.
Privately divided by a world so undecided
.
Although no one blames him, of course, Puck knows he's part of the reason they're doing Thanksgiving so late this year.
It had been one of those Rachel things. It wasn't a big extended-family holiday for her family—they tended to gather on Jewish holidays or Christmas, when it was possible. It never really had been for Puck's family either. Some years, they'd barely celebrated, especially since his Nana had fallen ill and then passed away—she had been the one who really knew how to dress a turkey. Some years, his mother hadn't even been able to take off work, and he and Sarah had gone to friends' houses—he'd usually gone to Finn's, which was barely any less lonely, but hey, Carole could cook—or, in the case of one exceptionally depressing year, he and his sister had heated up a few Hungry Man turkey dinners and watched football together, despite Sarah's loudly purported disinterest in the sport.
Quinn had asked him a few months ago if he would consider Thanksgiving with her family, since it is just going to be her and Judy, and the previous two years had been incredibly awkward; Frannie had made an appearance with her husband and daughter, before heading off to also visit Russell and his new wife, and the entire rest of the extended Fabray clan. Apparently, Frannie is trying hard to be a neutral party in the splintered family. This year, however, Frannie is going to dinner with her husband's family, and Quinn is sure that a two-person Thanksgiving would be even worse.
Puck has a theory it's because Quinn is thankful for Beth and will be thinking about her a lot (which might just be because he thinks about her, too), and, since they finally had a chance to talk about their lifelong bond through Beth, she wants him there for that reason, but she never voices it and he never asks.
Puck had accepted, because despite their immense differences, his mother and Judy Fabray had come to some sort of understanding at some point, and were friendly with each other, though not friends, as far as he could tell(but then, the only thing he's ever been able to reliably read in older women is attraction, so what does he know, really?).
But then Rachel had gotten into the mix, and had invited both Quinn and Puck and their families without seeming to know a thing about their plans to celebrate together, telling Quinn she knows that her Thanksgiving is probably going to be quite lonely, and telling Puck that she's always wanted to celebrate some holiday with his family, and while she envisioned maybe the Seder or perhaps Hanukkah as an appropriate starting point for their families' beginning a tradition of celebrating together, she has realized Thanksgiving would be a wonderful opportunity to come together because, in part, she would actually be in Lima (yeah, all that in one breath, too; Puck had never quite figured out how someone who was so tiny and like, mostly legs, had enough room in her torso for the lung capacity Rachel Berry displayed on a daily basis).
Quinn told him her mother was eager to get to know Quinn's best friend and her family better(which, yeah, the first time he heard Quinn call Rachel that, he did a bit of a double take, too, even though he'd seen himself how close they were getting), and when Puck asked his mom if she wanted to go to the Berrys's for Thanksgiving, she had been grateful, "They're such a…mostly devout family, I've always liked Hiram and little Rachel. Plus, that's so much less cooking for me."
And…that's a thing they've never really talked about, but he's known Rachel pretty much their whole lives, from going to temple together as kids. They were even sort of friends when they were much littler, until Puck realized how uncool it was to have girls for friends, and he'd proceeded to ignore her until high school, when he started to build his reputation with slushies that were also meant to make her keep her damn mouth shut about just how well she knew him.
But the major reason Thanksgiving dinner is so late is because of Puck's job.
After he'd driven Kurt to New York, he'd felt…kind of worthless. It isn't really a new feeling, because even though in some ways he's been sorta mature for his age group, kind of owning his own business and all, everyone else had these plans that took them so far away. California had been nice, but it hadn't felt like the right time. So he is here in Lima cleaning pools, which, after Labor Day is pretty much a non-business, though the warm autumn has given him slightly more work than normal, but it won't last. There are very few indoor pools in Lima, after all.
But when his mom tells him she is going to start charging him rent, he seethes and slams things around for a few hours before agreeing. It would probably be better that way, for the money he'd earned for the family to go to her in a more regular, measured way than the things he used to do—pay for pizza to be delivered, or buy some groceries, or pay the electric bill when he notices it's due in a few days, or whatever.
And with that hanging over his head, he realizes that even though the rent she's charging is quite low, he can't do it with just the pool cleaning business. He suspects, too, that she'd really only said it because he'd spent pretty much the past month holed up in his bedroom, playing Xbox. He'd really only seen Sam and Kurt, until Kurt left. And Artie a couple of times, but as his house isn't really wheelchair friendly, Artie doesn't exactly drop by much.
So he hits the streets. Lima is pretty economically depressed, he realizes quickly—though, this isn't a surprise, he's heard the news reports, even if he doesn't dwell on them. But the want ad section in the Lima News is only like two columns long, and one of the columns only wants people with letters at the end of their names, LPNs and shit like that. The other column is a lot of seasonal work—UPS is hiring Christmas delivery crews already—and things he just isn't quite qualified to do—he hasn't completed the computer certification courses they want receptionists to do, the manual labor jobs all want people with previous experience.
He feels stuck.
Until he notices the diner.
He's been there a few times—everyone has. It's a little greasy spoon diner close to McKinley High, where kids would gather before school on days school was delayed due to icy conditions; the city was pretty good about clearing the snow and salting the ice quickly, giving the kids plenty of time to grab breakfast together and make the most of the delay. Usually days like this overwhelm the diner, which only has about ten tables.
But there's a sign on the door, handwritten with marker on a piece of notebook paper: "Help Wanted: Cook."
And there's the thought that, well, this isn't really something that will get him somewhere, this really isn't a career. It's something he can gladly walk away from at any time, but he might get a useful skill out of it.
So maybe, if, someday, he has his own place and a pretty girl stays over, he can cook her breakfast in the morning.
It's this silly, semi-romantic fantasy that has Puck smoothing a hand over his head as he prepares to walk in. He'd shaved off the mohawk when his job search began, and its absence is still somewhat distracting, just another thing he reaches out for to find missing. He should write that down, he thinks.
