December 8, 2011

(Rachel)

With each candle we lit from the menorah, I fervently prayed that Finn Hudson could date me again. But the strength of my prayer was less intense each day. Santana kept her promise and didn't mess with him anymore. It was very hard to admit that Finn continued to flirt with my sister anyway. Whenever she walked by ignoring him, he'd turn around, check out her ass, and get that characteristic sideways smile as if to say "I fucked that". Then he'd say he cared about me after all. It was killing me. I could barely face my sister on the ride home with the wide-eyed "I told you so" look. Was it so wrong to have a little hope of getting back the good things Finn and I had?

I was on my way to the last choir practice of the week. For now, we were trying out a few songs so we could make it to regionals stronger and more organized. We had learned our lesson about winning at this stage of the competition: talent and heart weren't enough. To win at the regionals, and even more so if we wanted to do well at the nationals, we would have to study the opposing choirs, identify weaknesses and virtues, and try to put together a performance where our greatest qualities could be emphasized and, at the same time, show a better solution to the others' shortcomings. Our luck was that rule changes meant that the previous year's champion got a direct wildcard to the following year's nationals. It meant we wouldn't have Vocal Adrenaline on the way this year.

We were more cautious in strategy in "Valerie" with Brittany and Mike's dance. I won't analyze Quinn and Sam's ballad because I disregard it. I prefer to study "Valerie" which, in my opinion, was the one that saved us. Santana doesn't have great singing technique, but she had personality, aggressiveness (not that she had any problem with the aggressiveness part), and was intuitive. My sister has a powerful voice and a distinctive timbre, but needs to tame some unnecessary vibrato. It's a shame it's so hard to convince her to go to a singing lesson. She also needs to stop being lazy and do better the technical exercises that Professor Schue gives us. They are not ideal, but they help a little bit.

Brittany and Mike's choreography was spectacular, but it took away some of the unity, an issue worth points in the technical evaluation. This flaw, in addition to one bad performance at our setlist, is what made the tie with the Warblers possible. If we had adjusted better, rehearsed better, we would have been declared the sole winners. Our steps weren't well synchronized and I bumped into Lauren twice. No one could demand anything of her on that occasion because she parachuted into the choir to save our asses. If she wants to stay, she'll have to sweat it out. The backing vocals were great, though. They harmonized very well with Santana's "Winehouse" timbre.

"I think you're overreacting, Rachel." Schue scolded me again. For some reason, this kind of thing is losing its effect. "New Directions wasn't set up to be a machine like Vocal Adrenaline. Our group stands for heart, for soul. We are here, above all, to have fun, to put our hearts into the art of music. To give vent to the countless talents we have."

"Keeping competitive choirs is expensive for schools, mr. Schue. Auditorium, band, lighting people, sound engineering, costumes... Coach Sylvester is right about one thing: if we don't play to win, then what's the point? It would be better to turn the choir into a mere recreational activity. Changing our mindset doesn't mean losing our heart, or our soul."

"I'm with smurfete." Santana said as she filed her nails. I widened my eyes. It was the first public show of support we'd exchanged in weeks. "I know you don't like it, but the Cheer Squad is a model of organization and daring. As Machiavellian as Sue Sylvester is, she's put together a great structure that works. I know we don't have the same resources here, but that doesn't mean we can't establish a committed support team and improve our planning. We need to stop being lucky amateurs."

"Now the world will fall! The Satan and the diva have gotten on the same page. Watch out." Mercedes boomed and received a high five from Quinn. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to the class.

"We need to stop wasting our time and energy and focus on a goal. Otherwise, we're going to be forever performing impressive numbers to an empty auditorium. We are here to have fun, to feel good. But what's wrong with preparing better at competitions?" Mike also gave his opinion, which was amazing. "You're going to call me crazy, but yeah, I'm with the Lopezes."

"I didn't come in here to face the same pressure as the football team." Sam said.

"Mr. Schue." Even Tina spoke up, a sign that the discussion was indeed pertinent. "You yourself are always promoting competitions among us. Duets, boys against girls... you always play to win."

"Competitions are to keep the team motivated." Finn spoke in a leading tone. "And we've always done well with improvisation."

"Yes, we've always done well in front of the artistic jury full of strange and unqualified celebrities. Because we always average out with the technical jury. You'd know if you were a bit more dedicated and took the performance report at the end of the competitions." I rebutted Finn's point. "The moment a professional singer, an actress in musicals, was on the artistic jury, we lost. Truth be told, you weren't there to know, but Vocal Adrenaline was epic. To do a number like that, it would take us a month of rehearsals at least."

"Are we going to get anywhere?" Artie seemed confused by the debate, more so than Brittany.

