(Quinn)

"We need to establish some rules here!"

The only reason I didn't roll my eyes was because it hurt. My hangover had reached colossal proportions, and a small gesture like that was only going to make it worse. Mike got us together as soon as I woke up and I was more or less in the mood by mid-afternoon. Johnny, poor thing, didn't even go to work. He was the poorest among us, and having days' pay deducted made a huge difference. Even so, he accepted the supreme summons of Michael Chang, the actor. I was beginning to hate actors.

"No drinking in this house until things get back to normal!" He decreed. All he had to do was literally bang the gavel.

"I know my vote is worthless because I'm just a tenant passing through, but that's bullshit." Jonnhy spoke with his usual calmness, but with an uncharacteristic seriousness. That's why he caught Mike's eye. "Dude, it's true that this is your apartment and you can do with it as you please, but why are you decreeing this kind of thing? There are three people here in this room who are over 21, raised and vaccinated. We are not children. Everyone is responsible for their own actions and desires. You have every right not to want drinks in here, but you're only saying that because of Quinn. You're patronizing her, man. I can reach out to a friend of mine and give him an advice if I don't think they are doing the right thing. If I think they could harm themselves, I have an obligation to be honest. But the truth is that I'm nobody's father. And neither you're my parents. Not to mention that there is such a thing as common sense." Still pondering his voice, he continued to stare at Mike. "Banning drinking in the house won't solve Quinn's problem. Locking her in an apartment was an atrocity... in fact, it was one of the stupidest things I've seen you do in all this time, Bro. And you Quinn..." It was my turn to feel the weight of Johnny's countenance. "I love you and I understand your pain. I'm sympathetic. But drinking like this isn't going to make Rachel forgive you, nor is it going to make things better. I'll tell you something else: you're lucky the bartender was too nice a guy to call people for an address. You're lucky the taxi driver was a decent guy who didn't rape you on the way. And I can assure you that it would have been very easy for a guy like that to pull his car over on any street and make a mess of you, and throw you in a ditch."

"I didn't want to cause you any trouble..." I whispered sullenly.

"Relax, okay? I'm not going to tell you what you should or shouldn't do, Quinn. I don't want you to feel bad. I won't stop liking you if you decide to detonate another bottle of whisky in half an hour's time. But I've given you my advice. It's up to you."

Mike was so angry at Johnny's speech that I thought our friend would become homeless in no time. But all he did was slap his own leg and go into his bedroom. I felt even guiltier for causing trouble between them. Johnny went into the bathroom with clothes in hand and came out more or less tidy.

"Tell Mike I'll be late."

"Woman?"

"I wish. There's this friend in Brooklyn who's looking for someone to split the rent with. I'll come over, have a beer and see what happens."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, Quinn."

Johnny kissed me on the forehead and left. I found myself alone in that room I was beginning to hate. I picked up my cell phone and checked my messages and calls. There were a few from my mother and colleagues. There was one from Alex, perhaps to talk about some new work, but I honestly wasn't willing to do anything. I didn't want to answer anyone. The person I most wanted to text or call had forgotten me. But I hadn't forgotten her. I clicked on Rachel's name and left the message for the umpteenth time.

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you" - Quinn

Then I clicked on another name again: Satan.

"Hi." I smiled when I heard the full-bodied, slightly hoarse voice.

"Hi!" There was a brief, awkward silence.

"What's up?"

"How are things there?"

"Business as usual." Santana seemed a little too excited.

"She's right there beside you, isn't she?"

"You bet."

"What are you doing? Sounds like you're on the street."

"Nothing much, my sister and I are going to the movies soon."

"Is she okay?"

"Living life."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"Right now, I don't think that's going to be possible. Why don't you call me later? We can work something out."

"Okay..." I was frustrated. "I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry, San. I can't go back and fix my mistakes, but know that if she forgives me, I swear I'll try to do everything in my power to make everything better, so that she doesn't get hurt again. And I'm so sorry..." I started to cry. I was tired of crying, but I couldn't help it.