He steps in and sees it's pretty empty, which, as it's around three in the afternoon, he supposes it's not really surprising. There's a couple eating burgers at one of the tables, and the waitress is leaning against the counter talking to a middle-aged woman sipping a coffee. It's decorated with a bunch of kitschy cows and chickens and shit. A radio is playing top-40 type stuff.
Puck approaches the waitress, who glances up. He vaguely recognizes her; he thinks she was a few grades above him at McKinley, and there's a uncertain look of recognition on her face, but she gives him a smile and, seeing that he's not sitting down, says, "Hi, are you ordering something to go?"
"Uh," Puck is almost fucking stuttering, which so isn't cool, "No, I'm here about the, uh, job?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the sign on the door.
"Oh, okay," she shuffles through a drawer under the cash register and hands him an application, "Go ahead and fill this out. Want a coffee or anything?"
"No, thanks," he remembers his manners, and starts scribbling down his information. He realizes halfway through that he's actually looking at a photocopy of a job application for a nearby gas station, and wants to laugh, but whatever, it works.
The waitress tops off the coffee of the woman a few seats down the counter from him, checks on the couple with the burgers and then disappears in the back. She comes back out and starts gathering up bottles of ketchup and refilling them from a massive metal jug, but despite her focus on the task, she notices right away when Puck straightens after finishing the application, and she takes it, "All done?"
"Sure," he says, moving as if to rise.
But she cuts in, "Wait here. The boss is in the back, and if he likes what he sees, he might want to talk to you."
Puck smoothes his hand over his head again and prods his toe against the stool next to him, suddenly nervous. Is this his first job interview? Damn, he never really had to interview with people who wanted their pools cleaned, just took off his shirt. The woman with the coffee gives him an encouraging sort of smile before going back to her newspaper.
The girl comes back out and grins at him, "Always wondered what your first name was, Puckerman. Georgie's waiting in the back. Just keep heading down the hall, past the kitchen."
Puck nods and starts walking. He can hear a different radio now, one in the kitchen, playing classic rock, and can hear the whir of fans running. At the end of the little hallway, where the waitress had pointed, is, from what he can tell, a storage room. He can see a rack with all manner of dry goods on it, and one of those long refrigerator cases you see in grocery stores, but as he steps in, he can see a bald man, probably in his fifties, behind a desk off to the side. The room is hazy, from the cigarette balanced in the ashtray, he guesses. The man is clicking away on a laptop, but looks up as Puck walks in.
"Noah, right? Have any experience cooking?"
"I go by Puck," he's brave enough to say, "And, I mean, just in the sense that I cook at home sometimes. Never, uh, professionally." He's not being entirely honest, because grilled cheese sandwiches are about the extent of his home cooking, and even they end up burned half the time, but whatever.
The man stares a few more minutes, then says, "Well, that's fine. You're easy on the eyes, and it might even be easier if you don't know what you're doing in a kitchen. Look, you'll wash dishes for the first week and I'll have my other guy train you, and then we'll start having you cook. Can you start tomorrow?"
"Uh. Yeah, sure."
"Okay. See you at 8 tomorrow morning. Then you can have the weekend off and come back in Monday."
"Great. Thank you, sir." It's hard to get the word out, but he says it.
The man smirks, "Call me Georgie, it's fine," he says with a wink.
Puck heads home kind of dazed, amazed to have a job.
And the first week or so is kinda weird. He is washing dishes, sure, but the regular dishwasher shows up as well, so he mostly feels kind of useless. When it is busy, he mostly feels like he's in the guy's way, and when it is slower, the cook, Billy, a stocky guy about his mom's age with glasses and a shaved head, teaches him to cook.
And he's not bad, he guesses, and Billy is pretty patient, letting him try again when he breaks egg yolks or burns pancakes. Billy's been cooking for years and has all sorts of tips for how measure how long something should cook—poached eggs take about as long as it takes for a piece of toast to come through the conveyor belt toaster, for over-easies, take the time to butter the toast and then flip them, fries take about four minutes, but onion rings take a little less. There are different sections of the grill that have different heat settings, so put pancakes toward the back, he needs to make sure to turn on the fryer at least half an hour before they start serving lunch at 10 so it has time to warm up.
At around 7:30 in the morning and again at 11:30, it gets so insanely busy that Puck has no idea how Billy keeps up with it all. Sometimes he doesn't, and the waitresses bring back plate after plate with errors on them. Puck doesn't know how Billy keeps his cool, but aside from a few muttered curses, the man is pretty unflappable.
The waitresses, too, impress Puck. There's the girl he went to school with, there's a woman in her fourties who's been waitressing for almost thirty years named Trixie (no, really), and there's a guy who's a part-time college student. There's usually one on each shift and they have a busser. Puck really has no idea how they remember so much; Billy can ask things like, "Did table six want lettuce and tomato?" and they won't even hesitate to answer.
Billy tells him they're open for dinner only on Thursday and Fridays, and that things change up for the weekend. They have an evening cook—a high school dropout even younger than Puck named Malcolm—and an evening dishwasher and busser, both high school students, and those three all tend to also work the weekend shift. The waitresses (servers, Puck thinks, because one of them is a guy, though Georgie calls the waitresses "his girls" in spite of the guy) switch off the weekend shifts. Billy has been working seven days a week since the last cook quit, and when Puck is ready, they'll probably give him Monday by himself, Wednesday with Billy, have him come in in time for the lunch rush and stay through the dinner rush with Malcolm on Thursdays and Fridays, and either Saturday or Sunday, probably trading off.
For the next two weeks, Puck shadows Billy during the day and Malcolm, who seems friendly, during the evenings, until Georgie says he thinks Puck can handle Monday by himself; Billy exhales in obvious relief, having not had a day off for almost a month.
Puck's first week of real cooking happens to be the week of Thanksgiving, and when he finds out the diner is open for Thanksgiving, his mouth drops open.
"Are you joking?" he asks, "Who in the almighty fuck eats at a diner on Thanksgiving?"