Finally, the group was divided and mr. Schue decided (what a surprise!) to promote a new competition as a way to make us see the advantages and defects of both points in order to have a better evaluation. Me, Santana, Mike, Tina and Brittany would have to plan a number where the main focus would be technique and production. Quinn, Finn, Sam, Mercedes, Puck and Artie would do another one with a focus on improvisation. Lauren, Mrs. Pillsburry and a "special guest" would judge and the winning group would be directly responsible for the regionals numbers.

Until then, there was a weekend and then another whole week to plan what to do. My family was leaving for Cleveland to celebrate Hanukkah with my grandparents just that weekend: it was a tradition we had never failed to fulfill since I could remember.

"What now, Rachel?" Mike and Tina asked me as we left the choir.

"Let's finish them off." I replied. Defeating Finn had a special flavor.

...

December 09, 2011

(Rachel)

"We have to be epic and to do that we have to pick an equally epic song." I said as I helped Dad put the bags in the car. This was the first year that papi wouldn't be celebrating Hannukkah with us and that alone left a strange feeling. Dad was waiting for us to get home from school so we could get on the road to Cleveland to spend the last day of Hanukkah with my grandparents.

"What did you think about?" Dad was the one who loved to hear my ideas for the choir.

"'Champagne Supernova' by Oasis. Everyone's going to expect us to do something more Broadway... but if instead we prove we can do a visceral, technically perfect performance, the regionals will be in our hands."

"I like Oasis." Santana put on her cold coat and got into the passenger seat and I, as always stayed on the right side of the back seat. "The music is great, but don't you think we should come up with something with more energy?"

"Please! No more Kate Perry and Lady Gaga. I can't take any more autotune."

"You don't know what was released exactly today that I'm already enjoying..." Santana waved the new cell phone.

"What?"

"Titanium, David Guetta's new one with Sia's vocals. It's going down. Write down what I'm saying. The lyrics are great, you can use the high notes, we can do a lot of cool vocal arrangements."

"Really? I need to hear this."

I listened to the music. Santana was right. Preparing a brand new song like that would surprise the other group. I wanted to be able to tell my sister that she really was a genius without having to boost her ego.

"That's..."

"Incredible! You can tell, Ray, I'm a much better setlist researcher than you are."

Judging by Santana's contributions to repertoire suggestion in the choir, she was. But I would never admit it.

...

December 11, 2011

(Santana)

Hanukkah at the Berries' house didn't usually change over the years. Zaide took advantage of papi's presence to secure free medical consultations. He has been suffering from diabetes for some time, which was a focus of interest in Dr. Juan Lopez's research. Operating on diabetics was more delicate. He, as a general surgeon, wanted to develop a way to promote faster healing in a patient with this disease. Zaide was fully aware of my father's work and that's why he took advantage of it: he showed all the tests he had recently done, asked to measure the pressure and talked about prognoses. Zaide thought he was going to die at any moment from some sudden illness. Unfortunately, Papi wasn't there for him this year to make the free appointments.

That was my problem. Not exactly Zaide's diabetes, but the fact that he was so paranoid. Zaide thought that only I could take over the family business and that I should get ready as soon as possible. As I didn't want to hurt him, I didn't retort. I just smiled and tried to change the subject. Dad would get angry and argue. He said he suffered the same thing when he was young until Zaide convinced himself that Dad was a failure as an administrator. He really was! Dad took very good care of our house together with papi, but he hated bureaucracy. But there was one thing dad and Zaide both agreed on: sending me to a school that was better suited to deal with my potential.

"I've been talking to my friend Caleb Weiz." Zaide sat in the leather armchair and lit a pipe. "He reaffirmed to me that he would intercede for Santana to get her to take the admissions test for Stuyvesant. She could use his residence address."

"I don't think this is a matter to discuss on a holiday, avi." Dad was always annoyed by zaide's meddling.

"But your stubbornness is eating into her precious time. Santana is no ordinary girl. She should be in New York learning at one of the best schools in the country."

"I agree with that part, but I've discussed it a million times with Juan, and he won't authorize it because he thinks Santana is too young to be alone in a city like New York. We know people there and Santana could live with our friends. Still, I can't force my daughter, and I can't override Juan's authority."

"Please!" I practically begged the adults in the room to change the subject. "I'm happy where I am. Besides, I go to those special super-nerd classes. They're really nice." They weren't nice at all. Basically the teacher would have us read something and give us high-level college exercises to solve. So I spent three hours a week with other super-nerds studying complex problems and math equations. Sometimes it was in pairs, but most of the time I studied alone. The only good thing was that the exercises were really challenging and kept me entertained.

"I say the right thing, yeled." Zaide ignored me and focused on the adults. "I've given you every opportunity I could. But I don't see that you do the same for your bat."

"Joel!" Bubbee nudged Zaide. "You promised!"

