.
There'd be no distance that could hold us back
.
I have these…little feelings for you…that keep getting bigger.
The moment she hears those words is a living cliché for Quinn. Time stops. Or really seems to. For a long moment, all she's aware of is the way her heart rate has picked up, an audible roar in her head.
Rachel is staring at her, pale and wide-eyed, and Quinn tries to clear her throat to speak. "Feelings?" she asks, tentatively.
Rachel looks away, eyes closing, "I'm so sorry. I know it's out of line, and just because you're gay doesn't mean you'll feel the same way, but I had to tell you what's been happening to me. What I've started to realize. I'm having feelings for you."
Quinn is shaking her head, "Feelings. Like…feelings?" It's such a stupid question, but it's about all she can manage. This doesn't feel real, and she's terrified that her stupid hopeful heart is turning something completely innocuous into the confession she's always fantasized about.
"Yes," Rachel whispers, "I know it's not fair of me, especially when I've presented as mostly straight to you the entire time we've known each other, and now that you've come out I'm suddenly having feelings. It's not really fair but…I don't know. They've been there, a little. They've just been growing, and I've become more aware of them. I'm sorry, though. I just had to tell you."
Oh, God.
"I…" Quinn starts. She pauses, feels a jolt of fear in her stomach, and pushes past it, "I've had feelings for you, too. Off and on, for awhile now."
"You…you have?" Rachel asks breathlessly. Quinn can see her throat work as she swallows. "And…and are your feelings…off right now? Or on?"
It's not a difficult question, really, but Quinn does take a moment to try to take stock of herself. She'd been trying to move away from these feelings for Rachel, tried, albeit halfheartedly, to try to find someone at Yale to give her attentions to, but… "They're on," she confesses quietly.
"Oh," Rachel says, faux casual.
They're staring at each other now, and Quinn feels the tension and anxiety rising in her as she feels her body react to the conversation. The rush of adrenaline, the pumping of her heart, the dryness in her throat. Nerves. She's surprised she's not shaking, but then, training with Coach Sylvester had more or less suppressed obvious outward displays of stress. Rachel is trembling, and Quinn can feel it. She's twisting her fingers together in her lap and biting her lip.
"So…what does this mean? What do we…do with this?" Quinn asks.
"I…I don't know," Rachel admits, "I…I really didn't expect your response. I never would have dreamed you could possibly be interested…"
"Why not?" Quinn asks, frowning and genuinely curious.
Rachel shrugs a little, "I mean, I don't want to dredge up the past, but…some of your behavior in high school certainly displayed repulsion."
Quinn sighs, pained, "It…really wasn't like that. I was never repulsed by you, just…your social standing. And I needed to act like it. God, half my insults weren't even about you, it was just…things I'd heard, before. Do you really think I came up with Man Hands to refer to you?" She holds up a hand, trying not to grimace. Her hands are long-fingered, veiny, not particularly graceful or feminine. At least they're soft, she thinks. Her mother had politely called them piano-player's hands. The girls at her school hadn't been nearly so polite.
Rachel looks at her sympathetically, tenderly, and raises her own hand to hold up to Quinn's. Her palm is warm and soft against Quinn's, and she just looks at the way their hands look pressed together. Rachel's is smaller, more feminine. Her nails are even painted pale pink; Quinn hasn't bothered much with nail polish since she started college. The contrast couldn't be more evident between them, as to who really had the man hands…
Quinn doesn't want to see the contrast anymore, so she does what feels entirely natural at the time, and entwines their fingers. They both stare, more, at the way their hands look, held between them, their skin, their grips, their nails.
They look back at each other's faces, but don't let go of each other's hands; instead, they place them, together, on the bed between them. Their pizzas lay next to their hands, totally forgotten.
"So…" Rachel says slowly.
"So?" Quinn asks.
"So we…like each other."
Quinn wants to laugh, because like is such a mild word for how strongly Quinn feels, but instead she just nods, "We definitely do." She pauses, and asks again, "What now?"
Rachel again looks uncertain. "Just last night, I told Jesse I really didn't want to be dating anyone right now." She twists her mouth, "And that's…well, it is mostly true, but I suppose, had I thought there was any potential between us, you would be the only exception I'd consider right now."
Quinn swallows hard, "I'd more or less thought the same thing, that I didn't have time to date, but…I've always been happy to make time for you, since we started school. It's just, for me…I'm not sure I know how to date a girl. I'm barely out at school. I've barely done anything with women. I don't know how…" she trails off.
"I really don't know either," Rachel confesses, and looks guilty, "It's…it's been really hard to accept that I have feelings for you, in part, because it's been really hard for me to actually imagine myself with a woman. That's why, so recently, I was still saying that I wasn't interested in women romantically. I mean, I know that I am now, but…it took some wrestling with myself. And I think I still need to wrestle with some of my fears about all this."
"So…do we actually want to date, or…?"
"Yes," Rachel murmurs, "I do. I just…"
"We need to take it slow," Quinn suggests.
"Definitely," Rachel agrees, and peers up at Quinn through her lashes nervously, "You're still coming down to New York for your Spring Break, right?"
"Of course," Quinn assures. They were supposed to have a great time hanging out as friends, but now…what was in store for them now? Her stomach flips pleasantly. Her Spring Break is almost two weeks long. She'd thought about maybe going back to Lima to visit her mother for one of those weeks, but now…maybe she would rather spend both of them in New York.
