showbiz smile on her face, which I know she does when she is nervous, and steps forward to shake my moms hand. "I've heard so much about you" she says, and I can't help but feel proud that her dads have brought her up to be so polite that she even knows when it is appropriate to lie.

"I'm afraid I can't say the same about you my dear as I've not heard a bean about you." Mom replies bluntly, but kindly " Shelby, perhaps there is something you want to share with me?"

Rachel, deploying her sixth sense that she claims to have, or simply just being attuned to the fact that the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife, decides to help me out, a little bit. " I guess you guys need to talk. I'll just head down to the studio and update my myspace page for a bit." And with that she hightails it out of the room and down to my basement which has been converted in to a mini-dance/recording studio.

Mom is looking at me expectantly. I chose to ignore it and go in to the kitchen to put the kettle on. If I am going to have to bare my soul again, which is getting to be a reoccurring habit these days, I want coffee, and lots of it. And I also want a minute to gather my thoughts.

Turns out that I am not going to get that minute as mom has followed me out.

"Shelby.."

"Would you like a coffee?" I ask, cutting off whatever she was about to say.

Mom, to her credit, realises that the ball is in my court here and if she wants answers then she is going to have to sit it out. "Yes, that would be nice." she reluctantly replies.

I pour us our drinks and we return to the living room. We sit, and I have taken about 3 sips of coffee before mom starts up again, and I am beginning to think the impatience is a dominant maternal trait in this family.

"Shelby, who is that girl?"

"Mom, lets not play games, I think you know who that girl is."

"May be I do, but I want you to say it."

"Rachel is my daughter. Happy now?"

"Not really, because last time I saw you, you most definitely did not have a teenage daughter."

"Mom - are you telling me you have forgotten that very long and very painful conversation we had a couple of years ago?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten, I would never forget a thing like that. I remember it very clearly, in fact I distinctly remember the part about you giving the baby away and not being allowed to see her again."

"Yes, and now she is back. I found her, or rather she found me. Sort of. It doesn't matter, the point of the matter is that we have reconnected."

"And you didn't think to tell any of your family about this?"

"Why would I? Given the way you reacted when I told you about it the first time." I shout.

We both fall silent for a few minutes, and I am grateful that I had the basement fully sound proofed, so Rachel cannot hear us arguing about her.

"You know Shelby," mom starts off slowly, choosing her words with care. "When you first told me about what you did, I thought you were lying…"

"You that I made it up?" I screeched "You thought I would make up some elaborate and painful story about being pregnant and giving away my baby, just for the hell of it?"

"Shelby, you aren't listening to what I am saying. I didn't say that I thought you lied about being pregnant. In fact, when you said you had been pregnant, suddenly a few things made a lot more sense."

"What things?"

"I'm your mother Shelby, and I know you better than anyone, despite what you may care to think. I notice things that others don't. Pregnancy changes a womans body, and some of those changes are subtle, but long lasting. You take after me when I was younger, tall, thin, and straight up and down, no hips to speak of. At least that's how you were when you left for "New York".

Now, when your sister went out to visit you that first time, and she showed us her photos, I saw the change in you. You'd suddenly developed a small pair of hips, not very big of course, but more shape than you had before. Now you could put on as much weight as you like, but fat does not give you hips, only the physical pressure of carrying and delivering a child would cause the bones in your pelvis to shift to give you hips. I should know, its what happened to me when I had you. Also, your face looked different, rounder slightly. Perhaps I noticed because I hadn't seen you in a while, or perhaps because your cousin Amy had just had a baby and the same thing had happened to her.

I don't know. But I pushed it to the back of my mind. I figured that even though we weren't on good terms, you would have at least turned to your family for support during such a life changing time as being pregnant. I convinced myself that perhaps I was imagining things, and the lighting in the photos was distorting everything.

Again, at your fathers funeral, when you went to borrow some black trousers from your sister because yours had a rip, and you found that they didn't fit properly and you had to borrow some of mine. I don't think you even realised yourself. The thought entered my head again, but I brushed it off, as I had more important things to worry about that day.

So when you told me you had been pregnant, I knew it was the truth. However I thought, or rather hoped, you were lying about the surrogacy. I hoped it was a smoke screen for the truth, that you and that Brian guy you were dating before you left, had accidentally got pregnant and decided to give the baby up for adoption, and that rather than admit you made a mistake and got pregnant outside of marriage, you went and made up a story about being a surrogate."

"But why would you think I would make anything up?"

"Because I wanted to convince myself that deep down my sweet innocent little Shelby would not be so cold and unmoving as to deliberately create a child that she had now intention of keeping. That my little girl would never give away her own flesh and blood in exchange for money, so she could go parade around on stage in New York. I didn't like to think I raised a child who did that"

"So this is what its about? Its always the same, it always comes back to you, and your expectations, and me failing you by going off to Broadway. Why am I always in the wrong here? Did you ever stop to think that if you had just supported me, that I might not have been driven to such an extreme?"

"Yes, all the time, truth be told. But I am only human Shelby, I make mistakes just like the rest of you. Are you saying that you, even in this small amount of time that you have known Rachel, you haven't done or said something to upset her, even though you were trying to act in her best interests?"

I'm silent and mom knows she's got me.

"Ok, yes fine, I have, I'm not perfect either. But you know what the difference is mom? Rachel could turn round and tell me she wants to give up on a career and become a professional Wal-Mart greeter for the rest of her life. Would I be happy about it? Hell no, would I still get my butt down to Wal-Mart to say hello and see her in action. Yes I would."

"Well congratulations Shelby you are a stronger person than me. How does it feel up there on that pedestal?"

I am about to retort, when a younger, but equally as powerful voice cuts across the room. "What are you two shouting about?" she asks, hands on hips. "Well?" her foot starts tapping on the floor. "I'm waiting for an explanation…."

TBC