Zaide stared into bubbee's intense green eyes and fell silent. The whole family breathed a sigh of relief. My grandparents never argued about Rachel's Broadway dream. Since my sister's head was really on the clouds, I guess they thought the stages and the dazzle of celebrity might be the best path for her. I wasn't as lucky. Zaide says that since he had little time left to live, he wanted to at least retire and enjoy what little he had left on a world cruise together with bubbee. It's his dream that I go to Harvard, graduate with honors and merits. I wasn't sure it was my dream. I was focused on other things my age and Brittany.

My theory was that zaide wanted me to fulfill all the dreams he laid out for daddy, and didn't. He couldn't attend a university because he was poor, and he was frustrated that Dad got into OSU to do Botany instead of Business. Since Rachel was a nullity, then it was left to me. Zaide openly said that he would pay for all of my schooling if I was accepted to Harvard.

Bubbee wouldn't get involved in this or any other discussion involving Rachel's future or mine. She was always quiet, kind of disinterested. A strong image I had of bubbee, besides her intense green eyes, was of her stern figure with me, although she melted with Rachel. I don't know if it was because it was obvious that I wasn't Dad's biological daughter or if my sister could simply communicate with her through music. It was tradition for us to celebrate Hanukkah with a special number of Rachel singing some Jewish song with bubbee on the piano. I rarely participated, and when I did, it was to do the second voice. Bubbee owned an impressive collection of classical and jazz sheet music, as well as a library of Jewish authors. In the middle of the home's library was the imposing black Steinway piano that she played to perfection.

It was tradition that we always celebrated the last day of Hanukkah in Cleveland with my grandparents. Zaide, Dad and I would put on our kippah. The little hat was a symbol that God is always above us and that we should be humble. Jewish women had no such obligation, but let's just say I was sentenced. I did a prank as a child and was scolded by Rabbi Amnon and my dad in front of a lot of people. Because of that, to get even, I broke into his room during a festival and stole rabbi's all underwear and some clothes could find. I took everything to his winter garden of the house and set it on fire. I almost burnt down the rest of the house in the process. Rabbi Amnon was furious and said that from then on I would have to wear the kippah. Even though I was a woman, I clearly needed to remember that God is above me. So, I started using it during synagogue prayers and religious events such as Hanukkah.

We would pray at the table, bubbee would ask Rachel to accompany her in Jewish songs. We would light the last candle of the menorah and then have supper: quite a feast for the five of us. Afterwards we exchanged gifts, usually small pieces of jewelry. Every year it was the same and I loved it.

The next day, just before going back to Lima, I found Zaide in his office. I knocked on the door and entered slowly, respecting his space.

"Boker tov, zaide."

"Boker tov, Santana." He smiled at me and waved for me to sit down.

"Working on Sunday?"

"Io. Just checking some numbers from the factories..."

"Can I help you?" I knew I was going to chip away with the question, but I couldn't help it. Biological or not, he was my beloved grandfather and I loved him. Zaide handed me some spreadsheets full of numbers. I read them well.

"What do you see?"

"Things are in the green, zaide. But it looks like you need to make some cuts to improve finances. Isn't that what this graph says?" I pointed and Zaide nodded. "The most obvious solution is to reduce the workforce and mechanize more. On the other hand, laying off seems cruel and socially disastrous." He smiled and took off his glasses.

"What would you do?"

"I can't say. Maybe I would do the reverse strategy that the spreadsheet shows. I'd invest in capacity building to improve the relationship with productivity before cutting heads. The factory can be more productive with more motivated and empowered employees. It's possible to make positive media out of this. But if the strategy doesn't work in a certain timeframe, then plan B will unfortunately need to be made."

"It's a possibility." He took back the spreadsheets. "You're a natural, you know that?"

"I'm just good with numbers."

"You should be out of Ohio. At least your father and I agree on that."

"I want be out of Ohio." I was honest. "But not before school's over. I have my friends, my home, my comfort."

"Don't you think one of the best schools in the country would be worth the sacrifice? You're almost 17, Santana."

"Maybe."

"You could go to Harvard, Santana. Your destiny is to be great. You're wasting time in that little town."

"I can still go to Harvard... although it's more complicated to get accepted with cheerios and choir figuring into my extracurricular activities."

"Stuyvesant could give you this chance. Don't pass up the opportunity. My friend Caleb Weiz assured me he would assist you. He would even offer you an internship at his company. In addition, your father and I agreed to give you an allowance so that you could live comfortably."

"Zaide, it's all very tempting, but I don't want to think about it now."

"I will try to keep this window open as long as I can, Santana. Stuyvesant's internal selection tests take place in February, and this will be your last chance to study for at least a year at a school that matches you. I hope it will be enough until the moment you decide to think seriously about your own future."

"Whatever has to be, will be. Isn't that what you always say?"

He stood up and pet my head. He wasn't happy with my reluctance, but he wasn't going to push me beyond what was acceptable either.

By mid-afternoon, after recovering from a lunch fit for royalty, we said our goodbyes. I hugged my grandparents, and the rest of my family did the same. Dad always came last. I was standing nearby when he said, "I love you," to his parents before we got in the car and headed back to Lima.