"Okay, Iza. Good to hear you're back. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

There was a horrible feeling of emptiness when the phone went dead. I cried harder. I felt that my life, at that moment, was a waste. I left the apartment and walked to the market. I bought a bottle of vodka and went home. Maybe the drink wouldn't do the trick, but I needed it at that moment.

...

(Rachel)

I didn't want to leave the house, but Santana insisted that I should distract myself. She was doing everything she could to help me: she made breakfast, cleaned the house, chatted about the most unimaginable things and even watched musicals with me. Santana Berry-Lopez watched a marathon involving West Side Story, Funny Girl and Rent! Can you imagine? She even commented that the actress who played the hot lesbian looked like our mother: it was true: Idina Menzel was a Broadway goddess and her physical resemblance to my mother was remarkable. My mother and Idina Menzel would certainly have been on those lists of actors who looked alike if my mother had become famous.

The only thing my sister refused to do was discuss the day I got drunk and poured out certain frustrations that I tried to lock away deep down. The day before yesterday, she took me to the off-off-Broadway theater with Andrew to see a crummy play. Yesterday we walked around Central Park and saw what summer activities there were. Today it was the movies.

We were in line to get in when her phone rang. She pushed my popcorn to get her bag and was tense, even though she spoke casually. Santana could be a good liar for a lot of people, except me. I knew my sister's body postures like no one else.

"Quinn left one more message..." I said as soon as she hung up. Santana's eyes widened as if she'd been startled. "She said the same as always." I used my training to keep my voice casual.

"Why don't you call her? At least ask if she's okay." Santana sounded a little choked up, which led me to believe that maybe it was Quinn on the phone.

"Not now..."

"Okay."

"So Izabella's in Manhattan?" I was preparing to jump the gun. The line at the movie theater began to move. "Didn't she lose her scholarship and drop out of college?"

"That's right..." Santana used long pauses when she wanted to buy time to invent any story. "She came to sort out some things and asked me to go out in the meantime."

"Are you going?"

"What?"

"Go out with her?" I pressed. "Isn't she one of your best friends from college? Wasn't that a friendship with benefits of yours? You should take the opportunity to meet her."

"We have to pack our things for the trip to Lima."

"We're traveling on Friday and that wouldn't stop you from going out tomorrow or even today, would it?"

"Ray... what do you want?" There, I beat her to it.

"She's the one who called you, isn't she?" I meant Quinn and Santana just nodded. "Have you two been talking?" Again she shook her head, only in the negative. I believed her. "What did she want?"

"To know about you, of course." I said a little harshly.

"Okay." I tried to keep my emotions in check. "You don't have to lie to me, Santy. The next time she calls to ask about me, just say so. It's not that you're forbidden to talk to her, although I'd appreciate it if you were 100% on my side." We started walking to enter the session.

"That's not the point, and I'm 100% on your side."

"What's the point?"

"You don't want to talk about Quinn. Fine, you have every right and reason to. It's just that I can't feel angry with her."

"Nor do I feel angry with her. But that's not enough for me to want to talk to her again any time soon."

"I see. The wound is still open." Santana said as I helped her walk sideways down the row to our seats. When we sat down, she spoke again. "I hate these crutches."

"It's a good thing you have another assessment next week. Maybe the doctor will release you from the boot."

"Maybe..."

The lights went out and the trailer started.

...

July 24, 2015

(Rachel)

There was nothing special going on in Lima. No birthday parties or celebratory events of any kind. I just wanted to take advantage of the week off my schedule to get out of New York for a bit and enjoy my parents' company for a few days before I left for Canada to shoot my part in the movie. Santana went with me because she didn't like to miss the opportunities she had to see our family: not to mention the fact that she struggled to get around on her own with her temporary physical limitations.

The more time I spent away from home, the more Santana felt attached to our old parents. I missed abuela very much. My sister didn't want to leave me alone on the road either. She didn't trust me behind the wheel because she said I was an inattentive driver. It was a lie, I was an attentive driver. The problem was only that Santana didn't trust me. She couldn't do anything, though, because she had injured her right foot. In other words, Santana couldn't drive anyway.