Billy just gives him a look, "When you spend a little more time at the window, you'll start to notice most of our customers are the same folks, over and over again. Swear to you, some of these people don't own stoves. Come in here three meals a day when we're open." He grins, "There are at least five families I'm sure we'll see here for Thanksgiving, as well as some of the single folks, the bachelors and widowers or whatever. And some of the truck drivers passing through who come here every time."
Puck can't believe it, and when he tells Rachel he won't get out until about 6:30, she tells him it's okay, because the Berrys don't eat Thanksgiving dinner until about 5:30 or 6 anyway, and they'll be glad to wait for him.
He's not sure if she's lying to spare his feelings or not, but he won't ask. He reflects that's it's probably a good thing the Browns aren't playing on Thanksgiving, because he somehow doubts anybody at the Berry house is gonna let him watch football.
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I am neither sister, brother, son or daughter
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Quinn makes it back on the Monday before Thanksgiving, taking an afternoon flight that doesn't come in to Columbus until that pretty late at night, even though her Thanksgiving break had started on Friday; obviously, she'd been in New York for Santana's birthday at that point, and probably would have just stayed to drive home with them if her mother hadn't already bought her a plane ticket home. So she'd headed back to New Haven, where an excited Stephanie, who wasn't heading home until Tuesday, insisted they hang out as much as possible. When Quinn arrives at the airport, her mother is there to pick her up, and Quinn can tell they both feel slightly wary of the other; what might have changed in the past few months? But when her mother hugs her carefully, Quinn smiles, and briefly feels the surge of unadulterated love for her mother, just as if she were five-year-old Lucy again, and still cute, and still her mother's little girl at the apple of her father's eye.
She pulls away at bitter thoughts about her father and she and her mother smile at each other warmly. Judy had called her every week or so, but it had still felt so weird to attempt to have the kind of relationship where they try to relate to each other as friendly adults that their conversations had been short, and a little awkward.
In person, it's a little better. As they drive home, Judy tells her she got a bonus at work, she planted some bulbs for spring, and after she found out from Mr. Berry (Quinn has no idea which one she means) that she wouldn't have to worry about the turkey, she'd donated the grocery points she had accumulated to buy a turkey for a family in need. Quinn tells her the smallest details about Stephanie, Steve, Sean and Lulu, tells her she's doing well in her classes and really enjoys the Romantic period poetry they'd read in her composition class.
Judy smiles a little and says, a tad tentatively, "I told Frannie we would call her on Thanksgiving, so maybe we'll do it in the early afternoon, before we go to the Berrys's? I know she'll want to talk to you."
Quinn forces a smile. Frannie, God, where to start? She was just too much older than Quinn for them to have been close as children, regarding Lucy with jealousy when she was quite young and showered with affection, complete indifference when Lucy began to get awkward and bookish, and seething fury when Lucy became Quinn, and somehow managed to be a better queen bitch head cheerleader than Frannie had been—she'd earned the title much earlier, and with the nose job, especially, Frannie seemed to believe that Quinn was legitimately prettier. This animosity had lessened some when Frannie seemed to actually delve into college and find her niche, though tense conversations throughout Quinn's freshman year proved that the resentment still existed, and when Quinn got pregnant, Frannie had seemed to revert to complete indifference again. She's claimed, telling Quinn in confidence last Christmas a few drinks in, just before heading to their father's house, that she had really been sympathetic, but since Russell was paying for her husband's graduate school, she didn't want to risk upsetting him. Quinn had no way to know if that was true or not; it seemed plausible, but a damn lot of good it did her now, to hear about how Frannie had felt awful for her but couldn't even spare her a phone call.
However, she supposes that little confession from Frannie had made it easier to see her after the accident. So many memories of this time are hazy, but she has a vivid one of Frannie sitting at her bedside, clutching her hand, tears on her face. She'd been able to come down for about half of a very hazy, drug-induced week, but Quinn can remember Frannie trying to put on a brave face for her whenever doctors came in the room. It had been…not nice exactly, but something.
Still, Frannie is someone Quinn has almost always looked up to. She is smart—perhaps not as smart as Quinn, but her age had been to her advantage, giving the younger Fabray the chance to look forward to learning the things her sister already knew. She was gorgeous, and when Lucy realized she was not, she burned with a mix of jealousy and admiration, and tried so hard to repress that jealousy, because she knew it was wrong to covet. Even now, though Frannie had gotten married right out of college and had a kid and was planning for a second child, she has a career, and though getting married and reproducing (again) that young is not something Quinn wants, nor is Frannie's career as a high school biology teacher, she admires that Frannie didn't choose to just be a housewife. She had fought her very traditional husband for a chance at a career, and had won.
There's this weird mix of mutual resentment and admiration between them that Quinn supposes will define their relationship their entire lives. She doesn't even know if they'll manage an entirely natural, civil phone conversation, but it's not like she can refuse to talk to her.
Quinn mostly relaxes and catches up on her sleep when they make it home, since she hadn't slept well for the past several days; Santana's birthday weekend had involved little sleep, as on Saturday night they'd gone out dancing at a 16 and up club, or maybe it was a club having an 16 and up night (Santana had complained about the age range and Rachel's ridiculous youth, but they hadn't been serious complaints). Regardless, they'd had their hands stamped as they went in and so couldn't order alcohol (Rachel had absolutely forbidden the use of any Puckerman-acquired fake IDs, mostly because she was sure they were not of a caliber that would pass in New York, and everyone pretty much had to agree with her on that), and had a great time dancing and singing and laughing together. It had been especially great to see Santana wearing one of the tight, short dresses she favors—bitching about the cold even bundled up in a peacoat—since until that point, Quinn isn't sure she'd seen her in anything other than pajamas or her work uniform, and Santana had been obviously eager to get dressed up (Quinn remembers hearing her muttering that she never had a reason to dress up these days). And when Quinn made it back to New Haven, she'd spent Sunday staying up late because Stephanie had insisted they play as many video games together as possible before Quinn had to leave. So Tuesday she sleeps in and relaxes.