...

December 12, 2011

(Rachel)

I arrived excited to gather my choir group and present my proposals. I had researched a few things on the internet like some of the new rock band inspired musicals, Sia clips, costumes, possible arrangements to take advantage of the five voices. I would show mr. Schue that we could be epic and technically perfect without losing heart. But first, I'd have to wait for calculus class, the last one before the lunch break. Santana was distracted and apparently wouldn't get up to any mischief with the teacher. Quinn was next to her, Mercedes was on the bench immediately next to the two of them, and I, as usual, was sitting up front. No matter how hard I tried to pay attention, I couldn't concentrate. My sixth sense told me something was about to happen.

"Santana and Rachel Berry-Lopez." Ms. Pillsbury interrupted the class. "Would you please grab your things and come with me?"

My heart raced. I looked at Santana two seats back, and she seemed to be as confused as I was. I looked at the other students in our class. Quinn and Mercedes were frowning, looking worried. That kind of call, for no apparent reason, was never a good sign. I packed my things as quickly as I could and held my sister's hand as she passed me. Her hand was freezing.

"Do you know what happened?" I whispered to Santana, but she gave me a negative look.

Mrs. Pillsbury escorted us to the lockers and asked us to put everything away. At this point, I was about to throw up in the middle of the hallway from anxiety. Our counselor's face wasn't the best one.

"Ms. Pillsbury, could you tell me what's going on?" My voice was almost a whisper.

"Put the materials away first. I'll explain later."

"No! Explain it now!" Santana exploded. "Can't you see that this suspense is killing us?"

"They called from the hospital." I leaned on Santana because my legs were wobbly. "Please girls. Let's go to my office."

"For God's sake, what happened?" Tears were already streaming down our faces.

"Could we..."

"No!" Santana held my arm tightly. "Just tell me what happened. I don't know if I'll be able to get two steps beyond here."

"There was an accident... with your father, Mr. Berry. I don't know any more details, girls, I swear. All I know is that they called from the hospital..."

I heard nothing more. Everything went dark.

...

(Santana)

Hiram Joel Berry was born on August 14, 1964 in New York. He was the son of blue collar worker Joel Berry and pianist Sarah Berry. Despite poor parents, he had a good childhood in one of the world's largest metropolises in a revolutionary era. Civil rights marches were breaking out, the Vietnam War was at its height, women were burning bras in the streets and wearing miniskirts, the United States was experiencing Beatlemaniac and also the Woodstock festival, MoMA was opened, My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins were on the silver screen.

Of course, Dad wouldn't experience any of this, because his adolescence took place between the late 1970s and early 1980s, which was a highly sexualized time and there was AIDS going on. He would enjoy a quiet childhood in Brooklyn with no luxuries, but food was always on the table, and also hot water, electricity, in a modest, clean apartment. While still a child, at the age of eight, he moved to Cleveland, Ohio. Joel Berry had saved enough money to start a small textile mill with the help of financing from Lionel Weiz, his former employer. As Joel's business prospered in the American Midwest, little Hiram began to enjoy a life of comfort. He went to high school in Cleveland and was accepted to Ohio State University in Columbus, where he could study botany, contrary to his father's wishes. Dad said that going to OSU was one of the happiest moments of his youth. It was as if his lungs were filled with freedom.

Hiram was a normal boy who liked to get into pranks with his friends. He had a rebellious side, although he got good grades in school. He and his friends liked to go camping in the parks and preserves around Cleveland. Instead of fishing, as they said they would, the kids wanted to smoke pot and drink. As a teenager, Dad discovered he was gay when he fell in love with a friend. He was never matched with that person, but his first boyfriend, a guy called Nick, was soon to arrive. I've never met this Nick guy because he died from AIDS a long time ago.

He came out to his father when he was in college. The news wasn't well received by Joel and they stopped speaking with each other. But Sarah Berry not only kept talking to her son, hidden from her husband, but she also paid for Hiram's college. It was in Columbus that he met the recently retired from injury, former Buckeyes football player and future doctor Juan Ernesto Lopez. They met through mutual friends, and soon discovered they had chemistry. At a party, Hiram kissed Juan. It ended with a broken nose, due to a gay panic from Juan, who hadn't yet explored this other side of him. But Juan was so sorry, he went to apologize. They got back together, and Hiram showed Juan the gay side of the force.

A few years later, Hiram and Juan held a symbolic wedding in Cleveland, witnessed by a few friends and the Lopez family. At the time, Juan was a medical resident, and Hiram worked as a technician for a company specializing in fertilizers. They overcame many personal, family, economic and social obstacles, but they had each other. One day, they felt the need to start a family with children. A colleague of Juan's had specialized in human fertility, and had opened a clinic with other partners. This colleague was friendly, and said she would do the procedure for Juan and Hiram, charging only logistical costs. But they would have to bear the cost of the donor.