In the late hours of the morning, I went downstairs and put our luggage in the car. Our suitcases were practically identical in weight and size. The plan was to spend five days resting in Ohio. I couldn't wait to get home and lay my head on the pillow. My sister would certainly enjoy the swimming pool, although she would have to wait for my father to give the go-ahead, as we didn't know if the chlorinated water in the pool would do any good for someone with wounds that were in the process of healing. Our parents had just returned from their honeymoon in New Zealand. My mother was still on vacation and available. My father had already returned to work at the hospital, and the old routine between regular shifts and on-call, so the days would basically be between the women of the family.

We hit the road before seven o'clock. My driving style was different to my sister's. Santana was a good driver, but she had a heavy foot. I had a controlled pace, prudent and attentive behind the wheel.

"We'll make the trip in nine hours at this speed." Santana complained for the umpteenth time and we had barely left NYC.

"I'll drive and you're in charge of the music. Wasn't that the deal? The thing is, I'm doing my job very efficiently and you're still sitting on your hands."

Santana said she had prepared a playlist of songs for the road, or so she thought. Most of the songs were old because she said that current artists no longer knew how to make a good song with a melody to relax to while driving. Santana liked little of today's pop: Maroon 5, Ed Sheeran, Drake, Kendrick Lamar... but she hated what she called Disney's brats. Santana also discovered things that were obscure to me, like a group called Little Joy, which was a project by the Strokes' drummer.

"One too many goals/ that measure out your worth/ to seek your weight in gold/ Sat by the ivory sill/ the further out you look/ the furtherout you'll be"

Little Joy's song sounded like something from 1960s California sung by a guy with a lazy, off-key accent. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't memorable either.

We still heard the urban melancholy of Stornoway, Yo La Tengo, Wilco and the Brazilians Bossacucanova, who Andrew once showed and Santana really liked. She didn't understand the words. Portuguese has similarities with Spanish, yet the language sounded alien and, at the same time, extremely melodic. She selected Elis Regina. Another tip from Andrew. We heard the soft touch of the piano almost inaudible because of the noise of the car on the road and the voice began firm and dry:

"Ontem de manhã quando acordei/ Olhei a vida e me espantei/ eu tenho mais de 20 anos/ eu tenho mais de mil perguntas sem respostas/ estou ligada num futuro blue/ os meus pais nas minhas costas/ as raízes na marquise/ eu tenho mais de vinte muros/ o sangue jorra pelos furos pelas veias de um jornal/ eu não te quero/ eu te quero mal."

"Is this singer coming to play in New York one day?" I asked. "I like her voice. She sounds like those singers who perform in the jazz clubs in the Village."

"Only in the Village of Heaven, because that singer has been dead for decades!" Santana smiled at my ignorance.

"Well... you're the expert on international divas. Not me!"

"Andrew listens to these songs because of his mother, who is Brazilian. He bought me this album of compilations of Brazilian singers, which is really cool. He said that of the American singers who try to sing in Portuguese, the best is Esperanza Spalding. I don't have an opinion... but I like her."

"Just for the fact that she stopped Justin Bieber from winning the award that year..."

"It's a question of common sense, Ray. The quality of her work doesn't even compare. Remember that concert we went to in Central Park?"

"The one where you hit that woman in the back with a water balloon and ran away so you wouldn't get hit?"

"I missed the target... anyway... the one with Spalding, Norah Jones and Suzanne Vega."

"Good concert..." I laughed as I remembered Santana's panicked face when she saw that she'd mistaken a woman for an enemy of hers from Columbia. Santana was afraid the gigantic woman would find out who had thrown the water balloon and disappeared. Half an hour later, Santana returned and watched the rest of the concerts.

The hours we spent on the road were pleasant and helped make the time to Lima pass more quickly. As soon as we arrived at our parents' house, we were greeted by my mother. She hugged me first, tightly. And suddenly my legs went limp. I started shaking and crying in her arms. It was a reaction I hadn't expected. Perhaps I'd been holding in my emotions too much over the last few days that I hadn't realized I was on the verge of a breakdown... another breakdown.