Wednesday morning, however, Quinn awakes with a purpose. Rachel, Santana and Kurt are coming back to Lima today, and even though she's seen them so recently, she's excited to see them again. Particularly Rachel, who promised her an X-Files and Ally McBeal marathon that evening, which is perfect, because it's just like the first time they really hung out, the time that she knew Rachel could be her best friend. Because all she'd ever wanted in a friend was someone who she could talk about whatever she wanted—or watch whatever she wanted—without feeling like she had to measure up to some standard. Rachel gave her that. In spite of the fact that…things have been strange between them lately, she still looks forward to their time together more than anything. She thinks it's Finn's fault, actually. She knows Rachel is getting letters from him—she saw one, and she saw in Kurt and Santana's expressions that it was not the only one. And she can see in Rachel's expression that she's hurt about something, but Rachel isn't sharing this information with Quinn. And, fine, maybe there are things Quinn isn't sharing with Rachel, but she's always appreciated that she believes she could tell Rachel anything. She hopes, though it's more of a wish at this point, that Rachel feels the same way, and tries to suppress her bitterness and just enjoy the parts of their friendship that still feel close.
But before she seeks out Rachel, she has something she must do.
Her mother only works a half-day today and gets home at around 1. Quinn hands her a cup of tea, which makes her smile gratefully, and asks if she can borrow the car for the rest of the day. Her mother acquiesces.
Quinn slowly drives the familiar route to a development not far from her own, and her stomach twists slightly with nerves. This is something she's needed to do for far too long, and she just has to make herself vulnerable for a few minutes. She parks, walks to the front door, takes a breath, and knocks.
After a few moments, she answers, her face changing from curiosity to warmth immediately. "Quinn," she murmurs, "How are you? Are you okay?"
"Hi, Mrs. Jones," Quinn responds quietly, fighting the unexpected tears. She'd seen the woman very briefly at graduation, but they hadn't really spoken, and now, faced with the woman in the flesh who had done so much for her…Quinn chokes a little.
Mrs. Jones wraps an arm around her and brings her into the house, speaking over her shoulder in a voice that is barely raised, yet holds unquestionable authority, "Mitchell, a glass of water, please!"
Quinn settles on the couch, wiping her eyes, and watches as a young man, about her height with closely-cropped hair, brings her a glass of water. Mercedes's brother, who she's never met, must also be home for Thanksgiving—is he finished with college yet? She knows so little. He lingers uncertainly and, probably hearing the commotion, Dr. Jones comes down the stairs. "Quinn," he says, his soft voice, which must be so good at soothing kids who fear the dentist, full of concern.
"I'm okay," Quinn finds the words to assure them. She's incredibly glad that Mercedes isn't here, which she knew would be the case. She keeps in touch with Mercedes as well as she can and knows her friend will be arriving in the late evening tonight.
"I'm okay," she repeats, taking a sip of water, "Everything is fine. I'm home for the break with my mother, but, as it's Thanksgiving…" She trails off for a moment, and Mrs. Jones rests a hand on her back. "I just needed to tell you, even though it's so extremely overdue, how thankful I am for all of you." She swallows another tiny sip, and this time it feels like some of her pride goes down, too. "You took me in when I had no one, when I was scared and miserable and alone. Even you," she smiles at Mercedes's brother, Mitchell, apparently, "You maybe didn't even know I was there, but you let me use your room. And I am so grateful to all of you, for everything you've done for me, and I know I can never repay you, but I just had to tell you. I thank God for you and your generosity."
Mrs. Jones rises from the couch, gently takes Quinn's water and places it on the table, and offers her hands to Quinn, and pulls her into a hug. Quinn draws a shaky breath and allows the woman, who will probably always be the epitome of "mother" to her, to hold her. And it's…kind of ridiculous that she feels this kind of attachment. She hadn't lived there long, barely long enough that she had started to stare at her own pale skin, mildly disconcerted at the way it seemed to flush red at the slightest provocation—and yet, the welcome and warmth she'd felt from these people who had no obligation to her and yet took her in…it had left its impression.
Dr. Jones and even Mitchell hug her, too, but no one seems to have any words, until Mrs. Jones finally says, "We never expect repayment for caring for someone in need, Quinn. And you know you're welcome here at any time." Quinn nods, feeling somewhat ashamed, because she'd avoided the house for so long, because of how uncomfortable it is for her to feel like someone's charity. How was it so much easier for her to ask Artie's forgiveness than to acknowledge her debt to someone—even knowing her debt would be forgiven, too? But this is something like atonement, too. Atoning for forgetting, ostensibly, her forgiven debt.
And when she leaves the house, after assuring them that she and her mother have adequate Thanksgiving plans, but thanking them for the offer to join theirs, she tries to accept that some people are capable of acts of selflessness out of love. That maybe someday, she'll be able to accept kindness, and offer it without selfish motives.
.
I try to imagine a careless life
.
The next morning, Santana wakes up at around 11, which is strange in itself, to wake up when the sun is still shining, but she supposes napping in the car, never particularly restful, and then being all emotional the previous night are why she was able to fall asleep so early. Brittany's awake and out of bed, which is mildly disappointing, but, as if the girl has a sixth sense, she enters the room when Santana is sliding on a borrowed pair of Brittany's sleep shorts that she fishes out of her dresser.
"Hey," Santana smiles, crossing the room, still topless, to give her a kiss. Brittany smiles and lets their lips linger, until Santana pulls back—mindful of her need to brush her teeth—to ask, "Mind if I borrow?"
"Sure, baby," Brittany grins, nuzzling her cheek as a hand lazily and seemingly mindlessly meanders up Santana's side to stroke the underside of her breast. Santana lets out a ragged little sigh and smirks, but Brittany pulls her hand away and mutters, "Oops, I'd better behave. Do you want breakfast? I mean, we're probably gonna be eating around 2, so…"
"Maybe just a piece of toast and some coffee," Santana says, "But I think I'd maybe like to grab a shower before I go downstairs. I mean, it's been over 24 hours since I last showered, and I also kinda reek of sex," she winks. Brittany giggles and nods, and Santana throws on yesterday's shirt and heads to the bathroom, grabbing a spare towel and washcloth from the linen closet as she goes.