They searched for their ideal woman while saving money to pay for the surrogate. They found young Shelby Corcoran, just 20, who had registered with the clinic. They got in touch. Shelby agreed to donate her eggs and bear the couple's child for money that would be enough for her to try her luck on Broadway. She ended up bearing two, or rather two little girls: me, Santana Berry-Lopez, and my sister, Rachel Berry-Lopez.

Our birth was much celebrated in the Lopez family and furthered Hiram's rapprochement with his father. The four of us moved to Lima, Ohio, following a job opportunity offered to Juan Lopez as a surgeon. For Juan Lopez, the move was easy, as he was in his American hometown (where he settled after arriving from Santiago, Chile). For Hiram Berry, the move to a small, conservative city like Lima was a torment. He, who had been away from religion since his teens, received help from the city's only small Jewish community. It was Rabbi Amnon who took him in and helped him get a teaching job at the local Community College.

We formed a very happy unconventional family for many years. The stability of my parents' relationship was always a safe haven for all the crises my sister and I went through, typical or not for our age. Even when my parents' marriage started to go into crisis and they eventually split, they still did everything to maintain our emotional stability as best they could. But that was completely shattered on the eve of our 17th anniversary.

That day started like any other: shower, fight with Rachel over the toilet. For breakfast, Papi had scrambled eggs, I filled my belly with banana cereal while Rachel and Dad got the rabbit food they were so fond of. We ate while chatting about the day's agenda. Rachel and I had school. Papi wasn't due back at the hospital until tomorrow. Dad had mentioned a farm he would be visiting as part of a consulting job he was doing in parallel with his classes at the Community College. It was nice extra money. My sister and I said goodbye to Dad with the routine smack on his lips.

Hiram Berry, Dad, said goodbye to his ex-husband, promising to arrive shortly after lunch to keep the girls company. The farm worker Dad was supposed to visit picked him up at our front door, and they drove out of Lima and onto the state highway. Witnesses say that one of the truck's tires burst. The car also went out of control due to the slippery road and overturned several times when it fell into a small cliff.

While the paramedics were communicating to the nearest equipped hospital (Lima Memorial Hospital), Papi was told that there had been an accident with two victims in serious condition. As chief surgeon, he did what was his job routine: he mobilized the trauma teams and waited for the two ambulances to arrive. He was paralyzed when the victims arrived at the hospital and he learned that the identity of one of them was Hiram Berry. The trauma team didn't let Papi get close to Dad, because that would have entailed very serious ethical problems. Nevertheless, because of his status as chief, Papi watched the surgery from the observation room. He was the one who told us to call and get us out of school.

Dad arrived at the hospital with multiple fractures and internal bleeding and papi, despite being barred from entering the operating room, pointed out the ways to try to fix it. Juan Lopez was the best general surgeon in that hospital, and Dad needed the best in action. It was more than five hours fighting for life on the operating table.

Rachel fainted as soon as she heard. I only didn't do the same because I had to help my sister. I crouched down beside her, straightened her body and lifted her legs, as papi taught in first aid. Rachel came back to consciousness quickly, but I forced her to lie still for a few minutes, even with a few curious haters passing in the hallway and Mrs. Pillsbury running for help. She returned to where we were along with coach Sue Sylvester.

"We need to get Rachel to the infirmary." Mrs. Pillsbury was distressed.

"No. That was nothing!" I said firmly. "We're going to the hospital to see my father."

"But Rachel can't."

"She will." I said firmly, defiantly, despite being on the verge of a breakdown. "It's our dad, Coach! It's going to be much worse if you make us stay here."

"S, you need to do what is best for your sister. She doesn't seem to be in any condition to live through this shock." The coach insisted. "Stay with me in my office, which is much more comfortable. It's just to get the adrenaline down. Then I promise I'll take you both to the hospital myself."

"I know what's best for my family. Hospital. Now!" I screamed. I didn't have the mind to ponder what the coach had suggested. In fact, I barely listened to her.

I helped my sister up. Rachel was confused, but I couldn't stop to explain things. I slipped her arm around my shoulders and held her tightly around the waist. We walked slowly to the parking lot, accompanied by Mrs. Pillsbury. She showed us to her car and drove away without making pathetic comments like "have confidence", "everything will be fine" and all that other nonsense we would hate to hear right then. The silence was great. I had to say thank you, because I wouldn't have been able to drive, let alone Rachel. I had the impression that the drive was longer than usual, but we made it.

As soon as the receptionist saw us, she asked us to enter a kind of VIP waiting room of the surgical center. It wasn't a procedure to send relatives to this space, but we had this privilege because we were the daughters of the chief surgeon and, by that time, all the staff of the surgical center were aware of what had happened.

