Mercedes' POV (late afternoon)

"Mercy!" I heard the intercom in my room shout, "The guests are here! Come on, come on!"

I dozed off between being on the phone with Sam and waiting for his arrival. He said they would be there soon but how long ago was that? I got up from my bed and licked my lips. They were here, he was here. But that also meant Mrs. Fabray and her daughter were around too. Great. There wasn't any real answer to my mother's summoning other than a cough and shuffling my feet. I reached the last level seeing mom and dad facing the group of people at the front door. From where I was I saw vividly the white-blonde hair of Mrs. Fabray, and her blood lips moving quickly.

"Your house is lovely as ever, Clarice! And Donnel, I hope your flight went smoothly." She said.

Mom nodded. "Thank you."

Dad repeated the gesture. "My flight was fine. It was slow, but nothing could've got me to my family fast enough."

Mom bumped the door open wider with her hip, then Margret and the rest of our guests came inside. I walked over, standing next to my parents and felt Sam staring at me. At least I thought I did. When I turned to glance at him, his eyes were on the walls around us.

I knew what he was doing. He was staring at the amount of space before him. People always did. There were columns, two stories (not counting the game room attic like space above my parent's room), an elevator and a view that stretched as far as you could see. Our walls were a dark shade of blue, and the furniture was white. There were paintings of late relatives adorning our walls as well as paintings of the relatives that still lived. They were portraits really, because the further you went back the worse condition of pictures. So Mom had some guy use water color and pastel to take the place of photographs. Soon my parents would be on these walls. Then me.

Quinn beamed at my parents before going over and wrapping me up in a hug. "I've missed coming to your house. It's better than what I remember."

She looked and smelled the part of a Barbie doll. This was how I liked to remember Quinn: warm, happy, smiling, in love, glowing. It was reminiscent of going back to all those other times when she came over. Scratch the baby bump though. I half expected her to pull out some homework and ask me what we were having for dinner.

I felt Margret staring so I returned the embrace. "Really?" I asked.

She squeezed me tighter. "Of course."

I looked at a woman dressed in a pink top and white skirt. "Hi."

"Hello beautiful! I know we haven't met. I'm Sharron Evans, Sam's mom." She stepped up to me, shaking my hand.

"Okay. Nice to meet you Mrs. Evans."

"Your home is absolutely magnificent." She said.

"Thank you," I replied. "We're blessed."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "It's good to see a teenager with such a good head on her shoulders."

Mom waved her over and soon the three women were conversing like old friends. Dad shifted nervously on his feet. He was left out of the trio of women, and now was left with us. I saw him look at Sam eagerly.

"I guess we're the only men in this house right?" He asked.

Sam nodded. "I guess so."

"Have a fun road trip with the three other females?"

"Not really." Sam said.

Dad laughed. "Honesty. I like that in a young man."

"Thanks."

"Did you have to be persuaded to come along with your mother?"

"Well," Sam blushed. "I-"

He shook his head. "Don't let me down already, Sam. Tell the truth and shame the devil. No real man-married or otherwise-would agree to get in a car with that many girls at once."

Sam nodded, obviously not sure how to respond to this. I mentally face palmed. It was just like Dad to do this. Dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's rally these women up. I'll give you a tour of the house with everyone else while Quinn and my baby get the barbeque ready."

"Dad!" I whined and Quinn giggled. I elbowed her then she laughed even harder. Mom and the other adults were still having the chat of their life.

"That's what I'm talking 'bout!" I heard mom say, then bump Sharron with her shoulder. They laughed, and the conversation jumped to another topic. As happy as they seemed, I kept an eye out for Margret. You never knew what she would do next.

My father must have felt the same way because he wrapped an arm around mom's waist, protecting her from words that haven't been said yet. Mom reached out and grasped dad's hand, still talking. This was their reminder that whatever they were about to go through it would be together. She wasn't alone, and neither was he. At least for the weekend.