Freshly showered and smelling deliciously of Brittany's shampoo and body wash, hair slathered with enough conditioner that she hopes it won't frizz—that's what she gets for forgetting her toiletry bag at her parents' house, though—Santana walks downstairs into a war zone; she sees Rory sitting in the adjoined living room watching TV as she enters, and he shoots her a terrified look, but this time she knows it's not directed at her, it's a warning. And, well, Lopez Thanksgiving is usually crazy, with several aunts, uncles and cousins driving into town in a mostly Puerto Rican and Dominican mob. Kids tousle for the good seats, adults chatter and pray loudly in a mixture of English and Spanish, and everyone is always laughing.
Pierce Thanksgiving is usually just Brittany's immediate family and one of her mother's brothers and his family, but Mrs. Pierce is rocketing around the kitchen as if she's preparing to feed the entire Lopez clan. Brittany is there, too, working alongside her mother with impressively few words actually passing between them, and she smiles before passing Santana a mug of coffee and a little plate with a piece of toast on it. Santana manages to find a place on the counter to set them down, but there's no chair nearby, so she stands and eats, watching transfixed as the two blondes mash potatoes, knead dough, mince cabbage, peel apples.
Santana stands sipping her coffee, waiting to see if there's anything she can do to help—she shoots Rory a half-hearted glare at the fact that he's not trying to help, but it softens slightly when she notices he's watching Adventure Time with Brittany's little sister. It is pretty cute how well they get along. Mr. Pierce enters the kitchen after a few minutes to check on the turkey, which Brittany tells Santana as an aside that he's been working on since six in the morning. He'd also, apparently, made cranberry sauce from scratch the previous day.
By the time Santana is finished with her coffee, Mrs. Pierce stops dead in the middle of wrapping sweet potatoes in tinfoil and slaps her forehead. "Oh my god!" she exclaims.
"What is it, Mama?" Brittany asks.
"Oh, I completely forgot about drinks! We've only got milk and a little bit of lemonade! We'll need more…"
"I can run to the store," Santana offers, "Is anything open today?"
Mrs. Pierce bites her lip and sighs, "I think the Meijer is, and oh, I hate to make work for the poor folks who have to work today…"
"It's okay," Santana assures her, "I'm sure we aren't the only ones who need something last minute." She thinks briefly to her job, and how she's sure it's actually been pretty busy in the grocery section, and she smiles briefly at the fact that she doesn't have to deal with it. She's tempted to text Helen a "sucker!" but she's not sure if that's okay in their friendship, and she internally squirms.
Brittany's mother scribbles a quick list of a few things—more lemonade, Coke, Sprite, diet Dr. Pepper, sparkling grape juice, orange juice. Santana can't imagine this will all be necessary, but then, there's no way the rail-thin—courtesy of their Dutch genes—Pierce family is eating the feast that's being prepared, anyway, so she just goes with it.
A quick peck goodbye from Brittany, and Santana drives across town to the grocery store. It's not that busy, but there are a decent number of people there carrying baskets with a few things in them, clearly last minute things. Santana notices things like store endcaps now, and sees the ones bearing canned cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling are quite sparse, and the boxes of stuffing and jars of gravy are on clearance. She automatically thinks that she hopes someone is going to re-set the endcaps tonight, then shakes her head.
She piles all the beverages in a basket, stubbornly refusing to use a cart (a habit she picked up at the grocery store near her work, which is still restocking when she goes in early in the morning, and maneuvering a cart around the boxes in the aisles is just a hassle). It's heavy, of course, and she's relieved when she sees an open register without a line. She smirks a little at the clearly bored and annoyed clerk who is barely older than she is, and as she moves down to the lane to plunk down the cloth bags Mrs. Pierce gave her, she sees her.
"Becky!" she exclaims, surprised.
Becky glances up from where she's stretching, on her toes, to reach one of Santana's cloth bags. She glares a little, "Sandbags," she growls, snatching the bags and beginning to shove the beverages in.
Santana watches, oddly transfixed, as Becky bags her groceries, until the clerk's bored voice telling her the total snaps her back to the credit card terminal and she swipes Mrs. Pierce's card. The cashier scowls and hands her the receipt, grumbling for her to "have a nice holiday," before fishing her cell phone out of her pocket and tapping away at it, as there's no one in line behind Santana. Santana goes to start loading up her arms with bags, and sees Becky is still scowling.
"So? You gonna make fun of me for being a grocery bagger?" Becky asks aggressively, "You gonna brag about how you're living large in New York while I'm here?"
"What? No, actually I—" Santana starts back, just as aggressively, when she's cut off.
"Listen up, Sandbags, I'm happy here, so just let it be. I live in a house for adults with developmental disabilities, I have my own room and I cook two nights a week, and I am Monopoly champ in my house on game nights. I have a job. I'm taking classes at Lima Community College on exercise science so I can be a coach someday. I am in charge of my life, and my parents and Coach Sylvester are proud of me, okay?"
Santana gapes a little, her aggression fading fast, "That's great, Becky, really. I'm really not gonna make fun of you, I mean, you've got a good gig going. And…I'll tell you a secret." Becky looks skeptical, but nods, and Santana sighs, swallows her pride, and tells her old rival, "I work at a store a lot like this, stocking produce shelves overnight." She doesn't admit exactly which store, or the full extent of her job, just choosing produce because it seems like kind of a specialty position in some stores and she hopes it will sound more impressive—she didn't swallow all of her pride.
Becky's eyes narrow and she smirks, "You went all the way to New York to do not much more than me?"
It stings, briefly, but Santana throws her a peace offering, "I'm also Super Smash Brothers champ at my house," which is true, at least when Quinn isn't there, but again, Becky doesn't need to hear about how Fabray can kick her ass at something else, too.
Becky's smirk becomes slightly more like a smile and she just says, "Good game, Lopez," and sticks her fist out for a bump, which Santana gives her.