"It's going to be all right, kid." My mother whispered in my ear. "It's going to be okay."

It was so nice to have a lap, to have my parents' house to sit quietly in the corner without being judged or questioned. I took a long shower, put on some old clothes, and there was my mother waiting for me with a can of ice cream in the TV room. My father was out, at the hospital, facing a 24-hour shift. Santana was doing a good job distracting Beth. I wouldn't have the patience to deal with someone who seemed more like the five-year-old version of Quinn Fabray. I settled against my mother's body as we watched a silly Latin soap opera. Ice cream helped heal. So did a mother's warmth.

...

July 25, 2015

(Quinn)

"I can't drink any more!" I massaged my temples. It wasn't just the hangover. My pee was weird, so was number two, my skin looked green, my hair started falling out and I think I had gastritis like Santana's, so bad was the burning in my stomach. I was sick.

"Then stop!" Mike shouted. "Your efforts to drown your sorrows are getting ridiculous."

I had neither the courage nor the morale to even complain about my friend's aggression. With great difficulty, I got up from the couch and walked over to the cell phone that I had forgotten on the charger. I unplugged it and started reading the messages left on it. There was one from Santana telling me that she and Rachel were in Lima and that I should take this opportunity to go home and get some new clothes. There was no further explanation, but I could imagine that Rachel would seek the Lopez's support on these occasions. What should it be? Maybe they'd hold a conference in Spanish and decide to hire a cabrón to teach me a lesson for breaking the little princess's heart.

"I made toast and tea." Mike offered. "You'd better eat some. I can't remember the day you put anything in that belly but alcohol."

I accepted the toast, but skipped the tea. I wanted cold water. My mouth was dry and I had deplorable breath. My head started spinning faster and I had to run to the bathroom before I could even chew my bread. I didn't drink that day, but I thought I was going to die of dehydration.

...

July 26, 2015

(Rachel)

My heart grew tiny when I saw abuela struggling to make the cookies she used to make in a second. She said her fingers hurt. The years were passing more and more quickly for abuela. She was still as active as ever and, of course, had the natural difficulties of age. My father said that a colleague of his had diagnosed abuela with a degenerative disease. She needed to be followed up by some specialists to monitor the progress of the disease which, in the end, would leave her confined to a bed. It was hard to convince her to undergo a thousand treatments at the same time, in an almost desperate attempt to give her more time. But I could understand that this routine between home and clinics must have been exhausting. My childhood was marked by days and days in the hospital nursery, waiting for papi to finish his shift, or waiting for Dad to pick us up.

I hadn't spoken to Abuela properly during my parents' wedding, but there I realized that she really did look tired, she walked more slowly than I remembered, she complained more about pain, something she did very little of. Only her huge smile and her joy at seeing us were the same. Santana, as always, was the first to hug and kiss her to the point of making her abuela complain. She didn't mind and even nibbled on her shoulder. She got a slap on the arm for her little prank. I was more emotional. I hugged Abuela gently and struggled not to cry with her for everything: for Quinn, for my grandmother's fragile health, even for the death of that flea-bitten dog.

Daniela, my cousin, was also there that afternoon. She managed Tio Pedro's craft breweries, which was something that finally brought her and Santana closer together, because they started talking in the same language. While they sat in the living room chatting like businesswomen, abuela asked me to help with the cookies because she couldn't knead them as the recipe called for. And kneading well was the secret.

"Su padre dice que hará se debut em la televisión." Abuela said with proud. "Mi nieta es realmente un artista!"

"Usted tiene que esperar meses para ver." I smilled to her. "Trajo um kit para usted. Tienes camiseta y unas pocas cosas."

"Voy a vestir La camiseta y decir con orgullo que mi nieta trabaja em el programa."

"Ia masa ya está em el punto?"

Abuela checked the texture and then tried it. Then she nodded positively. It was time to roll and shape the cookies. We sat down at the table covered in flour and began the second stage of the work. I had a faster and more concentrated pace, abuela could no longer compete in efficiency with that youth. She made the dumplings more slowly, but always steadily. While I rolled out four, she prepared two and put them on the baking sheet.