Dad and mom were giving our guests a tour of the house and showing them to their rooms for the night while Quinn and I prepared the barbeque. The entire evening I've been overlooking her. I focused on the ribs, or making hamburger patties. I assumed that being around Quinn in a normal environment without glaring at her would be hard. But, after a moment of adjusting to the reality of things and getting my nerves in check, I realized that it was soothing.

Quinn was nostalgia personified: when we hung around each other back in the day, my parents were in the house a lot more than they are now. Almost like history repeating itself, my family was here like she was. I wanted to believe that things could go back to the way they once were. Maybe I'd get what I wanted.

"Are you happy to see me Mercedes?" She was asking me now.

"What?"

"Are you," Quinn reiterated as she shook some seasoning on a chicken. "Happy to see me?"

"I don't know." I exhaled slowly. "Honestly? I can't say that I was completely ecstatic when you got here, but now it's like-"

"Old times?"

From upstairs, I heard laughter. "Exactly."

We worked in silence for a few moments before I heard Quinn cough. "Well," She said chopping up a whole onion. "What did you want to ask me?"

I didn't know where to start, so I started with the main issue. "Why didn't you try to talk to me during the summer? If you really want to be friends like you say, why now?"

I thought that Quinn was expecting me to ask her this. But based on the silence that followed, she wasn't. She bit her lip and finally spoke. "My mother is very controlling. You know this, Mercy. Last summer was full of nothing but trailing behind her and making nice to her colleagues. I was busy being the perfect child. I have enough experience to be called that, anyway."

"You didn't have enough time to pick up the phone and call me?"

"No I didn't, actually." She replied. "Besides I thought a face to face encounter would be better."

"So what about everything else?"

"I hate to keep blaming things on my mother," She started. "But it's her fault. I can try and become friends with you again because now my mother wants to be friends with your family again. It's a win-win situation. And as far as making new friends go, they're not friends. They're acquaintances. Don't believe everything you see me doing Mercy."

That was the problem. I didn't know what to believe. It sounded so real that there was no way she could be lying. Yet still I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "Okay then so what are your mother's intentions? With my mom, I mean."

"I told you already. We want to make nice. Mom knows she should've never let an election get in the way of true friendship. Like me, except I let my post-partum rule my decisions."

I went back to flattening hamburger patties, not saying anything.

"I didn't come to someone I knew would help me." She went on, "I ran away. I'm sorry."

I was embarrassed suddenly, to realize that I had a lump in my throat. I swallowed. "I needed you." I said instead of accepting her apology. "My parents were gone so much and I was alone. I thought you were the only thing I had left. But you weren't. I had nothing."

"Wait, what?" She asked. "What about your parents?"

"They weren't around as much. They still aren't. Why?"

"No reason." Quinn replied. Weird. "Just know that I am sorry Mercedes."

I put foil over a pan full of potato salad. "It's time you show it Quinn."

She nodded, holding a container of chopped vegetables. "We'll see were this goes right?"

"Right." I agreed. "Hey, I think we're ready to grill."

She smiled before helping me bring the food outside. We set up the table and turned on the grill, heating it up. The cold stuff had to be handled a certain way, but we did it together. Cooking with her was like I remembered: bumpy and crazy at first, but worth the risk.

"Don't think I didn't see the way Sam was staring at you earlier." Quinn said giving me a look. We were done making the table look cute and getting supplies ready. I was reclining in one of the chairs and sipping fruit punch when she mentioned this.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She reached over and flicked my arm. "I don't appreciate getting lied to Mercedes."

"We're friends." I told her.

"Just friends?" She asked.

Her emphasis on certain words was annoying the crap out of me. But I bit my tongue. "Friends. Nothing else."

"Sam's awfully cute." She said.

"And?"

"He seems like a good guy."

"And?" What was she getting at?

"He's pretty much the best guy I've ever met without knowing anything about."

"Then why don't you date him?" I snapped. "He seems like your type."