"Maybe we can take this week to really process this," Rachel suggests, "Figure out exactly what we want when we see each other next weekend. Figure out…what it's really going to mean for each other…if we want to be together."
Quinn smiles a little at this. Her heart is still pounding, and adrenaline is still spreading over her body in palpable waves, but most of her is still trying to figure out if this is real. Because it feels completely surreal. Every little sound in the room is amplified: the electric sounds of the TV, Rachel's breathing, the little rustles of her comforter as they shift on the bed…it's…every tiny detail of realism echoes in her brain, still feeling ultimately completely unreal.
"Is this really happening?" she blurts, her tone dreamlike.
Rachel giggles breathily, "Somehow, yeah. I really think it is."
They gaze at each other more, and Quinn watches Rachel's eyes, they way they move over Quinn's features. The way she licks her lower lip nervously. She examines the shape of Rachel's face, her gorgeous prominent cheekbones, her full lips, deep, dark eyes, unapologetically stately nose…there had always been something about Rachel Berry, something about her expressive, refined features that had always attracted Quinn, long before Quinn knew how to understand her feelings.
Then, Rachel's eyes widen and she glances around, "What time is it?"
Quinn reaches for her cell phone on the bedside table and checks it with her free hand, still holding Rachel's hand with the other. "A little after four."
"Oh, damn," Rachel sighs, "I should really head back home. I have a few things I need to work on tonight."
"Oh," Quinn nods, concealing her disappointment, but then she admits, "Yeah, me too."
Rachel stands and begins to gather her belongings. Quinn watches awkwardly for a few moments, still feeling completely surreal, until she stands and begins to put on her shoes.
"I'll come with you," she offers.
Rachel shakes her head, "No, you stay here. If you come with me…I'm afraid I'll never be able to make myself leave," she offers a shy smile.
"Oh. Okay," Quinn agrees.
They stand in front of each other, just next to Quinn's door, and stare. It's ridiculous how much time they've spent just silently looking at each other today, but the moments feel far from silent in Quinn's body and brain. Both are a chaos of desire and feeling and a sort of delicious anxiety.
"Well," Rachel finally says softly.
"Yeah," Quinn agrees, "Guess you'd better get going. Catch the next train home."
"Can…can I kiss you?" Rachel asks then, eyes darting away to fix on Quinn's lips.
That belly dip again. That telltale heart flutter. That rush of nerves all along her body.
"Yes," Quinn breathes, and leans down.
Rachel meets her halfway.
And it's…
It's years worth of aching, suppressed, deferred desire. It's sensing the feeling behind a kiss and, for the first time, being able to return it. It's imagining her heart is in tune with another. It's more than fireworks. It's a supernova, and it's a symphony, and it's an overwhelming feeling of relief.
It's just a press of lips, just moving together slowly, nothing else, and it's over too quickly, but that's because Quinn is legitimately afraid she will never be able to stop.
Rachel breathes shakily when they part, her eyes fluttering back open as she settles back on her heels, and, "Wow."
"Yeah."
"I'd better go."
"Yeah," Quinn nods, but as Rachel turns, Quinn reaches out again, and there's another kiss, much briefer, that leaves them both breathless once again.
"Okay. I really need to go now or I never will."
"I know," Quinn nods, and reaches past Rachel to open her door. Rachel steps out of the door, still facing Quinn, and smiles, "I'll see you next weekend."
"Of course," Quinn smiles back, and watches as Rachel turns and begins to head toward the stairwell to exit the building. She glances over her shoulder so often she starts to walk crooked, and Quinn never stops watching, never stops aching to follow.
.
I'm killing life like a one-way ticket to hell
.
One of the things that sucks the most is how much more action his "work" cell phone sees than his personal one.
The first thing Puck did when he agreed to work with Malcolm and his friends was get a cheap phone and buy prepaid messaging only plan for it. No way is he giving the potheads of Lima his real cell phone number.
And that was the other thing. He only agreed to sell weed, no hard stuff. He remembers, even though he was a little boy, the way substance abuse and addiction destroyed his father and his parent's marriage, and that was just alcohol, as far as he knows. He's never bought the hype that weed is addictive and so he's fine with selling that. Should be legal anyway, he thinks.
Despite all that, though, he knows he could get into deep shit if he gets caught. So he's trying to be as discrete as possible. Which isn't easy since he still lives with his mom and little sister. Sarah is such a snoop, it's ridiculous. It used to be, the lock on his bedroom door was only used when he was in there and needed privacy, but now he's started locking it any time he leaves the house. He can't have her finding his wares while she's snooping for whatever it is adolescent girls go searching for in their older brothers' rooms (he really doesn't want to know).
As for his mom…luckily for him, she's still working a lot of evening and night shifts, which is when most of his customers drop by. And even if she's home, she rarely seems suspicious if he decides to go hang out on the back porch with a "friend" for a little while.
Of course, the other thing that sucks about this is that half his work shifts are damn early in the morning, so needing to be able to do business with customers at night sucks sometimes.
But he is making money.
It gets to the point that he forgets to carry his personal cell phone with him for awhile. Because even the people he texts pretty regularly have dropped off a bit, probably because of midterms or something. He hasn't even chatted with Santana for a little while, because she got exasperated with his constant "bathroom breaks" the last time they tried to watch a show together and customers kept showing up. She eventually asked him if he bladder was the size of grape and told him to invest in a catheter (he wishes he didn't know what that was).