She's halfway home when the tears start prickling her eyes, and what the fuck. She was just not ready to find out that Becky Jackson's life is more fulfilling than hers right now. Which, she's glad for her, she really is, but her words keep echoing in Santana's mind, along with the words what the fuck am I doing with my life?
She has to sit in the Pierce's driveway for five minutes, calming herself, before she can go back inside.
.
You're already home where you feel loved
.
Rachel thinks she might be more excited for this Thanksgiving than for any other.
The anticipation is thick in the air immediately when she and her fathers get up early, even though this isn't unusual for them, and it's still morning when they begin to prep the food for the evening. They're cooking both a turkey and a tofurkey, which, well, it's one of the things Leroy picked up from his mother cooking-wise. Her dads are adequate cooks, but busy, hence their dedication to takeout; today, however, they cook.
She's responsible for the vegan stuffing, which is basically from a bag and a cinch, and the pumpkin pie, which she's using a sadly non-vegan pre-formed crust and a can of filling for, so yeah, she'll be fine. She hovers around and watches in horror as Leroy pulls the innards out of the turkey, with a theatrical maniacal laugh, while Hiram, hours in advance of when they'll actually get cooked, rinses asparagus and stabs some sweet potatoes with a fork in such an eerily calm way that is clashes harshly in juxtaposition to Leroy's macabre task.
Unable to watch for long, Rachel begins to flounce upstairs, telling her father to please inform her when the barbarism in the kitchen is completed. Hiram, with a smile in his voice, suggests that perhaps while she's out of the kitchen she can make sure the house is clean. She sighs heavily halfway up the stairs, but obeys, touching up their, as usual, very presentable house with the vacuum and dust cloths, listening as her fathers playfully bicker over how to time the cooking of both a turkey and a tofurkey.
By 5:30, everything is pretty well ready to go, with the turkey cooking and the tofurkey keeping warm on top of the oven, the pie cooling on a rack, the sweet potatoes waiting on a baking sheet, the asparagus next to a pot ready to be cooked for two minutes and then blanched, a bowl of lemon drizzle to the side, and the doorbell rings. Rachel smoothes her rather festive, she thinks, dark yellow skirt and moves quickly to answer the door.
She opens it, smile in place, to reveal Quinn in a pale pink dress and her mother, dressed mostly in yellow. "Hello, Mrs. Fabray, hello, Quinn. Please, you are welcome inside," Rachel tells them, ushering them to the kitchen so they can put down the dishes they're carrying. Quinn is carrying a covered pie, which she explains is her mother's special pecan pie recipe, and a basket of homemade rolls, which she says she made in their bread machine. Her mother is carrying a ceramic dish full of herbed mashed potatoes.
Hiram and Leroy intercept both women to take the dishes from them and begin to arrange them on the available kitchen counter space, which is rapidly filling. Quinn turns to give Rachel a quick hug, and, to Rachel's surprise, Mrs. Fabray offers one next, and she accepts with an expression of obvious surprise. Judy smiles as she releases her, and then turns to her fathers.
"Hello, Mr. Berry and Mr. Berry," out of her line of sight, Quinn facepalms gently, and Rachel hears a slight difference in the inflection of the two "misters" as if she thinks she's differentiating them. Quinn glances at her sheepishly as her mother continues, "I'm Judy Fabray, and it's such an pleasure to meet you. Your daughter has been a great friend to my Quinnie."
Quinn rolls her eyes, but Hiram and Leroy seem charmed and offer handshakes and assurances that she may use their first names. Quinn pulls Rachel away to the living room to leave their parents to talk, which Rachel had kind of been interested to hear, because it sounds like maybe they're talking about the music that's drifting gently through the kitchen, but as they sit on the couch together, Quinn hisses, "I'm so sorry she's so weird. On the way here she asked how she could make sure she didn't offend them, and I just told her to treat them like anybody else."
"She did fine," Rachel smiles, really not seeing the problem—everyone tends to call her dads that at first. "She's trying, and I think they appreciate it."
It's not long after that that the doorbell rings again, and Rachel answers it to see Mrs. Puckerman and Sarah. She lets them in and attempts to take what Sarah's carrying out of her hands for her, but the adolescent scowls a little and refuses to let her.
They deposit the food—apple pie, green bean casserole and homemade cranberry sauce—in the kitchen, where Mrs. Puckerman hugs Hiram and shakes hands with Leroy, who she knows a little less well, and then she and Mrs. Fabray touch cheeks and kiss the air next to them in one of those weird, middle-aged women greetings that has Quinn raising an eyebrow. Mrs. Puckerman gives Rachel and Quinn both hugs, and then nudges Sarah until she rolls her eyes a little and greets everyone flippantly. Quinn and Rachel stifle giggles while Mrs. Puckerman just rolls her eyes right back at her daughter.
This time, everyone heads for the living room to take a seat, and Quinn and Rachel end up sitting together on the piano bench, giving the adults the slightly nicer seats while they talk, and Rachel's dads alternate getting up to check on the food, switching things in and out of the oven so they stay warm. Judy and Hiram are still discussing the classical music and opera that was chosen for the ambiance of the evening—Quinn admits she had no idea her mother likes classical music—and Leroy seems to be subtly fishing for a way to invite Mrs. Puckerman to join them for the last day of Hanukkah, just as Rachel had asked him to. He catches Rachel's eye and winks at one point when it seems that the idea may have been successfully planted. Even if Rachel won't be home for Hanukkah, she wants Puck to have a good holiday. Quinn's mostly focused on her mother with a wary expression, at least when not talking to Rachel, when she gladly gives Rachel her full attention. Though, feeling Quinn's anxiety, Rachel mostly sits back and listens to the adults and lets Quinn stare at her mother in apprehension. When the doorbell next rings, Rachel and Quinn grin at each other.
Rachel and Quinn answer the door together to take in a grinning Brittany and an exhausted-looking Santana. Brittany wraps them up in hugs while Santana groans, "Berry, I'll tell you right now, I don't think we'll be eating much. Christ, I underestimated Pierce family Thanksgiving."
"We're pretty hardcore at it," Brittany says seriously, smiling as Santana and Quinn embrace and then the two girls are ushered into the house.