There was nothing special about the room except that the families of other patients did not access it. There was a television that was turned off, couches, a rack with magazines from three years ago, a water filter with a 20-liter gallon, a painting on the wall, and a trash can. I made Rachel sit next to me on the couch. She said she felt nauseous and dizzy. I kept an arm around her the whole time and sometimes forced her to rest her head against my shoulder. Time seemed to stand still. The hands didn't move, the minutes didn't pass, the hours seemed like days. But I stood there patiently until the trauma department chief walked over to us. I looked at him and held my breath. I prayed he would bring good news.

"We were able to stop the internal bleeding and stabilize him..." The doctor was saying and I was trying my hardest to catch the context of the information. How hard it was to concentrate. "...Dr. Lopez is with your father right now." And he looked at Pillsbury. "Mr. Berry, the patient, used blood from stock and it's hospital policy to kindly ask relatives to donate blood to replenish stocks. It's not compulsory. It's just a kindness to help the patients who are coming. It's a shame that the hospital's stock is often low. If it's possible to summon family and friends..."

"I'll donate!" I volunteered.

"We will check your weight to see if you have the minimum to donate." The doctor warned as he took a look at my sister. The doctor cautioned as he took a look at my sister. "I have been informed that both of your blood types are B+, which is always a blood type we need." Yes, because unfortunately we had the same blood type as Shelby Corcoran.

"My blood is O+." Ms. Pillsbury volunteered. "I can donate and I'll let others know to do the same."

"Thank you!" My voice came out a whisper.

"What about you, Rachel?" The doctor put his hand on my sister's face. "I'm going to put you in the ward. You need to have an IV with some medicine to ease this discomfort."

"No!" She replied firmly, which surprised me. "You bring the IV and the medicine and I'll take it... but I'm staying here."

"Nonsense. We'll keep you informed anywhere. You're not going in those downstairs emergency rooms, if that's what you're thinking."

"Ray..."

"Okay. That's fine."

Ms. Pillsbury reported that there were some people waiting for news in the hospital common waiting room, and that our friends from the choir were aware and on their way. I didn't want our friends to have the trouble. I got Mrs. Pillsbury's cell phone and talked to mr. Schue. I appreciated the concern, but I didn't want to deal with anyone who wasn't family. We learned later that some people from the choir, Dad's students, and coworkers came to donate blood and wait for news, even though we weren't willing to see them. I found it touching. I donated blood myself, but Rachel couldn't because of the medication she was taking to feel better.

"Do you think he'll make it?" Rachel asked me.

"Daddy don't you dare leave us." I joked and squeezed her hand. "I'd be at a disadvantage in the television contest."

Papi appeared in the infirmary still in scrubs. He was exhausted and wiped out. He greeted Mrs. Pillsbury and thanked her for being with us all this time. First he hugged me. Rachel was on an IV with medication, so he hugged her more gently and then sat down heavily in the chair.

"Hiram has arrived..." He gave a pause as if he had to remember the words. Rachel and I started crying harder. "In pretty bad shape. The team was able to stabilize him, and the machines are now doing their job to sustain his life, but it's going to be a very hard fight!"

My father broke down right in front of us. It was touching and scary at the same time. He was the kind of man who didn't allow himself to vent emotions. Yes, I had seen him cry before, but quiet tears and watery eyes. Never open, desperate crying. I rushed to hug him and cried along. I felt another arm wrap around us. Rachel had ripped out the damn IV to join us.

...

(Rachel)

Mrs. Pillsbury was kind enough to drive us home in the middle of the afternoon after an express order from papi. The first thing we did was take a shower, together so as not to waste time. Since we were eight years old, Santana and I had rarely shared the bathroom like that. We each ran to our own room and changed clothes. Papi had said we should stay home, but we wouldn't listen him. Not this time. Santana changed out of her uniform into jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, as well as her cold coat. I also changed my dress for a very similar outfit. Like the times, when we were children, that our parents dressed us in matching clothes. I would have found the coincidence interesting in a better circumstance.

"Girls?"

The female voice that called to us downstairs was definitely not Mrs. Pillsbury's. From the stairs I saw the taller, black-haired woman holding a months-old blonde baby on her lap. Shelby and Beth. They were the last people I expected to see. Shelby was living in Troy, a little town just outside Dayton that's a 50-minute drive from Lima. It was a surprise.

"What..." I was confused. Santana followed close behind.

"Apparently my phone number is on the list of people who need to be notified in case of an emergency. As soon as I heard that Hiram was in an accident, I hit the road with Beth. I met with Juan at the hospital minutes ago and he asked me to come here. I have your father's express orders to hold you both here, and I'm going to carry them out no matter what it takes. There's no need for you to go back to the hospital, and Hiram can't have visitors for the time being."

"What morals do you have to hold us here?" Santana shouted and I felt it right to hold her back even though I still felt weak. "You are a stranger! Mrs. P is more family than you!"