"Cómo está tu corazón?" I looked at my grandmother and frowned. That old woman wasn't in the best physical shape, but her mind and her ability to see people's souls were still intact.

"Angustiado."

"Tus ojos me dicen que. Algo anda mal con su noiva?"

"Quinn y yo nos separamos." I got up and put the first trays in the oven. There were two more to prepare.

"Qué lástima!" Abuela said. "Eras tan armoniosa. Qué pasó?"

"Ella me há traicionado. Quiero decir, luchamos porque Quinn creia que yo La estava engañando y hecho um lío. Yo lo saqué de La casa."

"No retorno?"

I faced my grandmother. It wasn't a casual question, although it was expected. I knew there was something else in that mind that wouldn't be satisfied with a simple answer. And come to think of it, I didn't even have one to give. Was there no back together? I thought to myself. Despite all the anger in the world, I had the feeling that nothing was final.

"Él habló com Ella después?"

"No." I confessed embarrassed.

"Usted debe. Um gran amor no puede morir de forma gratuita."

"Quinn se perdió."

"Todos cometemos errores. Y si nos equivocamos, ni siquiera merecen una segunda oportunidad para hacerlo bien?"

"Alguna vez há dado uma segunda oportunidad a su marido?"

"Mi querida Rachel, su abuelo nunca perdió por segunda vez." And she smiled in such a way that I could assume several things.

"Eu a amo, abuelita, pero me duele demasiado."

"No hay dolor que el tiempo no resuelve, querida. Tenga paciencia."

...

July 29, 2015

(Santana)

It felt like some kind of Corcoran-Berry-Lopez convention in the middle of Breadstix. My mother said she was too lazy to cook and took us out for lunch. We both ordered the same fillet steak while Rachel stuck to her usual vegetarian dish. Beth made a fuss about the macaroni and cheese, which was a simple dish on the menu for the children. Beth was within her rights. Girls that age still made a mess with their food, right? In between mouthfuls, I was served the long-awaited bread rolls that I hadn't had in ages. They were still delicious.

To be honest, even I needed this break in the schedule, this travel to Lima for a breather. Not because things in New York were complicated: I was doing well at college, my relationship was on track, my company wasn't a hit, but it wasn't making a loss either, not to mention keeping my friends busy. There was also the Weiz problem, which seemed to have settled down since Rachel and I signed an agreement with him.

Being in Lima was a happy and familiar time. No one talked about choir or McKinley High anymore. I didn't even know if New Directions existed anymore, nor did I know if I cared: high school was an outdated issue, far removed from me. I was surprised to have the first friendly, civilized conversation with my cousin Daniela since I could remember. We had much more in common than we could have imagined. It was disturbing and exciting at the same time. Daniela has taken over the family business so well that Tio Pedro is thinking of retiring.

Daniela is three years older than Rachel and me, and this age difference didn't help us to be closer in childhood and adolescence. My sister and I were always the brats from Daniela's perspective, not to mention that she was always a very cool girl, full of don't touch me. But now that we were adults, this age difference no longer mattered, and we were finally able to sit down and talk in a friendly way. Daniela took on the brewery and winery management by vocation and in a natural way.

As much as she hates the actual planting part, Daniela is enthusiastic about production and knows how to taste beer and wine like no one else in the family. She recently graduated in Agribusiness from the University of Kentucky, and is putting her knowledge to good use. She says that she and Tio Pedro will soon be expanding both the brewery and the winery, and it seems that the purchase of my uncle's neighboring farm has been agreed. What do you know, Daniela even gave me some tips and contacts, not to mention that we're going to look into how one business can help the other.

What I do know is that, surprisingly, talking to Daniela was much more productive than listening to Rachel cry. It's a good thing Shelby took on the role of mother and held my sister for a change. Maybe then Rachel will stop accusing me of supposedly being the world's favorite, while she's the bad guy's poop. Oh yes, there we were around the only subject that came up: my sister's relationship.