"She's not kidding," Santana agrees emphatically, "I think even Rory was scared and this was his second Thanksgiving with them."
"To be fair, isn't he afraid of you?" Rachel asks with a wicked smile, which makes Santana roll her eyes and smirk right back.
Santana accepts hugs from the parents present, seeming to hesitate before each one, but especially Mrs. Puckerman—Rachel can't imagine their relationship was ever spectacular, as Santana spent most of her time with Puck during perhaps the bitchiest period of her life. And then while Rachel makes sure Brittany is acquainted with everyone, since Brittany herself isn't sure, Santana settles next to Quinn on the floor by the piano, pointing and firing an imaginary gun at Sarah in greeting as she does so, who ignores her and goes back to texting furiously on her phone, looking bored. Quinn nudges her, "How'd it go really?"
Santana shoots her a dark look that makes Quinn regret asking for a split second until Santana sighs, "It was fine, actually. Britt's aunt and uncle are really nice and her little cousins are cute. Rory got a little mixed up about what the rituals are for this 'invented American holiday' and ended up making a wish instead of reflecting on the past, but whatever, it kinda worked." She shrugs, "I mean, you know I love Britt's family, and we ate so much that, it was, you know, Thanksgiving." She smiles and it appears genuine, and Quinn slips an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze.
They exchange some small talk with the adults; now that there are more young people around, they seem to remember that they might have interest in their lives. The different age groups frequently get distracted and talk among themselves, and a frequent topic of conversation among the younger people present is Mr. Schue's wedding tomorrow, which none of them can quite believe is almost upon them. Santana, rubbing listlessly at her full belly, maintains that it's going to be a complete disaster, while Rachel insists that with the amount of sheer talent New Directions alums and new members will be bringing to the table that they'll be fine, and she'll strive to make sure it's perfect.
"Why are you worried about this?" Quinn asks Rachel, "I thought you didn't like Mr. Schue that much. I mean, you spent years arguing with him."
"I think she just wants Ms. Pillsbury to have a nice wedding so she can get over feeling guilty for her crush on Mr. Schue way back when," Santana drawls, sounding bored.
"Santana!" Rachel hisses, glancing at her, thankfully distracted, fathers.
"What? It was so obvious. Thank god it was short-lived."
A huff from Rachel, who elects to ignore Santana, "I love Mr. Schue, Quinn!" she preemptively jabs Santana with her elbow, making the other girl expel a much more forceful snort. "One mustn't always agree with someone to love them," she explains with a little smile. Quinn chews her lip for a moment, but then drops her eyes, and Brittany asks them whether they think Kurt is a bridesmaid or a groomsman, which steers the conversation in a somehow weirder direction.
It doesn't seem like long until Puck shows up, ringing the doorbell before simply walking in anyway, bringing with him the stench of sweat and fryer oil and the vague lingering odor of cigarettes, and announcing, "The celebration can now begin!"
"Noah!" his mother scolds sharply, "Do not just walk into other people's houses like that!"
Rachel bounds up, surprised by just how happy she is to see him and announces her intended big hug as she crosses the room. He grins at his mother over her head, "I dunno, the hosts don't seem to mind," he grins, "Hey, babe," he greets Rachel.
"You're such a dumbass," Sarah mutters at him, somehow carrying over Rachel telling Puck how much she missed him. Possibly because it's the first thing she's said in almost a half an hour.
Puck just winks at her, and his mother grunts, "Don't start, Sarah."
Quinn's next to get a hug, and they squeeze tight, shaking back and forth a little bit in their firm embrace. "Hey, moron," she greets against his shoulder.
"Good to see you, Q-ster," he says, his voice mostly serious now.
Santana reaches up to swat at his non-existent hair as Quinn pulls away, "You look so stupid without the mohawk, but then, I guess you looked pretty stupid with it, too. And Jesus, you reek."
He snatches her in a hug, "I missed you, you bitch."
"Noah!" his mother growls again.
"No harm done, Mrs. P," Santana assures, swatting at Puck's head again, "I kind of am one."
"No, you're not," Rachel argues, sounding slightly appalled. Santana just shrugs and doesn't look at her.
Brittany approaches and regards Puck for a moment, "I forgot you were in town, but I might not have recognized you without your hair. Where have you been?"
Puck smiles at her and she gets a hug, too, "Around, I guess. I heard you guys rocked at Sectionals. Wish I could've been there to see."
"You should come to Regionals," Brittany offers, and Puck smiles and nods, his expression wistful.
He's then shaking hands with Hiram and Leroy, and Judy Fabray gives him a smile that doesn't look too forced and gives him a hug. And after a moment, Leroy rubs his hands together and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen…dinner!"
They've propped up the leaves on either side of their old dining room table, so there's actually enough room for everyone to sit. There is barely room for their place settings with all the platters of food in the center of the table. There is a wineglass in front of each plate, though Rachel knows none contain wine; possibly because of all the underage dinner guests, they had provided sparkling grape juice instead. Her fathers usually drank wine with fancy dinners, so it does seem a bit unusual to Rachel, but she supposes it's inclusive, which is basically the point of the holiday and the gathering.
Rachel's fathers sit together on one end, and Mrs. Fabray and Mrs. Puckerman sit together on the other. Rachel ends up choosing the seat next to Sarah, who sits next to her mother as far from Puck as she can; Puck is next to Hiram. Quinn, who she thought might sit next to her own mother, takes a seat on her other side, next to Leroy, and Santana sits across from Rachel, with Brittany settling next to Mrs. Fabray.
His kind eyes drifting down the table, Leroy asks, "Would anyone like to say grace before we eat?"
There's a brief silence, and then Judy says, "I think we'll be spending most of the meal discussing all our blessings. I think we can all be satisfied with that." Quinn glances at her mother in surprise, and Leroy smiles indulgently.
"Very well, then. I'll be glad to carve the turkey." Leroy cuts the string holding the turkey's legs in place, "Now's your chance," he tells it with a sarcastic smile. Rachel gasps in horror, while most other people chuckle.