"And what's my type, Mercy?" Quinn retorted.

"Attractive, nice, sweet, perfect. A guy that people like me never get."

She shook her head and took a sip of water, while looking straight ahead. Of course, I was the bad guy here. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are. You're beautiful."

"Quinn-" In my pocket I felt my phone vibrating. I looked at the inbox, seeing that Santana had been trying to contact me nonstop for the past ten minutes. Can't talk, can't text. I'm with my family right now. I'll call you later, I texted her without checking the messages. I didn't know what was going on with Santana, but considering that she was with her cousins, it couldn't be serious.

Sam's POV (evening)

"Here we are!" Donnel Jones said, glancing back at us. "See? This is the theater."

I saw or better yet, tasted, as my mouth was hanging open. "Wow."

"It's not as big as it looks," Clarice Jones said. Behind me I heard my mother gasping. I just stood there staring at this huge, Cinemax theater in front of me. Maybe it wasn't big enough to seat a hundred people, but it came damn close.

It was a huge incredibly dark place with velvet drapes and speakers that could probably roar. The walls were lined with various implements of movie history: Spiderman posters, plastic swords that looked like they came right of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Superman stand up cardboard cut-outs, and the works. This looked like my dream more than a theater. But I couldn't stay and fantasize, we were walking away.

"So this is the second living room," Mrs. Jones was saying as we went up the nearby spiral staircase. "The master suite is upstairs, as well as Mercy's room, and the rest of the bedrooms are on the first floor."

"How many bedrooms are in the house?" My mom said cheerfully, politely.

"Six." Donnel responded. "Well, if you don't count the third floor. But that's really just a game room. We decided to be modest and not have ten or twelve rooms seeing as this is the house we spend the most time in. Better to be conservative, right?"

"Yes." Mom said as if she knew what it was like to have more than one home.

"The reading room is by Mercedes'. It has a balcony off of it, so feel free to stargaze tonight. " Clarice said.

We walked to the glass doors and saw the sun setting. It looked as tired as I felt. The pinks and oranges spread across the sky. I wouldn't need to stargaze; the clouds above looked close enough to grab ahold of. The view was dazzling. I lagged a bit behind as our tour group went back downstairs. It seemed like it took five minutes to catch up. How long was this hallway?

"Here's your room for the night Sam." Donnel said, gesturing to a door on my left. Clarice was still taking everyone to their beds for the night. I turned the knob and walked inside. It was a room full of suede furniture. The bedspread was a leathery brown, and from the sight of the window, had a great view. There was a flat screen mounted in the wall beside a painting of a man that resembled Donnel Jones.

"I don't need a bed this big, sir." I said looking back at Mr. Jones.

He shrugged. "It's one of the smaller beds in this house."

"Oh." I muttered feeling embarrassed.

"This was my fourth son, James' room. He left for college two years ago. He was the last sibling of Mercedes' in the house and when he moved away I think it really hurt her." He said sighing. "She misses her brothers, but they come around once a month. And that's good."

"It is." I seconded.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this, Mercy would blow a gasket if she knew. You're really easy to talk to though. And that's great because women really like to talk."

I laughed. "No joke."

"Okay, I'll let you get settled in." Then he left. I dropped my duffel on a loveseat across the room before leaving too.

Mr. Jones was a good man, and Mrs. Jones a great beautiful women. She resembled an old Hollywood actress with her timeless looks and personality. He had the build of a soldier and behaved like a general. Visibly Clarice was weak where Donnel was strong. They balanced out each other and it showed in their daughter. Maybe I could be what Mr. and Mrs. Jones are for each other with Mercedes. I'd love to be that guy. But would her dad approve of her dating a former stripper? Probably not.

"Can I help you with anything?" I asked Mrs. Jones as her and Mercedes brought pans of food to the table. Mercedes shook her head and set a plate down in front of me. I eyed the ribs, my mouth watering.

