Unfortunately you get disoriented at the next street corner and you feel a hand on your sleeve. You know its her even before she says, "Quinn, don't think you'll get away without saying hi."

You put on a smile and turn around. You do something else that comes easily: lie, "You looked busy, I didn't want to interrupt."

"Nonsense Quinn," She grins and your knees go weak, "What are you doing here? Are you busy? Do you have time for coffee or a drink or something?"

You chuckle because she's still adorable when she babbles. "I have time."

You find yourself sitting in a crowded, yet quiet bar a few blocks away nursing a Cosmo and recounting your horrifically mundane existence in the smallest amount of time possible.

"Have you kept up with anyone from McKinley?" she asked, leaning forward. You can smell her perfume and you take a moment to just let it engulf you, "besides Finn of course."

You nod. You've kept up with everyone because you chose to live in the past when the present and future are the same as they were last week, "Puck is a roofer in Lima, still single and hangs out at my house way too much." Rachel smiles and your insides melt, "Santana is in Med School at Columbia."

"Here?" Rachel's eyes widened. You've missed her reactions and her overreactions.

You nod, "She just moved here from California where she got her undergrad."

"What about Brittany?" Rachel asked, sipping her drink, "I've seen her around at auditions and industry parties. What's she up to?"

"She's a choreographer," You answer, running your finger over the rim of your glass, "Right now she's super busy with a show that's about to make it's Broadway debut."

"That's so awesome for her," You notice how Rachel is eagerly investing in this conversation and you're over the moon about it, "Do she and Santana know they live in the same city?"

"They live in the same apartment. In the same bed." You smirk, thinking about that they're doing now in said bed.

Rachel giggled, "I knew it! For how long?"

"Uh not quite a year. They were out of touch for a while before Santana got into Columbia and needed somewhere to stay. From what I hear they were roommates for a while before they were friends again and it's not like they could ever be just friends." You leaned on the table and take a mental survey of her face in case you never see her again, which you know is a real possibility.

Rachel let out a dreamy smile that she used to have when thinking about Broadway in high school. "That's so romantic. I wish I would have ended up with someone from high school. Not like immediately after high school because you're right I would have ended up," she eyes you because she trying to find a tactful way to say Lima loser.

So you just come out and say it. "A Lima loser," you shrug. You know that's what you are and accepted it a long time ago. You're not happy about it but the label doesn't bother you anymore.

She reaches across the table and puts her hand on yours. She unknowingly sets your whole body on fire by the small touch. "From what you've told me, you're successful. You aren't a loser Quinn."

You smile softly to humor her but know that you are in fact a Lima loser who hates her job, her marriage and her life.

She must have seen the embarrassment in your face because she changes the subject, "How's it going with Finn?"

Your eyes find the table and run along the grains trying to gather yourself up enough to put on a convincing front. You feel guilty for stealing Finn away from her although it was for her own good and you feel guilty that you've kept him on the hook for this long when neither one of you has been happy in a really long time.

Of course she sees right through it. "Oh Quinn, I'm sure it'll work out."

You sadly shake her head. You feel lightheaded from a combination of the alcohol and her hand that still hasn't left yours, "It won't. I knew it never would."

She tilted her head, her hair falling out of her face. There is no judgment in her eyes and it tears you apart, "Then why did you do it?"

"I'm sure there are a lot of reasons but... I was more in love with the idea of him than him. I hate Lima. I hate my house and my job...my mom tells me it'll all go away but... I don't want my mom's life." You're not sure why you're telling her, but it feels good to tell someone. To know that someone else knows you're in pain.

She thoughtfully runs her teeth over her bottom lip, "You're getting a divorce?"

You slowly nod trying to keep your tears at bay. You order a water in an attempt to sober up so you don't make a fool out of yourself any more than you already have. You withdraw your hand from under hers and twist your wedding ring around your finger, "I'm sorry to push all this on you. It seems like an odd thing to do especially because we haven't seen each other in years."

She lets out a kind smile and pats your knee, "It's not a problem Quinn. Friendship rolls over every year."

Her smile and touch do make you feel better and you take a sip of your water in an effort to think of something to say.

But before you think of anything, she suddenly asked, "Why don't you move here?" She has a grin on her face like she just thought of the greatest idea ever.

You look at her with a thankful smile, "I don't have a job here or anywhere to live. I don't think the New York real estate agents would warm up to me without some sort of established track record. And I couldn't pay rent until I have income."

"Sell my apartment to prove that you know what your doing to the real estate firms in Manhattan," Rachel offered, "and I'm sure you could live with Santana or me after I move. C'mon Quinn. Life's too short to be miserable."

But I'm so good at it you think before you politely smile, "I can't. My mom is still in Lima and-"

She waves her hand at you, "Excuses, excuses. I talk to my dads at least once a day and frequently Skype with them. I fly down there at least once every two months."

You frown because you had no idea she was ever in town. If you would have known you would have…well you would have had the tingling feeling of knowing she was within a hundred miles from you as well as the chance to see her from afar. Maybe you'd show a house or two in her dads' neighborhood even though it's not what your clients were looking for just so you could drive by and see if she was there.

She lets out a sigh and it interrupts your thoughts. She quietly adds, "I understand that maybe New York is not your kind of place. I'm just trying to give you an option. The best parts of life are the options. Here or there, yes or no, in or out." She added with an apologetic smile, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You realize that the look on your face of disappointment could be construed as uncomfortable and defensive. You immediately correct her, "I was just thinking."

"About?" she prods which you don't expect.

As your mind scrambles for something to say, your mouth says the first thing it can, "Real estate." Then you scrunch up your nose because that was so not smooth.

She laughs at your expression and you'd make it again millions of times just to hear her laugh.