Then, one Monday, he realizes halfway through his shift in that late morning hour between breakfast and lunch that he forgot his phone. And in the next instant, he also realizes it's his birthday. It's his birthday and he's turning twenty freaking years old and his life is so mundane he almost forgot.
And grins, because today, finally, he's sure to actually hear something from his friends.
But when he gets home around 3 o'clock, there are no messages waiting on his phone. Nothing.
It isn't until 4 o'clock that the first one comes in.
kurt: Happy Birthday! I do
hope you get something special.
Not long after is.
sam: Happy birthday bro. would love to
hang out this week if ur available?
He thanks Kurt, and then, hesitating only slightly, takes Sam up on his offer. Even though it feels like a pity hangout, he does want to spend some time with someone he actually considers a friend.
It isn't until much later, when he's falling asleep in bed, that everyone else seems to remember. The last two to text are Rachel and Quinn, both around ten o'clock, both apologizing; Rachel explains she is preparing for a callback and Quinn explains it's the first day of her midterms. But they both tell him how much they care about him and that they hope he had a good birthday and that he should expect a package from them later in the week.
It's enough to make him smile as he falls back to sleep, anyway.
Sam comes over on Wednesday afternoon, after school is over and after Puck is finished working his shift with Billy and showering the restaurant grease off his body (he still likes Billy alright, and likes working with him, but tries to keep their personal conversation at a minimum, since that last time when Billy told what were probably lies about his band). To Puck's surprise, Sam is carrying his guitar case.
He raises his eyebrows at it, "What, are you here to serenade me for my birthday? Because, like, it's cool. No need."
Sam glances at his guitar and then chuckles, "No, but I should have thought of that. How've you been?"
Puck shrugs, "Okay, I guess. Working mostly. How about you?"
"Work and school," Sam reports as Puck ushers him into the house. "Sorry we haven't hung out in awhile. Guess we've both been busy."
"Yeah," Puck accepts the tacit apology easily. He guesses he could've called Sam or Artie or whoever instead of always waiting for them to call him. They just always seemed busier than he was.
Up in Puck's room, Sam sits in the old armchair and gets his guitar out of his case. Puck watches as he tunes it, then asks, "Really, what's with the guitar?"
Sam grins then, "I was wondering if you'd help me write a song."
"Write…a song? Um. Why?"
Sam leans back and rolls his eyes, "It's almost time for Regionals and Mr. Schue really hasn't given us much help," he says in an uncharacteristically bitter tone, "Everyone on the Leadership Board is saying we've had good luck with original songs in previous regional competitions, so we're hoping to try that again. I figured I'd work on it with you, because you're good at this stuff. Personally, I loved that song you wrote for Zizes that one year."
Puck smirks, "Really? I figured Trouty Mouth would be your favorite song."
"Don't even," Sam answers, pointing a warning finger at Puck. But he's smiling.
"Okay, problem, though. I'm not in school anymore. If I write a song with you, it's not exactly a New Directions original, is it?"
Sam shrugs, "The rule book really doesn't say anything about whose original song it has to be. I'll list my name first if they ask, that should be good enough."
"Alright…" Puck agrees uncertainly.
Several hours later, they have a decent start to a song about unrequited love. Sam reluctantly says that he has to go home and work on some homework, but thanks Puck, and says he's pretty sure he can complete the song with what they've come up with so far.
As he shows Sam out the door, he feels a little sad. Nostalgic, he guesses, for that time when he used to see all his friends, almost every day. When they'd practice on the fields, work out in the gym, then figure out elaborate ways to text in class without getting caught, or to cheat on tests, or to cut classes. When they'd spend their weekends driving fast on the rural roads outside of Lima, drinking and getting into fistfights for fun, doing donuts in the parking lot of the abandoned K-Mart shopping center.
Sam wasn't a part of most of this; he was more interested in doing what was right than what was fun. Nevertheless, even if they did fewer one on one friend things and more team things together, Puck has always felt comfortable around Sam. He's always felt like they got each other.
There's a pang about Finn for a moment, about the ways they've grown apart, but…Finn's on the other side of the world.
All Puck knows is, he's not waiting for Sam to contact him first next time.
.
Forbidden fruit, hidden eyes
.
One of the weird things about college at UCLA is that her school's schedule never quite matches anyone else's. It seems like everyone else she knows has semesters, but she has quarters at her school. So, while everyone she knows is dealing with midterms and then going for Spring Break—mostly in early March, though some don't have Spring Break until late March or even April—Mercedes is still in the middle of her Winter Quarter, and won't take her finals until the end of March.
Of course, she's also only a part-time student, so her schedule really revolves most around her recording deal. The work she gets from that is really erratic, some weeks intense and time-consuming, some weeks barely anything.
But life is good. Even if she feels extremely far away from everything and everyone, she still texts with Rachel sometimes—they have a lot to compare in terms of what they're learning about music—and she Kurt have a little Skype session most weeks, despite how much busier he's gotten. She texts Quinn, and every month or so they call one another.
And Sam.
They talk, well, not quite all the time, but a lot. Lots of texting, phone calls and Skype sessions when possible. And despite missing each other painfully, to the point that sometimes when they talk, Mercedes just cries afterwards, they feel stronger than ever.
That whole open relationship while being apart thing…it's really working.