"It's your father's wish. No matter what happened this year. I'm here to keep an eye on you both and I will, whether you like it or not. If you don't want to see my face, then go up to your room and stay there." Shelby could be a scarier HBIC than Quinn and Santana combined. She turned to Mrs. Pillsbury. "Emma, I can't thank you enough for all your assistance and support. The girls are in good hands now and if you don't mind..."

"All right. Rachel..." She hugged me and kissed me on the top of my head. "I'll be available for whatever you need." She hugged Santana with equal affection before leaving. Only to return suddenly. "I almost forgot..." She took our cell phones out of her bag and put them on the living room table. We thanked her once again.

Beth looked beautiful. Her resemblance to Quinn was remarkable. She was in warm clothes because of the winter that was already here, and she looked in all directions, curious about her new surroundings. She soon became restless and Shelby placed a blanket on the carpet for her to sit and crawl on. Beth was seven months old, and a very smart baby.

"You may not want to hear this now, but I missed you, girls." Shelby said softly.

"Thanks Corcoran, but I'd rather be in the hospital." My sister was rude once again.

"I'm with Santana!"

"Okay, let's get a few things straight here. First of all, no 'Corcoran'. That's too cold, too informal even with in our history. It's 'Mom' to you, or 'Shelby'." She ran a hand through her hair and continued. "You have to be a little rational here: Juan is right now taking care of Hiram. He's put all his energy and heart into it. Then you show up at the hospital. What's going to happen? He's going to be worried about both of you and also about Hiram. That won't help anything, quite the opposite. The best thing you can do is stay here, eat something and pray for Hiram while your father and his team work as best they can."

"But..." Santana tried to counter, only to see Shelby with her finger extended and a strikingly repressive expression.

"Not only am I the adult here, I'm also your mother."

"How dare you show up here and want to be my mother?" Santana squawked, and I agreed with her up to a certain point, but Shelby didn't seem impressed.

"Forgive me for what happened between us, Santana. But honestly, it doesn't matter now. I am here at Juan's request, I have a task to fulfill and you will obey. Your father needs calm right now, and your other father needs all the energy he has left to get better. And you will help them both by staying here and not getting into trouble. Later you can go off and fuck up, but not now. Just sit there and be quiet."

Santana sighed and resigned herself. Shelby relaxed a little more when she felt she beat my sister in the brief game of nerves. I took the opportunity to hug her briefly. Despite everything, I was grateful that Shelby had shown up at the moment we needed her most. Santana preferred to sit on the carpet along with Beth. I could imagine what was going on in her head: my sister would like to get away from there. I would too. But what good would that do? Shelby was right because we wouldn't make any difference at the hospital.

"Are you hungry?" my mother asked me. It was strange to see her in my house for the first time in my life. I only wished it had happened under better circumstances.

"No... I... I don't even know what to do."

"Keeping your mind busy is good at times like this. Let's leave Santana with her little sister. From the looks of it, they got along very well. In the meantime, you help me prepare a snack in the kitchen. I hear you've had IVs and medication in your veins, and Santana donated blood. Sign that you need to eat asap, stay strong to help your father, okay?"

Shelby was absolutely right and at that moment I hated her for it. It was five in the afternoon, and we only had breakfast in our stomachs. I had to get stronger for my dads. It wasn't going to help anything if I fell ill. I did little but point out where she could find pans, cutlery, and the pantry. I couldn't stop thinking about Dad, but helping Shelby in the kitchen helped distract me, make me feel less weak. My mom showed that she was there because she wanted to be, to help us with whatever we needed. It was comforting, in a way, to know that she wanted to be there for me… for us during one of the worst times of my life. Shelby quickly made sandwiches. The appearance was excellent, but we could barely touch the food. We had no stomachs for it at that moment.

...

Our house filled up with people early in the evening. Everyone from the choir and mr. Schue showed up, plus abuela, Julio, Daniela, and Aunt Maria. There seemed to be tension with Noah and Quinn's reunion with Shelby and Beth. I couldn't pay much attention to the drama. That crowded house was making me claustrophobic and I ran to the safety of my room. It was nice to be secluded in my own little world while chaos ensued downstairs. I don't know how long it was before Santana joined me, carrying Beth on her lap.

"Shelby, Quinn and Puck are talking downstairs in the library and I think Sam is freaking out because he found out his girlfriend is already a mom." Santana laid down on my bed and put the baby between us. I started playing with Beth a little bit. "Brittany kissed me in front of everyone, including Artie, and god knows how much I needed it. I think I broke up Britt's fling pretty effortlessly. Mike and Tina picked up our car at school and they should be here soon. Finn just stopped by. He wanted to see you, but I wouldn't let him. Then he said something stupid that I can't remember, and left. I think he called me a selfish bitch or something. Tia Rosa called and said she'll be here tomorrow morning. Julio is hitting on Mercedes." Our older cousin had a thing for chubby girls. Except that Julio was 23 and Mercedes was 17. A possible courtship between the two might be legal because Mercedes was of consenting age under Ohio law. But that was odd. "Mr. Schue thinks he's a PR man. Abuela is one step away from telling him to fuck off." Abuela has little patience with people like Schuester. She was a very objective and even slightly aggressive. She didn't deal well with insecure nice guys.