"I don't think I have anything more to talk about with Quinn." Rachel said for the umpteenth time in Lima. This time at the restaurant table. "We broke up."

"But you confessed to abuela that you loved her." I said it to provoke rather than force a thought.

"No one's saying you should go back together, kid." Shelby tried to shape her voice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't lose a certain bitchy air that she had cultivated over the years. "But it's essential that you sit down again and talk about it. This kind of cheating happens and, as much as it hurts and requires a lot of work afterwards, it doesn't have to determine the end of a relationship."

"I've never denied that I love Quinn, but I don't know if I'm ready to see her so soon. She hurt me in the worst possible way."

"But as long as you don't talk to her civilly and resolve these issues, you'll never be at peace." Shelby argued. "If you don't want her anymore, you have to break up properly. She wasn't a two-week fling that you feel comfortable breaking up with over the phone. You lived with her, you got engaged. It's different."

"Not to mention that it could compromise your performance in the movie." I spoke out of spite and made a tremendous effort not to laugh despite Shelby's scolding look.

"Terrorist!" Rachel accused me and I received a light kick in the shin from my own mother.

"I know it's still very recent, Rachel. When did you split up? About ten days ago, right?" Rachel nodded. "It really is a short time for the size of the crime. But you have to consider a few things. Firstly, the length of your relationship. Three years isn't three days or three months, kid. You've been living under the same roof for all this time. Quinn has represented many things in your life, and I think you deserve, not least because of all your shared history, to have a moment to sit down and talk without shouting or crying. Like two adults. If you think you should forgive her, do it regardless of what other people think. Now, if you think that the story should end, that's fine too. Your sister will be by your side and, if you need me, I'll get on the first plane."

"Mom." She sighed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course!"

"Have you ever been in the same situation as me?"

Shelby looked at me and I looked back at her almost in panic. I decided to keep the sordid details of the pregnancy from Rachel. I didn't want to hurt her. I also didn't tell her the real reason why Shelby demanded more money so that we wouldn't split up after Papi chose to stay married to Dad. Rachel knows that Papi and Shelby slept together at the time, but not that they actually gave birth to a daughter in the traditional way. Rachel doesn't know that I'm a little older than the 29 minutes difference in our birth.

"In different ways, yes." Shelby began to explain with some caution. "My first boyfriend cheated on me with a close friend. I was 15 and I thought the world was going to end. I didn't forgive him, but I don't think relationships at that age are the best examples. I was on the other side, being the other woman. But the case involving Juan and Hiram was complex and different. Even so, I can say that being in the other woman's position also sucks, especially because I fell in love with Juan. In New York, Peter came along. He cheated on me countless times and I forgave him a few times, at least as far as I knew. The first time was the worst. The last time, not so much. In the end, our relationship became open and then nothing made sense anymore. I also had casual nights with some committed men, but I never really became a lover. I never got emotionally involved with any of them either. The last time I was in that position, it wasn't technically a cheating, but it was the worst of all: it was when I found out that your father had started dating that Tracy girl during the time we were off. Look... it was a hard blow that only didn't break me completely because I needed to look after Beth. Your father and I had to sit down and talk a lot after that."

"At least that story had a happy ending." I observed.

"It was tough. In fact, I owe my happiness today to you, Santana. If you hadn't come to my place that day to tease me and push me to fight for your father, I'd probably still be living the life of a single mother. Maybe I wouldn't even be in Ohio anymore."

"You're welcome, Mom." I munched on a bagel. "I'll send you a list of what I want for Christmas."

"Aren't you Jewish?"

"But I have nothing against getting gifts for Christmas."

"If you and papi fell in love back then, why didn't you stay together?" Rachel asked and I froze.

I thought the conversation was over and that we could pay the bill and just go home. But no! My sister had to keep asking that question! I looked at Shelby, who had her eyes closed and was shaking her head slightly.

"It's not something I'd like to discuss in the middle of a restaurant."

"I'm an adult, Mom. I can understand these things."