It means that when she misses him, she doesn't have to feel completely alone and apart from him. She can go on a date with another guy—dates that mostly involve some chatting to see if they have chemistry, then a lot of making out, maybe some shirtlessness—and the whole time, know how much Sam is going to enjoy hearing about it. Know that talking about it is going to make him so happy. He's there, in her mind, during the entire date.
While at the same time, she gets the flattery of knowing that she's hot enough to attract as many guys as she likes.
It can be a difficult line to walk sometimes. There are still aspects of her sexuality she's keeping private, even from Sam. So she has to make clear the guys she's dating realize sex is off the menu, because keeping her virginity until marriage is still very important to her. And even last time she visited Sam, over Christmas, she still didn't let him touch her…down there. She loves to give him handjobs, and they've masturbated together many times, mostly on Skype and once in person over Christmas (though she couldn't quite come that time), but it took her a long time to build the courage to touch herself in front of him. It's still hard to shake the feeling that some of what they're doing is wrong. She wants to be sexual, she wants to liberated…in some ways. But she also wants to be true to herself and her concept of her faith.
These days, though, maybe because it's been so long since she's seen Sam, her dates feel like they're heating up a bit. She has a date with a guy tonight that she's seen a couple times before who…she doesn't know why, but she feels less in control of the situation with him. But Sam loves the details of the way this guy goes crazy on her breasts and gets her so turned on, so…
They grab coffee—there's always that component to her dates, even if she usually insists on paying for her own food or drinks. They sit and talk for a bit about the new season of Community, but they don't spend too long chatting. He has a fire in his dark eyes, and she's already smirking.
She dates a lot of different boys, different races, different walks of life (science nerds with full scholarships, lazy music students, athletes, trust fund kids with no clue what to do with their futures, kids from poverty with full scholarships, kids working three jobs to keep up with school payments). She's attracted to lots of different guys and loves that she has a chance to explore that. This guy, Miguel, is an athlete, fit, funny, much more interested in football than his classes. Maybe she's so into him because he reminds her of Sam in some ways, but he's got an aura of danger that Sam never even tried to put on. Maybe that's part of the appeal, too.
They go back to her apartment—her roommates, a pair of female music students, are out—and it isn't long before she's peeling off his shirt to admire his abs and chest and shoulders, and he's working hers over her head.
It's taken some time, but she has gotten more comfortable with her body. Seeing the power her breasts give her over men has helped, as has the fact that she's gotten a little fitter from all the walking she does around campus and the city. The act of taking off her shirt, which used to be difficult to do even for Sam, nearly impossible to do for Shane back in high school, is now something she does for Sam often, and does for the guys she dates. The way Miguel moans a little when he grabs her breasts definitely helps.
It's all hands and mouths and touches over skin, discrete hickeys, and before long, the pressing swell of Miguel's erection against her thigh.
She doesn't think she's ever been so hot for a guy she's taken on dates. She touches him over his jeans, stroking as best she can, making him groan into her mouth.
He's opening his jeans, pushing them down his hips, and she's touching him fully.
It feels right. She's good at this, she enjoys this, and she'll love watching him get off. Usually her dates end with the guy in her bathroom, finishing himself off, but how is that any fun for her and Sam…
She's stroking gently, slowly, but Miguel is still just as passionate as ever, his mouth on her breasts now, his hips rolling into her hand, and before she knows it, his hands are at her belt, fumbling, and his hand is sliding into her panties.
Oh.
It feels incredible and yet…bad. Wrong.
"No," Mercedes says.
"It's okay, baby," Miguel reassures, "I'm not trying to make you have sex with me, just…" he groans, and moves his fingers to gather wetness.
"No," Mercedes says forcefully, grabbing his wrist, "I'm not ready for that."
Miguel withdraws his hand, "Shit," he breathes, absently wiping his fingers on his pants, "Shit, I didn't know. I figured since you were touching me…"
"No, I know," Mercedes sighs, "I should've been more clear about my boundaries, because that stepped way over them. This got out of hand."
"I'm sorry," Miguel says again, looking scared and guilty.
"Me, too," Mercedes agrees, "And you need to go."
"I get it," Miguel nods, hitching up his pants and adjusting everything back into place. Before he leaves, he pauses by the door, "I'm real sorry I fucked it up and made you feel uncomfortable."
"I know," she answers, "I'll see you," she offers by way of apology. She won't go on another date with him. Clearly, they're too wild together, things went too far. But maybe they could be friends. Maybe. He's a good guy.
She squeezes her eyes shut and gets her phone to call Sam.
"Hey!" he greets cheerfully, "Done with your date already?"
"Yeah," she reports hesitantly, "Can we talk about it?"
"Heh. Yeah, of course," Sam replies, and she can hear the eagerness in his voice. He clearly hasn't caught on to her tone.
"No, wait, this is serious," she tells him, "So…we were together, fooling around, and…he got out his…dick…and I started to touch it for him. You know, give him a handjob."
"Oh," Sam replies, and it sounds as though he's thinking about it, "Well, you are really good at those…" his voice is back to sounding slightly sensual, "Wait, you should start over. That's going to be really hot to hear about…"
"No," Mercedes says, "Because then he tried to reciprocate on me, and…he touched me a little bit, Sam. Somewhere you haven't even gotten to touch me yet."
"Oh," Sam utters again, but this time the gravity is in his voice. "What did you…"
"Told him to stop and he did, told him to leave and he did. He didn't know he was stepping over a line. I guess I should've been clearer to him what I meant about how we weren't going to have sex."