"I haven't missed anything, then."

"Not really!" Santana turned to my side. "Are you holding it together?"

"No... I just wanted papi to arrive soon with news."

"Two."

The room went still, silent. Only Beth made adorable baby sounds at the ripe old age of seven months.

"Santy..." I looked over at my sister, who was starting to doze off. She looked exhausted. I was too.

I turned my attention to my other little sister, who was drooling over my stuffed animals. That's when someone knocked on my door and then opened it slowly, hesitantly. It was Quinn.

"Hi..." She was glued to the door, not taking her eyes off the baby. "I talked to Shelby and... she... let me see..."

"Beth?" I asked and Quinn nodded in the affirmative.

Quinn bit her lips, wiped away the tears and then approached cautiously. First she sat on the edge of the bed and watched her daughter roll onto her side and slap her little hand against Santana's face, who immediately mumbled the little one's name. Even though I was living through the whole crisis, just watching the scene made me emotional and positive. Quinn leaned over the bed and lightly stroked first her little legs and then the baby's whole body. She laughed and cried.

"Quinn..." Santana grumbled. "You can hold your daughter!"

Quinn didn't comment, she seemed to be in a trance as she continued to cuddle Beth, lost in her own world. She was crying and seemed not to notice us at all. Then she stood up and returned to her original position.

"Little by little." She mumbled to herself, then looked at us as if she had finally noticed our presence for the first time. "Shelby said she would let me visit Beth once in a while... on special dates, like her birthday or Christmas. She said she wouldn't make the same mistake with Beth and me that was made with you two."

"Good for you, Quinn." Santana was sincere. "And for Beth."

"Yes..." She wiped the tears on her face once more and laughed as Beth rolled once more on top of Santana, who picked up the baby and lifted her. Beth cracked a wide smile and wiggled her little legs and arms. Santana carefully placed her back on the bed and then sat down.

"Are you sure that..."

"No... if I pick her up now... I might run off and run away with her..."

"I see!" Santana and Quinn exchanged complicit glances.

"I am so sorry for what happened to your father. I stopped by the hospital to donate blood, and I pray that he can recover. Hiram was always nice to me, despite my dad."

"Thank you." Santana and I replied at the same time.

"I'll leave you two to rest." Quinn got up from my bed and headed for the door. "If you need anything... I don't have much to offer, and I know our relationship has never been the best... with either of you... but I want you to know that you can count on me. I really do. I really care about you. More than you know."

We nodded positively and Quinn left my room.

"That was intense!" I commented, but Santana ignored me, lost in her own thoughts.

A few minutes after Quinn, it was Shelby's turn to enter my room, and she was less formal and hesitant than our colleague. She warned that most people had left, because abuela lost her temper and practically threw everyone out. Abuela was right: we didn't need a house full of people in those circumstances. Only tia Maria, Shelby and Abuela remaining. Shelby said that she was going to spend the night with us, that she would sleep on the couch, but that first she needed to go out to buy a toothbrush. She asked if she could leave Beth in our care.

"You don't have to go and buy any of this, Mom," I told her. "We have new toothbrushes in the stock of hygiene products. You can use our bathroom to wash up and you can sleep in my room with Beth tonight. I'll sleep with Santana in her room."

"Thank you Rachel. I appreciate your consideration."

"You're welcome."

Santana didn't say anything, but from the look on her face, I knew she wouldn't make any kind of opposition to this proposal.

Santana and I went down stairs with Beth and Shelby to stay with abuela and tia Maria. I don't know what was so special about that old Chilean lady, but just being near her calmed me down. It was almost the same effect Dad had when he hugged me in the TV room and nurtured me with sweet, comforting words.

"De cualquier manera, Dios sólo se reserva lo mejor. La confianza en Dios, mi niña."

Santana and I leaned on abuela, benefiting from our grandmother's love, while tia Maria took care of Beth, saying she needed to train to be a grandmother, and Shelby took care of the house... or tried to. Santana ended up napping on our grandmother's lap. Late in the evening, tia Maria and abuela left because Shelby assured them that everything was under control. It was almost midnight, Shelby had already put Beth to sleep in my bed, when papi arrived home. He was with his lab coat and scrubs still on. I looked at the clock, it was midnight. He went straight to the library, without talking to anyone. Santana and I both went after him. We found our father sitting in his favorite armchair. He was crying copiously. Santana and I started crying too.

"Hiram... I'm so sorry my daughters. I did everything in my power... I swear I did. But he's brain dead. He's not coming back to us anymore."

Hiram Joel Berry died young, at age 47, on December 12, 2011. He left two daughters.

I'm going to miss my dad so much...