Everyone begins passing around dishes to serve themselves and passing their plates up to Leroy for turkey or tofurkey, and Quinn leans over to assure Rachel that the rolls are vegan and that she convinced her mother not to add real cream to the mashed potatoes. Mrs. Puckerman, overhearing, tells Rachel with some regret that the green bean casserole is not vegan (and then berates Puck for not informing her that she should prepare something with that in mind), and Rachel assures her that it's quite alright. To Rachel's surprise, Quinn and Brittany both select tofurkey over the turkey (Rachel's dads and Judy take both). Quinn just shrugs when Rachel asks why, and Brittany tells her she feels bad eating a duck's cousin.
Conversation is sparse at first, as everyone savors the food. Then, "This is delicious, Judy," Leroy tells her, pointing to his mashed potatoes with his fork, "What do you use?"
Judy smiles slyly, and says, "Well, I'm sure you taste the rosemary, but I'm afraid the rest is a bit of a secret." Leroy grins conspiratorially in response.
"I'll get it out of you someday," he promises her.
Quinn, meanwhile, moans slightly at her mouthful of cranberry sauce. "This is the best cranberry sauce I've ever eaten," she informs Mrs. Puckerman, who is uncharacteristically bashful as she ducks her head and thanks her. Puck, meanwhile, is digging into his drumstick—Santana holds its twin in her hands—and is complimenting Leroy on how tender and juicy it is, which has started Leroy on an explanation of the brine bath he'd given the turkey, and how the salt helps to keep in the moisture.
"Daddy," Rachel whines slightly, trying not to think about how gross salt-soaked bird flesh is.
"Sorry, baby-girl," he apologizes with a little smile.
And after a few minutes of small talk and compliments on the food, Hiram finally says, "So what is everyone thankful for this year?"
Surprisingly, Brittany is the first to respond, "Santana, birds, the best super-Senior year ever, and the fact that Lord Tubbington stopped going to raves."
Puck coughs slightly to cover a laugh, and then winces; from the way Santana's body twitched, Rachel's pretty sure she stomped on his foot. The adults seem dumbfounded for a moment, but then just smile at her.
Mrs. Puckerman quickly says, "That my kids are growing up into wonderful young adults," which, in context, feels like it could be a subtle jab, but she sounds sincere; still, makes Sarah roll her eyes, but there's the hint of a grin on Puck's face.
"That I'm almost out of middle school," Sarah deadpans tonelessly, going back to staring at her plate immediately.
"My husband-at-heart, and the fact that my daughter is out there chasing her dreams," says Leroy, giving Rachel a warm smile and a wink.
"My husband-at-heart, my baby-girl, and all present company," Hiram says, diplomatically but sincerely.
Quinn barely clears her throat, and says, "My health, my education, my friends, and…loved ones that…can't be here," and from the way she and Puck lock eyes, Rachel knows she doesn't mean her father or her sister, who she's not entirely sure deserve to be considered Quinn's loved ones anyway.
"Everybody good in my life, which includes all of you, and Beth," Puck says, re-locking his eyes with Quinn's. Rachel hears her swallow, and out of the corner of her eye sees Mrs. Fabray place a hand over Mrs. Puckerman's.
"My daughter, and her remarkable perseverance," Judy says quietly, exchanging a tremulous smile with Quinn.
"The chance to make my dreams come true, and the friends that I will have for the rest of my life," Rachel says with a smile, gazing at everyone around her, all of whom smile back.
And it hits her, in that moment, that a year ago, she would have imagined the three most important people in her life—Finn, Kurt and Mercedes—with her today, and none of them are. And…it's not their fault; she's no longer with Finn, and he and Kurt need all the family time they can get, and so does Mercedes, who usually does a big Jones clan thing with family in Columbus, and…
And even when, that day Mr. Schue took them to the auditorium to tell them there was always something to live for, she'd told the Glee club she'd been looking forward to their friendships for the rest of her life, even meeting eyes with Quinn, of all people, and sharing a smile, she never could have imagined the way she and Quinn had fit into each other's lives so seamlessly, that it seems so right to have her by her side for their decidedly very family holiday.
This is her family, she knows now. They may have said it many times over in high school, that the New Directions were family, but she's never felt it quite so deeply as she has now, because she's never been as close to anyone as she is with these friends. Santana is her surprisingly protective and respectful sister; Brittany, Santana's obvious soulmate who fits so perfectly with her ability to sooth Santana's fiery temperament and Rachel's own agitated nature. Even Noah, with his big heart hiding under the smirks and muscles, is practically her brother, though she loves him from afar these days. And Quinn…her best friend, my heart's twin…she thinks a little foolishly, dazedly.
Rachel struggles to control the tears in her eyes as she realizes that even though she will always love Finn, Kurt and Mercedes to pieces, she's looking at the very best people in her life, but can't contain them when Santana's speaks.
"Brittany, and my family, specifically the…family of my choosing," Santana says quietly, and the way she looks at Rachel, she knows that Santana has realized exactly what she has, that she had never dreamed her family would include Rachel. The naked, open vulnerability in the other girl's eyes, Rachel knows she's projecting the same thing right back, and God she loves everyone at this table, so much…
She feels Quinn touch her hand gently and sinks automatically into her arms, which is awkward, with the table digging into her ribcage, but Quinn rests her cheek against her head and somehow, Rachel has never felt so close to her until this moment. After a moment, Rachel forces herself to sit back up, wiping away her tears and saying roughly, "I just love you guys," squeezing the hand that Quinn still holds.
Santana's chin is trembling, and Quinn's hand, though holding hers firmly, is shaking a little, but luckily Puck, feigning obliviousness, just retorts, "Back atcha, babe," his mouth full of sweet potato, and cuts through the heavy atmosphere like a chainsaw.
God bless Noah Puckerman.
A/N: Chapter titles from Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Snow (Hey Oh)," Prefuse 73, "The Class of 73 Bells," Beirut, "Scenic World," and The Head and the Heart, "Lost in My Mind."