"Yeah," Sam agrees, sounding like he just doesn't know what to say.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah…it just sucks. I mean. You touching him, that gave me pause for a moment, but I realized I was okay with it because it's something we've done together. But him touching you…that's not something we've done together. So I feel…I dunno. It kinda feels like you cheated on me, I guess."
"I feel like I did, too," Mercedes replies, "I'm so sorry. I let it get out of hand."
"It's not your fault," he tells her automatically, "It sounds like he went there before you could stop him."
"…the thing was, I kind of wanted him to, a little. I just…I lost sight of things for a minute."
"Oh." There it is again, that little syllable of disappointment.
"Listen," Mercedes tries to reassure, "I'm going to close this relationship, right now, until we're feeling better about things. Both of us. Because this is really about us, not anybody else. And I'm going to see if I can take the time to come to Lima for a little bit between Winter and Spring quarters. I can't make any promises…but I want to see you. I need to try to make this right."
"I'm alright with all that," Sam tells her, "I think it's for the best right now. But, God, Mercedes, you don't have to fly across the country and let me finger you to get me to be alright with what happened. I know we'll get there. Just give me some time, okay? Let's just be us for awhile."
"Okay," she grins a little, "I still want to try to see you."
"I'd like that," he sounds warm. "Listen, I've got to go, okay?"
"Okay," she acquiesces quietly. "I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," he agrees. They hang up, and she knows he didn't have to go. He was ready to hear about her date and get off, after all.
He just needs time.
They've never hit a snag like this before.
.
Everybody sees you're blown apart
.
Wednesday night, Steve says something that throws a loop in Quinn's plans.
They're actually all there, Steve, Sean, Stephanie, Lulu, Lucas, Rob and Quinn. Rob gets there last, apologizing for being late as he joins them. A few minutes later, Steve puts down his fork and clears his throat.
"So, I…Stephanie came to talk to me the other night about the two of us carpooling back down to Maryland together for break. And so, I was forced to tell her that, after break, I won't be coming back to Yale."
There's silence for a long moment. Quinn stares. Stephanie looks sad, and Sean serious. She suspects Steve already told Sean about this, but the rest of them…probably not.
"Wait, seriously?" Lucas asks, frowning.
Steve nods slowly, "My mother has some health problems, and they're getting bad. I'm leaving school to help take care of her."
"I'm so sorry to hear that," Quinn tells him, genuinely. Of all the reasons to leave school, this is both the worst and best. The most heart-wrenching cause, but the noblest reason.
And it makes some sense. No wonder he wasn't doing well in his classes. No wonder some days he couldn't pull himself out of bed. No wonder he barely reacted when Stephanie dumped him.
"Well, I was pointing out how I probably wouldn't be able to take her, because I'm not even sure I can fit all my stuff in my car. So she asked Lulu if we could borrow her van to get all my stuff home, and she agreed." Lulu nods, sad eyes on Steve. "But then she suggested that we…well. That I ask if you guys would like to come with us, too." He looks up from his plate now, looking at the faces of his friends in turn. "I haven't known you guys for all that long, but we've had some fun together, and I value your friendships. If you want to take a seven hour roadtrip down to meet my family and to say goodbye to me, because who knows when we might see each other again, I'd be really grateful. With Lulu's van and my car, we should be able to fit everybody if you all want to come."
"I'd be happy to," Rob answers, and Lucas nods seriously in agreement.
"Of course," Sean agrees, "I could probably get my family to pick me up in Maryland for the rest of break."
"I was going to go to New York…" Quinn begins, but instantly changes her mind when she thinks about what Steve is about to do, "But I'll bet I could head to New York afterwards."
Lulu nods, "I could drop you off in Baltimore. I bet you could get a bus or a train to New York from there easily."
"Yeah, true. I'd love to come see you home, Steve."
"Thanks, guys," Steve smiles. And they all begin discussing routes, who rides with whom, what they should bring, everything.
Quinn takes the evening to think on it, to make sure it's what she wants to do. In the end, the only conflict is selfish, she realizes. Ideally, she just wants to get to Rachel as soon as possible so they can kiss again, so they can talk about what they might be to each other. But she knows she'll regret it if she doesn't go with all her friends to wish Steve well.
So Thursday evening, she calls Rachel.
"Hey!" Rachel greets her, "I miss you."
"I miss you, too," she responds. It's become one of the most common phrases they've used, since Rachel left her dorm on Sunday. They texted it Sunday night when Rachel got home. It was the last thing they said it to each other Monday night when they got off the phone and both texted Puck a late happy birthday. Quinn's had too many midterms to focus on to call every night this week, and it's so good to hear Rachel's voice, even if she's going to be delivering disappointing news.
"How'd your midterm go today?"
"Great," Quinn tells her, "Almost ready for your callback?"
Rachel sighs, "Yeah. No matter what I do, I don't ever feel ready for it, but it'll be over tomorrow regardless."
"You'll do great," Quinn reassures her automatically, because really, the concept of Rachel performing poorly for an audition still seems impossible to her. She's glad she never saw the botched NYADA audition in high school; that will never seem real.
"Thank you," Rachel murmurs.
"I actually have something I need to talk to you about," Quinn starts, then explains how Steve will be leaving school and that his friends will be going with him to bid him farewell.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that about Steve," Rachel laments.
