"Lucy Quinn Fabray!" A shrill voice woke the girls up around 10:00 the next morning.
They sat up groggily, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, when suddenly realization hit Quinn and she sprang up and ran downstairs, Santana on her heels. Crashing sounds and muttering could be heard from the first floor.
Rachel turned to Brittany and asked, "What's going on?"
Brittany shrugged. "Let's go find out."
Meanwhile, on the main floor, Quinn was trailing behind her mother as Judy Fabray teetered through the house on impractical, fashionable heels. Quinn's expression was pained, and Santana winced every time Judy stumbled. This is from way more than a bad choice in footwear, the Latina thought to herself.
"Quinn, why is the house a mess? And why was the coatrack your great-aunt gave us on the ground?" demanded Mrs. Fabray. "Oh, never mind. Just have the maid pick it up when she comes in an hour. And have her dust the pool house—it's getting filthy in there."
"I can pick up the coatrack myself, Mom, really," Quinn offered. "And it's November. We're not even using the pool house. But wait, why can't you be the one to tell the maid?"
Judy Fabray faced her daughter for the first time since she arrived. "I cannot remind the incompetent maid of her duties because I am not staying. I just came to pick up a few things before I go."
"Oh…I thought…How long will you be gone?" Quinn asked.
Her mother resumed her march through the house, ascending the stairs to the second-floor. "I'm not sure yet; probably two weeks, at least. I'm taking the yacht out for a week to give myself a break, and then I'll be heading to Europe to talk to designers," she called over her shoulder as she opened the door to her master suite.
Santana saw her best friend stiffen, and she wanted to smack Mrs. Fabray. Seriously, what the fuck? Q's birthday is next week. How do you forget your own kid's eighteenth birthday? Outwardly, the Latina lightly touched her best friend's wrist. Quinn didn't acknowledge the contact, nor did she shrug it off. Her mother, either oblivious to or ignoring the tension, reached for an already-packed Louis Vuitton luggage bag with a wobbly hand.
Quinn sighed and picked up the suitcase, carrying it down the stairs as her mom gripped the railing. Once at the bottom, the elder Fabray turned once again to face her daughter, rummaging through her purse.
"Here," she said, pulling out an envelope of money. "Use this if you max out your credit card or go someplace that only accepts paper." She shuddered, likely contemplating the awful, plebian locales that still required cash. Quinn accepted it mutely, her expression unreadable as Mrs. Fabray breezed unsteadily out the door, a taxi waiting.
As soon as she was gone, Santana turned to her co-captain. "Hey, you okay, Q?" she asked hesitantly.
Quinn shrugged, attempting to sound flippant. "Of course, S. I'm fine. You know how she is." Over the years, both cheerleaders had mastered the art of appearing aloof and in-control. Which is why Santana wasn't fooled for a second—they could read each other too well. Still, the Latina decided not to press the blonde.
"Right. Well, hows about we go wake up our girls and get some breakfast before we do something fun. And no more of that vegan crap, Fabray! I needs me some real food!" Santana grinned as hazel eyes rolled.
"They're coming!" hissed Rachel from her hiding spot on the second floor. She and Brittany quickly scrambled up the stairs to Quinn's apartment, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. It had been Britt's idea, though Rachel hadn't needed much convincing.
Safely back on Quinn's futon, the girls listened for signs of their girlfriends' approach. Hearing nothing, they assumed that the head Cheerios were still talking downstairs.
Brittany spoke first. "That was weird," she stated simply.
Rachel nodded. "Very weird, Britt. We didn't hear anything particularly damaging. I, for one, am a bit flummoxed as to what transpired. What upset Quinn?" The diva frowned.
"I think Q's mom was drinking again," the blonde explained. "Plus, she won't be here for Q's birthday next week." She said this matter-of-factly, but her blue eyes held sadness for her friend. Rachel gasped.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, appalled. "Drinking? It's only 10:00 in the morning! And how could Mrs. Fabray not be present for her own daughter's milestone birthday?"
The dancer shrugged. "Quinn's family isn't pink like mine."
The girl in question, along with Santana, appeared in the doorway as Rachel processed Brittany's words. She quickly rearranged her face into a more cheerful expression.
Why is Rachel so happy? Quinn wondered as she walked toward the brunette. Shaking her head, she sat between Brittany and Rachel on the futon and pecked the diva's lips. Santana jokingly sprawled herself across all three of them, laughing evilly as they tried to shove her off.
After a struggle, the Latina landed on her ass on the floor, pulling Britt with her and refusing to let go.
As they made eyes at each other, Quinn stood up and yelled, "I call the first shower!" She ran into the bathroom before Santana could recover, the sound of laughter and Spanish expletives trailing behind her.
AN: I'm so sorry (no pun intended) about the ridiculous delay. I got overwhelmed with schoolwork and college applications and some other things going on in my life, and I'm not supposed to be writing anything other than college and scholarship essays right now, which is why this chapter is a bit short. The university app process should be over, or at least calmed, soon. I promise to update more regularly then. I sincerely apologize, and hope you guys bear with me and keep reading.