"Oh gosh it's getting late," she says as she absently picks up her phone to check the time.

You nod, "I guess I should let you get to bed. A performance that amazing has got to be exhausting."

"You saw the show?" her mouth gapes open in disbelief.

Her expression is so cute and you can't help, but giggle, "Of course I did."

A blush creeps up her cheeks and you narrow your eyes, studying a reaction you certainly didn't expect. She ducks her head with a shy smile, "Did you like it?"

"It's was phenomenal," you assure her and wonder how she could think that she could produce anything that wasn't.

After just looking at each other for a moment, she shakes her head and slides off of her stool, "Do you want to split a cab?"

You nod, thankful that you'll be spending at least a few more minutes with her. Once outside a rush of cold air hits you both and she huddles against your side against the wind. You automatically slide your arm around her, trying to keep her warm. However you can feel her tense under your arm. Your eyes shoot down to her as you try to ascertain what she's thinking. Her eyes are questioning, like she's waiting for you to push her in front of the cars that are whirling by. At that moment, all you want to do is lean down and kiss her, tell her that you'd never hurt her and you'll make sure that no one ever hurts her again.

But before you can do that someone runs into the both of you. She turns to the man who just walks away and mumbles something under her breath that you don't recognize because it's Yiddish. A smile breaks out on your face because everything she does is somehow adorable to you.

You wave down a cab and she raises her eyebrows at you, impressed. You're getting good at this getting around New York thing. You open the door for her and then slide in next to her. She rattles off her address and you consult your phone for Santana's address. They're not that far apart, she informs you, but it doesn't matter. They could be in opposite directions and you would have still wanted to split a cab with her.

"Do you- do you have plans tomorrow night?" she asks. Something in her voice seems nervous and when you look at her she does look nervous.

"I was just going to watch Santana study and wait for Brittany to get back so they can have crazy loud sex and I can sit awkwardly in my room," you answer, trying to show her that there's no reason to be nervous.

"Well, I have another early show so if you wanted to…maybe we could hang out again," she explains without taking a breath.

You nod before she even finishes. "That sounds great." By the time you're done exchanging phone numbers the driver pulls to a stop in front of Santana's apartment.

You're not sure if you should hug her or kiss her cheek, as people in the movies of New York do, so you just settle for an awkward half-wave and get out of the cab. You count exactly ten steps before you pause with one foot on the stairs up to the front door of Santana's building. You can see the taillights of the cab as it pulls away. You can't see through the back window, but you almost fool yourself into thinking that she's looking back at you.

Once inside the apartment, you pocket your key and listen to see if Brittany and Santana are still going at it. After a minute you conclude that not only are they not going at it, they're probably asleep. You go to your bedroom as quietly as possible and you're successful until you trip over Advanced Anatomy, which is open on the floor and tumble into the bed. The string of profanities that emits from your mouth, but not loud enough to wake up your housemates.

You take a minute to take stock of yourself and realize that the only thing that hurts is your toe. You reach over and turn on the lamp that is on the bedside table. The room looks like an extremely studious hurricane named Santana has been in there and you're surprised to see the very studious hurricane asleep on the floor under the window, propped up against the wall with a book in her lap.

"San," you crawl to the corner of the bed closest to her and poke her, "San, wake up."

She groans and her eyes slowly open. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing in here?" you ask gently, sitting up on the bed.

She looks around before standing up, dumping the book that was in her lap onto the floor. "We had a fight," she let out a deep sigh, "Don't worry about it. I'll be on the couch."

She starts to walk out, but you grab her hand, "A fight about what?"

"In my med school induced haze I told her that she works too much," Santana rubs her hands over her face, "She apologized and was all sweet about it and I said something stupid and she got mad and I started yelling…" she shakes her head, "It was stupid."

You gently squeeze her hand, "Tell her your sorry and go to bed. You love her San. Why would you want to be away from her?"

Her eyes lock with yours and you can see her swallow. After a moment she lets out a nod, "You're right."

"Of course I am," you add because you can't do serious for too long. Especially emotion seriousness. You let go of her hand and stand up next to her.

"How was the play?"

"It was amazing," you answer and try to keep the wonder out of your voice, "I ran into Rachel afterwards and we went out for drinks."

"Oh yeah?" she asks as you both make your way to the door of the bedroom. "How was that?"

You shrug like it was nothing although inside you're jumping up and down, "It's was alright. We're going out again tomorrow night. You guys are more than welcome to come with."

She glances down the hallway like Brittany's standing there to tell her if she wants to. Her eyes make their way back to you, "I'm down. We'll have to ask B if she's going to be working or not." The bitterness in her voice is not lost on you, but you chose to ignore it now because you know it'll come up later. "What time is your conference thingy tomorrow?"

"First seminar is at nine," you reply with a fake gag, "Remodel: Bathroom vs. Kitchen."

"Oh damn, I wish I didn't have class," Santana smirks, "I'd so be there."

You gently push her toward her room and out of your room, "Don't be jealous that I get to stare at toilets for two hours."

"Only if you're not jealous that I get to stare at bedpans," she calls over her shoulder and puts her hand on the knob of hers and Brittany's room.

"Goodnight," you smirk.

She quirks an eyebrow and mirrors your smirk, "Goodnight." She disappears into the dark of her room and you can already hear them talking.

You smile because you know that Brittany wasn't asleep and probably couldn't sleep because Santana was gone. As you close the door to your room, you figure it must be nice. You quickly change and fall back into bed. After you turn the light off you check your phone. No missed calls from Finn or anyone. You can't help, but feel a little depressed that no one really cares enough to make sure you made it to New York okay.

So you do what comes naturally. Push the emotion down and pull the covers up to your chin. If they don't care, you don't either. At least in theory.