"I'll tell him," Quinn says, "But…I'm not entirely sure how long we'll be down in Maryland. I just know that…obviously, I won't be able to be in New York on Friday night."
"Oh," Rachel sounds subdued, as if this finally dawns on her, "Oh, Quinn, it's okay. I mean. If you've decided you don't want to spend your Spring Break down here, I—"
"What are you talking about? Of course I do! I'm just going to be later than I'd hoped."
"I just…I don't know. It all seems like…like maybe that conversation never happened sometimes, that I guess you having second thoughts feels plausible to me."
"I am not having second thoughts," Quinn tells her with certainty, "I just…it's important to me to do this for Steve, too. Believe me, I wish I could be in New York on Friday like we originally planned. But I'll still be there for most of those two weeks I'm off. And I can't wait to see you."
"I understand," Rachel sounds relieved, "I hope it goes well. Let me know when I might see you, and I can't wait."
Quinn smiles, "I'd better go study for my last midterm tomorrow. I miss you."
"I miss you, too. Good luck!"
"Thanks. Break a leg at your callback!"
"Thank you, Quinn. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Rachel."
Even saying her name now sounds different, feels different.
.
Daddy I want you dead
.
By the time Quinn gets out of her midterm, it's a little before noon, most of Steve's stuff has been loaded into Lulu's van, and Sean has grabbed some sandwiches for Stephanie, Lucas and Quinn, who are all coming from the same midterm. Lucas has his duffel bag with him—he'd awkwardly hauled it to the midterm—so Stephanie and Quinn go upstairs to make sure they've gathered everything they need. Quinn has several bags, because she'll be going to Rachel's from there, but there's room.
Lulu left the rear bucket seats in the van because everyone decided they'd rather sit there than in the middle seat of Steve's sedan, and for the first leg of the journey, Quinn and Stephanie ride with her, and the boys ride with Steve. They have snacks, they have drinks, they have iPods, they have bags and boxes of Steve's stuff (like any Freshman, he'd overpacked), and they're good to go.
The most direct route goes basically through New York City, but Steve and Stephanie emphasize that it is hell to go that way, so they take a different route, that takes them a little more west through Connecticut and a sliver of New York state before they go south through Pennsylvania. It adds some time to the trip, but Steve and Stephanie assure that they'd lose that time in traffic anyway, and Lulu, who has tried to drive into and through the city many times, concurs. The only thing Quinn can think is that she's disappointed that she won't feel physically closer to Rachel during the drive. She'd half-fantasized about leaping out of the car if she'd noticed they were driving through an area familiar to her.
But she finds she can't focus much on the fact that she'll be waiting to see Rachel, because in spite of their reasons for driving down, they're having a good time. Stephanie seizes control of the iPod, claiming that because she works at the radio station, she has the best taste in music. Lulu rolls her eyes at Quinn in the review mirror, but the music is good, they talk about everything.
They end up talking, at one point, about how they've all ended up at Yale, and how, perhaps, feeling like the odd ones out drew them to each other.
"I mean, I'm only in because I'm a minority," Stephanie states bluntly, "Which, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but man, that makes me feel like a commodity more than a student, you know?"
"I'm only in because my parents worked for the school, and I think they pity me," Lulu responds with a shrug, "But, yeah, I'm not complaining."
"How'd you get in, Quinn?" Stephanie asks with a grin, "I'm guessing your parents had 'connections' or something?"
She's not serious, but it irritates Quinn slightly, "Not really. I mean, I maintained honor roll throughout high school, but I think my application essay helped. I, um, made some mistakes in high school and was briefly homeless, and I think writing about struggling through that appealed to them." She meets Lulu's eye briefly, and knows in that moment that Lulu remembers exactly what Quinn means. "In all honesty, if my parents hadn't divorced, I probably wouldn't be allowed to attend. My sister was only allowed to go to Christian colleges. She ended up at Messiah in Pennsylvania. From what I can tell she got a good education, but I would've resented having my choices limited like that."
"Yeah, especially because you're gay, that would've been rough," Stephanie sympathizes. It's the first time she's said that about Quinn, and it's a little surreal, considering what happened between them, but the comment itself is very nonchalant. "I'll admit, when I met you, I thought you were just some rich legacy kid from old Republican money, even though I thought you were cool. And it didn't bug me, because I still feel weird about getting in just being the color I am."
"At least your education isn't being comped because people know your parents," Lulu shrugs, "I feel awkward, like I don't belong, and like I don't deserve what I have half the time."
"Well, I'm on full scholarship, too," Stephanie says, "and I know that without it, I probably couldn't attend, because it's not like my grandma was able to put aside much money for my schooling, but for god's sake, Sean is practically as poor as I am, and he's taking out god knows how many loans to afford this. And he has to do that because he's white, and I'm not. Or, well, I am half white, but my half Native side is all they see."
"Whereas I've got trust fund money to handle some of my schooling. In that respect, I guess I'm a bit old money. The fact that I even have it probably has a lot to do with my race," Quinn admits.
"Thank god you don't act like old money," Stephanie gripes, "But this is exactly why some of the affirmative action stuff bothers me, because I feel like I was given my opportunities not because I deserve them, but because my race makes the school look better. I feel like equality should be earned and we can't earn it if they keep just giving it to us. How does that look?"
"But don't you think it's a good way to take steps toward equality? Evening the playing field?" Lulu asks, eyes narrowed.