"Rachel, this is something I prefer to keep to myself, but I can tell you one thing: when I wasn't chosen, I wanted to die. I fell in love with Juan, we made love, and then he broke up with me. Worst of all, Juan made the right choice: he chose family over a dubious adventure that, at the time, could have had a very bad ending, given how different our lives and goals were. It took me a long time to understand that. And until I did, I suffered a lot! Today, I, Shelby Corcoran-Lopez, know that your father would have made the same decision as he did back then. And you know what? I'm right with him."

"Did you and Papi have a sexual relationship before or after Santana and I were conceived?" Rachel pressed.

"Before and after." Shelby replied.

"Is there any chance that I'm Dad's biological daughter?"

"Yes. The insemination was done, Rachel. And you had the correct gestational age at the time of the insemination."

"What about my sister?"

Shelby looked at me and sighed.

"Santana is older than you... two weeks older. You were born 29 minutes apart because Santana was ready, her sac ruptured and you... were just smaller. But because of the whole nature of my relationship with Juan and Hiram, the contracts and the whole story, the doctors induced labor. They forced your birth, Rachel. That's why the time difference between your birth and Santana's is 29 minutes."

Rachel stared at me.

"Did you know that?"

"Yes." I replied. What was the point of denying it?

"Since when did you know?"

"Since Barcelona."

"And in all that time, you never wanted to tell me why..."

"What's the point? That wouldn't change anything... as it never has."

Rachel shook her head and looked away from both of us. She stared at Beth for a few minutes. Our little sister didn't understand anything that was going on, why the tension was palpable at the table. That was the good thing about being a child. Beth was more concerned with eating her pasta and drinking her juice, as well as trying to draw attention to herself.

"Dad forgave papi... it's not hard to imagine that Santana and I played an important role in that." Rachel paused briefly and sipped her juice. I could see that she was trying to rationalize the situation. "Now I also understand why Dad hated you so much, mom, while papi always defended you in some way... you really deserve each other..."

Okay, now Rachel was even angrier. I can't blame her because I also reacted in a similar way when I found out.

"Rachel, if you think I regret getting involved with Juan back then, I tell you I don't. I regret many other things. I regret a lot of other things, but not getting involved with him." Shelby looked at me, and I knew exactly why she was saying it so confidently. "But I was the other one, I was immature, uncertain, with big dreams and no feet on the ground. Today I understand very well why Juan stayed with Hiram. He made the right choice. I know that my affair with Juan had an impact on their marriage. But I also know that they were happy together for some years, despite that crack in the crystal. Juan told me that the end of his and Hiram's marriage had nothing to do with my presence, so I'm at peace."

"You see?" Rachel said wryly. "Maybe Quinn and Monica are destined to be together, like you and my father. Why bother talking to her?"

"Because even if you don't want anything more to do with Quinn, the story between you two deserves a better ending." I replied, since Rachel could be belligerent about anything my mother said.

"You didn't pay that much attention to your ex-boyfriends." Rachel retorted.

"Because the only person I really loved was Brittany. Of the rest, the only one who would deserve that kind of attention would be Andrew. If I break up with him tomorrow, I'll have a clean talk. Because, despite everything, I'd like to have Andrew in my life. He's a true friend and I like him."

"I don't know if I want Quinn in my life."

"All right, Ray. But for that you need to make a clean cut."

Rachel grumbled. She didn't speak to me again, let alone Shelby, for the rest of the day. It was understandable: not only had she been bombarded with an inelegant part of our parents' story, but her head was boiling over because of Quinn Fabray.

...

July 31, 2015

(Quinn)

Carrying boxes wasn't easy when you had a hangover. I was happy for Johnny. He had found a studio apartment to rent in Union City, New Jersey. The place was very ugly, poor and a bit dangerous, if I may say so. Union City had narrow streets and a dangerous appearance, but the rents were in fact half the price of anything similar in the increasingly exorbitant New York. He arranged a car with a friend of his (Johnny had no shortage of friends and acquaintances), and we worked together on the move. It took three trips with the boxes until we got the last one up to the second floor of the small salmon-colored building. It couldn't have been more tacky. The apartment was practically a reasonable-sized room with a small bathroom, no bathtub, and the kitchen was nothing more than a sink with a cupboard on top and a fridge in the corner.