"Donnel, did you hear that?" Mrs. Jones said to him as he flipped a hamburger on the grill. "Sam was being a gentleman and asking if he could help us! Maybe you could take a few pointers from him!"

"Do you not see what I'm doing?" He asked.

"That doesn't matter. It's the principal of the thing." She replied.

My mother giggled beside me. Donnel looked at her. "Are you laughing? Clarice isn't funny you know. You don't have to be nice and laugh at what she says."

Mrs. Jones walked up to him and whacked him with a serving spoon. I began to laugh and glanced over at Mercedes, who was pouring drinks and shaking her head.

"Quiet now; try to act civil around the guests." She said before serving the drinks Mercedes poured out. Quinn and her mother sat across from us, both of them laying platters of food on the table.

"They act like this all the time, Sam." Quinn told me. "You just have to go with it."

"Or at least ignore dad." Mercedes said sitting beside me.

"Don't act like I'm not here!" Donnel exclaimed, flipping a burger so high it almost missed the grill.

"If you don't stop playing with the food you're sleeping on the balcony, Donnel." Clarice called over her shoulder.

To me she said, "He really could learn a lot from you, Sam. I guess he forgot how to be a man somewhere down the line. He thinks pounding his chest and making meat do somersaults validates his manhood. A shame, really."

"Clarice Virginia Jones." He shouted. "You don't know what you're messing with."

We all laughed, except Mrs. Jones who pulled a chair out and sat down. Donnel finally plated the burgers and sat, satisfied like he prepared the whole feast.

"Who's going to say grace?" He asked.

"Obviously the woman of the house does that." Clarice retorted glaring at him. She put out her hands, one to Quinn on her left and Mercedes to her right. I felt Mercedes grasp mine. My face heated up and mom grabbed my other hand. We bowed our heads.

"Dear our Heavenly father, thank you for everything you've given us." Mrs. Jones said her voice soft but powerful. "The food, the home, and the love we are surrounded in. We are truly blessed. Amen."

"Amen to that," Mr. Jones agreed, rubbing his hands together. "Now someone hand me the ribs."

The air was warm, the food was hot, the drinks were cold, and I couldn't get enough. On many occasions my mom told me to slow down, but I just couldn't. No one was acting like they were from a monarchy so I didn't feel the need to pretend either. Mercedes and Quinn were talking about some fashion trend and Margret Fabray kept reminding my mother that they needed to go back to the day spa soon. Mr. and Mrs. Jones bickered back and forth the whole duration of dinner, but it always ended with one of them laughing or grinning. The topics jumped and now everyone had gotten on the discussion of the summer Olympics.

"Phelps better do something." Donnel was saying, helping himself to a scoop of potato salad.

Clarice rolled her eyes. "He will, calm down."

"It's only the first few days." My mom added.

Margret shrugged. "As long as an American wins gold I couldn't care less."

"Clarice doesn't care because she likes that Ryan kid." Mr. Jones claimed. "Neither does Mercy. It's not about being cute, it's about the athletics. I've been trying to get that message across to them, but it's like talking to walls."

"Ryan is cute." Quinn said, siding with them.

"See what I mean?" He asked, looking at me.

"I'm not getting in the middle of this." My mom patted my hand supportively.

"Mercedes if you weren't like your mother so much you'd see it my way. Ryan may be a pretty boy, but he's much more than that."

"Dad." She whined, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please stop."

"Ryan is actually a great athlete; he's great at the breaststroke." I said just to embarrass her further.

"How do you like them apples, huh Clarry? I bet you didn't know that." Donnel hollered, way too enthusiastic about snubbing his wife.

"It's not about the breaststroke, it's about his backside." She argued.

"Oh God." Mercedes groaned. Quinn rubbed her back comfortingly.

"Don't act like you don't feel the same way, Mercy." Her dad said.

She winced. "Dad, you're being terrible." It was hard keeping up with all the conversation going on and at times I got lost. But I was never left out. I reached for the platter of ribs, smiling. I don't think the today could be better.