"Not as long as old white guys keep making money off of my race making them look good," Stephanie answers bitterly.
Quinn doesn't agree with it, but it's an interesting counterargument, at least with regard to Stephanie's own personal experience. She thinks again about passing for straight in everyday life, about appearing to be old money, and about how the people she ended up being drawn to at school were, well…like the New Directions, she supposes. The ones who felt like they didn't quite fit in, because of their race or class or whatever. And she's more thankful than ever that those were the people who were her support in high school, and that she didn't stay just a Cheerio, who would have unhappily thrived in the conservative upper-class portions of whatever school she'd ended up in.
They stop for a meal around Scranton, and at that time, they switch up who is riding where, just a bit. Quinn switches places with Rob so that she's in the car with Steve, Lucas and Sean. Lucas jokes that switching Sean for Quinn has doubled the testosterone in the car, and Quinn just punches him, more for the perceived slight against Rob than the lesbian joke. Lucas just laughs and claims she proved his point, which is when Sean offers her the front seat so that she doesn't have to sit next to him.
After some time in which the boys mostly discuss video games that Quinn has never even heard of, Steve glances at her. "So, I've been wanting to talk to everybody about what to expect when we get to my parents' house."
Quinn nods, "Oh, sure. Of course." She abruptly wonders if this is a good idea. Is it okay to have a group of college kids invading the home of a sick woman?
"The house is on the large side," Steve says, "and I'm the youngest, so my brothers are scattered around the country with their own families and jobs and everything. That's part of why I want to be the one to come home, it's the easiest choice. My point is, there is definitely room for everybody to sleep. We'll probably all end up in the basement; that's where my bedroom is. And really, don't worry about imposing on my parents. The basement is practically an apartment all on its own. My dad will be happy to cook for us, or order us a pizza or whatever for as long as we're here."
"Okay," Quinn nods.
"As for my mom, I just wanted to give everybody an idea of what to expect, because I know all I've said is that she's sick. She has ALS."
"ALS?" Quinn asks. She knows she's heard of it, but doesn't know anything.
"Lou Gehrig's disease."
"Oh," Quinn answers. That sounds more familiar, but isn't much more helpful.
"It's a neurological disease that gradually destroys motor neurons. Which means that, a year ago, my mom could mostly still walk around and things, though she was clumsier than normal, but now she's in a wheelchair—more for her own safety, because she can still walk some—and has trouble speaking."
"Oh," Quinn answers again, then offers, "That's awful." She thinks about how she was in a wheelchair as a result of something so sudden, something she was so sure she could beat. How frustrating would it be to have to fight day by day to not end up in one, even though it is inevitable?
"She's entirely lucid, though. She just has trouble getting around and writes things down to communicate because it's easier than talking sometimes. She's a funny woman, she used to be so active. She's optimistic. Some people only live a few years after diagnosis, for some people, they reach a certain point and degeneration stops, some people live decades after diagnosis. She's not afraid of dying soon." He pauses. "I think my dad is a bit afraid, though."
"I'm sure she has many years ahead of her," Lucas offers, taking the focus off Quinn.
"I think she does, too," Steve smiles, "I just didn't want you guys to be alarmed when you met her. I wanted you to know what's going on with her."
"Thanks for telling us," Quinn nods, "I guess I was assuming cancer or something."
"It's always scary to see someone sick," Steve says, a note of compassion in his voice, "But educating people on what exactly is going on always helps. Her brain is fine. Her body still mostly works, it's just giving her trouble."
Quinn just nods. The conversation isn't exactly uncomfortable, but it is weird. It's the most serious thing she's ever discussed with Steve, it's pretty personal, and it does put her in the uncomfortable mindset of what she would do if either of her parents got this sick.
The thought that she has no idea about the state of her father's health, and the moment that she wonders if she would even care if he weren't well, only crosses her mind for a moment before she pushes it away.
By the time they make it to Cumberland, where Steve lives, they're all hungry. Steve's house is in a nice suburb, not grand or fancy, but big and comfortable and built on a slope so that the front door enters the first floor of the house and the back door enters the basement. They're greeted by Steve's soft-spoken dad, who greets them all with grins and handshakes and promises of a big pot of spaghetti that's almost ready. But first, they begin to unload Lulu's van, filling up Steve's little basement bedroom with piles of bags and boxes. Then, they're shuffled into the kitchen and seated at the big table, while Steve heads back to his parents' bedroom.
There's small talk with Steve's dad, who is finishing up making dinner, and then they hear Steve reentering the kitchen, and see that he's pushing a wheelchair.
The woman in the chair really isn't old. She's probably about Quinn's father's age, and Quinn has always felt like her parents were older than a lot of her peers'; Brittany's mom had her when she was twenty-two, whereas Russell was approaching his mid-thirties when Quinn was born. Her hair is peppered with grey, and her body is lean. Not the kind of lean that makes her look sick and malnourished, but like a retired athlete. She has a cane next to her on her wheelchair, and honestly, if it weren't for the wheelchair itself, and the way her hands tremble in her lap, Quinn wouldn't know she was sick at all.
Steve introduces them, and his mother smiles at them in turn, then opens her mouth, and slowly manages a broken-sounding "Nice to meet you." She sighs and rolls her eyes, grinning apologetically.
"Don't be shy to use your white board," Steve's dad tells her cheerfully.
"Only when needed," she manages to respond stubbornly, grinning wickedly.
She sits next to Steve's dad, who helps her during the meal when her arms don't seem to respond properly to her desire to use her utensils, and conversation is pretty normal. During the meal itself, she seems to find it easier to write on the white board, which leads to a few awkward pauses as she takes the time to write, but conversation is good, and she's included, and she even manages to crack a few jokes that are still funny even with the pauses in dialogue. Quinn realizes almost immediately that she quite likes this woman, and there's a rush of frustration to know that she's terminally ill.
There's also a rush of fear to realize that someone else she knows could lose a parent. Finn lost his father when he was too young to know, and though she's never heard Kurt talk about his mother much, she knows that he was pretty young, too, and did most of his growing up with just his dad; he certainly felt and knew her loss, but he was at a malleable age. Steve is almost an adult, which somehow makes the loss scarier to her. Steve will understand what's happening, Steve will realize he can't change it, Steve will have to be a part of her medical care, her end of life decisions. Steve will have to be there to hold up his father after he loses his wife.
They linger after the meal is over, still chatting. Steve's parents are great, but Quinn can't stop being overly conscious about his mother's mortality. It's weird to befriend somebody who she's sure will be gone soon.
They spend the weekend at Steve's, mostly hanging out in the basement and playing video games, and on Saturday afternoon, they take a hike at a nearby state park. It's a great time, and a very chill farewell to Steve.
Sunday evening, the night before they're going to head their separate ways for the rest of their break, Quinn is in the side yard helping Steve hang up a hummingbird feeder.
"I have…what might be a weird question," Quinn starts awkwardly.
Steve glances at her and shrugs, "Shoot."
"I…this is weird. So, I don't have a good relationship with my father. Okay, I really have no relationship with my father right now." Steve just waits for her to continue, and she struggles to find the simplest way to sum up her father. "We had a great relationship when I was little, I was his little girl, but he found out I…did some things in high school that he didn't approve of, and he kicked me out of the house. I was homeless for several months, until my mom kicked him out, they got divorced, and she brought me home."
Steve is staring for a moment, then blinks and says, "That's…really awful. Wow. I'm so sorry."
She shrugs, "It's okay. I mean, I've mostly moved on. It took some time, but my mom and I are basically okay, now. But my dad…I haven't talked to him since he kicked me out."
"I can understand why," Steve responds, sounding angry on her behalf.
"But that's my question, I guess. I mean, getting to know your family, like…the fact that your mom is probably terminally ill, it made me wonder about my dad for the first time in awhile. Because she's amazing, and if something like this can happen to an amazing mom…I dunno. I don't know."
"What are you asking?" Steve asks, looking confused and a little melancholy.
"I guess, if you were me, would you want to not have contact with your dad anymore?"
Steve looks thoughtful, and leans against the tree that the hummingbird feeder now hangs from. "I don't know. On the one hand, your dad sounds like a terrible person. But you did say you used to have a great relationship. And I mean…coming from my own point of view, it's not like my relationship with my parents was always perfect. I was always pretty close to Mom, but maybe not so much Dad. We're doing better now, because we're both focused on Mom, but…And, this is something I talked with Lulu about. When her dad passed away, she was wrestling with all this guilt because a part of her wished it had been her mom."
"Her dad died?" Quinn asks, "When?"
"Oh, you didn't know? This was before we knew her, like two years ago. She doesn't mind if people know, I'm surprised she never told you."
"I guess it never came up," Quinn responds, frowning. She feels kind of awful, for unloading some of her problems on Lulu, but never asking what was going on in her life.
"Anyway, Lulu's dad was who really held her family together, the way my mom does. And she thinks her mom senses and she and her brothers…not that they really loved their dad more, but they were closer to him. It's the same with my mom, and I know my dad is struggling with knowing he's going to have to step in to be that center of the family, just like Lulu's mom struggles with thinking her kids miss their dad more than they'd miss her."
"That's…ouch."
"Yeah. It's the last way we want our parents to feel. But I guess all I know is, no matter which parent of mine was sick, when it comes down to it, I'd grieve just the same. And the more people I meet who are around my age and have lost parents, the more I'm glad I still have mine, for however long it will be." He shrugs, "I mean, yeah, talk to your dad if you think you'll feel better. If you don't think it's going to do anything but open up old wounds, don't. If you think, though, that you'd be at all sad to find out he's dying…reach out. I guess that'd be my advice. Who knows? He could be feeling so awful he has no idea how to even approach you."
It's something to think about. Quinn is still very angry at her father, but…he is her father. And a part of her still loves him for who he was to her as a child.
But if he ever found out who she was now…Quinn also knows she could probably never have a real relationship with him again.
Still, realizing how many people her age she knows who have lost parents makes her wonder again about her own. Maybe she'll at least ask her mom if she knows at all how he's doing.
But she doesn't spend much time thinking about her dad, because now all she can think about is the fact that she's going to see Rachel tomorrow. She barely sleeps that night, as she shares one of Steve's brother's beds with Lulu. Because now she's back to remembering that dream-like moment, a week ago, when she was finally able to admit to Rachel that there were feelings. That there had been feelings for…longer than she was able to admit.
She wonders how it will feel to kiss her again.
A/N: Chapter titles from Death Cab for Cutie, "The New Year," Foxy Shazam, "Killin' It," Portishead, "Sour Times," Paul Simon, "Graceland," and Le Tigre, "Bang! Bang!"