Quinn's POV (nighttime)

After dinner I helped Clarice clean the kitchen up while Mercedes lectured her dad on embarrassing her in front of guests. Mom and Mrs. Evans had retired to the den and were watching reruns of a reality TV show. Sam went to go take a shower. As soon as I got done helping Clarice I was gonna do the same.

"Mrs. Jones?" I inquired, wrapping some leftovers up in Saran.

"Yes?"

"You know that I've been trying to become friends with Mercedes again." It wasn't a question.

Clarice yawned, obviously tired. "I do."

"Well, I want you to know that I realize I treated your daughter horribly. I'm sorry. As a mother myself, I wouldn't want anyone hurting Beth."

"That's very mature of you to say Quinn." She said, wiping down the center island.

"Thank you."

"I think you're a lovely girl. You seem to have been going down the right path as of late. I respect you for doing the right thing by your daughter. I have to do the same."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"I'm saying that I still don't trust you. Call it mother's intuition or whatever, but I don't."

I nodded, cursing mentally. "That's fair. I understand."

"That's all I ask." She said. We cleaned in silence. We were almost done when I went for the kill again.

"Hear me out, okay?"

"Okay."

"Santana got into a fight with Kurt's stepbrother yesterday." I started, seeing Clarice completely freeze in her scrubbing. "There were words exchanged highly inappropriately, and it ended with Santana punching Finn in the face."

Clarice turned and looked at me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You're looking out for Mercedes' best interest and so am I." I began. "The whole fight happened because Santana has been bullying Rachel Berry in Glee club. Finn as a great person and boyfriend was only confronting her on this. He just wanted to talk it out. She's the one that took it to another level."

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know?"

"As captain of the cheerleading squad I know a lot about everyone." I said. And this wasn't a lie.

"Santana has been friends with Mercedes for years."

"Santana will tell Mercedes anything to keep their friendship afloat. Their friendship is nothing but a lie, Mrs. Jones." I said. "Santana is supposed to be best friends with Kurt and Mercedes. Well, how good of friends can they be when she's attacking Kurt's stepbrother? Think about it."

Clarice was. I could practically see the wheels churning in her head. "Donnel and I never liked Santana." She told me.

"Neither have I." This also wasn't a lie. "All I'm saying is that Santana is ruthless and has been manipulating your daughter. I'm just trying to protect her."

"Okay." She said after a while. "I'll speak to Mercedes about this."

"Thank you for listening Mrs. Jones." I said sweetly.

"Thank you for telling me the truth." She said.

I didn't want to ruin her friendships, but it had to be done. It was a family affair. My mom deserved the title of Senator a lot more than Clarice did. In truth I felt bad, for God's sake I wasn't heartless, I was cunning. I walked away from Clarice happily, feeling the pieces falling into place.

Mercedes' POV (late that night)

It was 2:03 in the morning exactly when I got a phone call from Kurt. Initially I was in the bathroom having woke up with a full bladder. As I finished and washed my hands, I heard my phone beeping frantically from my bedside table. I quickly jogged to it, seeing Kurt's name flash on the screen. I pressed the talk button, wondering why he was calling me so late at night.

"Hello?"

I heard Kurt breathing heavily. "Mercy, Santana's gone."

I blinked. "What?"

"Santana's gone." He said. "She ran away."

"What?" I repeated. "How do you know she ran away?"

Kurt coughed. "Look, there's no time for questions. I'm with Blaine at her grandma's. You need to get here now."

"Now?" I asked, glancing at the clock. "But how am I supposed to leave this late at night?"

"I don't know. I don't care. Just find a way." And with that he disconnected the line.

What's do you think happened to Santana? Which way do you think Mercedes will sway for Quinn? Does Clarice really believe Quinn? How will Mercedes get out of the house and to Santana's grandma's house? Will she even get there? Tell me your opinions/comments/questions! Review please!