"At least I have my microwave, and I won't go hungry." Johnny said as he tested the fridge. "Look at that: there's room for a couple of bottles of beer and a piece of cheese."

"You could have taken that friend of yours up on his offer and stayed in Brooklyn."

"I save money here. The cost of transportation is the same, but the savings on rent will be 500 dollars. It will be worth it. I have a bed, a bathroom, a corner where I can be quiet. That's all I need."

"I'm glad... Johnny..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you for everything. Thank you for taking care of me without putting a collar on me like Mike wanted."

"Friends take care of each other, and you're an adult."

"You've been there, haven't you?"

"For different reasons, but yes, I was a stoned drunk and almost a beggar for a long time."

"How did you get over it?"

"Basically, I got over it when I wanted to be helped. From that moment on, I tried to help myself. I think getting stuck in the mud is a valid experience when you can learn lessons from it. And the biggest thing you can learn from it, as far as I'm concerned, is never to want to get bogged down again."

"Right..."

"Well... I'll drop you off at Mike's."

Johnny didn't want to go up to Mike's apartment. He promised he'd be back tomorrow to clean up the mess we'd made during the move, but he had to return the car to his friend. I stayed in that space, which frankly bothered me. It wasn't my space, it wasn't my apartment. I missed my bed, my bathroom, my couch, my kitchen and, above all, my Rachel.

I wanted to drink again out of anger at being deprived of all this. Instead, I answered the phone. It was Lewis Gore.

"Fabray! Where have you been? I've been hunting you for days."

"I had some private problems."

"Is everything okay now?"

"Yes, it is. Go ahead."

"Good. Next: I've got a great job for you. A friend of mine needs a good director of photography for a short film he's releasing at the Tribeca Film Festival. The money is standard. Are you up for it?"

I didn't really have any work lined up.

"Sure. Can you pass on his contact details in a text message? I'm out of pen and paper."

"Yes, I can. I'm glad you're going to talk. The guy's good, Fabray. I think you'll enjoy working with him."

I hung up the phone feeling too lazy to talk to this guy, but I had to take into account that my savings were very limited and I was in danger of ending up like Johnny: alone in a tenement in New Jersey. I'd better go after the money and stop drinking. My cell phone vibrated and I was impressed by Lewis' efficiency in sending the contact so quickly. I opened the message.

"We've arrived from Lima. Ray wants to talk, but don't say I told you so" - Satan

My heart raced.

...

August 1, 2015

(Quinn)

It wasn't even eight o'clock in the morning when the music on my cell phone that I hadn't heard for days went off. I was awake and stumbled out of Mike's furniture to reach my device.

"Rachel!" I answered almost out of breath.

"Good morning, Quinn. I was wondering if you were available for a lunchtime chat?"

"Sure! Do you want me to come over?"

"No. Remember Jojo's, that restaurant near Lexington, Upper East Site?"

"Yes, of course, you loved that restaurant..."

"I'll meet you there at noon precisely."

What was I supposed to do until then? I was so anxious about the meeting that I could think of virtually nothing. Rachel made an appointment with me in a public place, but with a certain significance, because we ate there two or three times. She said that when she got rich, she would like to buy an apartment in that area, because it was the best and most beautiful place to live in New York City. I joked that our destination would be the Bronx. I tried to eat a piece of bread and drink some milk so that I wouldn't look so sick from all the alcohol abuse of the last few days. And I had to shower.

Oh, shower... I was stinky, my clothes were stinky. There was no way I could go home and get something clean, so I went down to Mike's apartment with a credit card on the verge of maxing out to buy some clothes. The hell of it was that 9th in that area had more restaurants than anything else. Maybe that's why Mike chose to live near there. I stood outside the first clothes shop I came across, one that wasn't even very good, and waited for it to open. An Asian girl unlocked the doors.

"Is it open?" I looked like a beggar in those smelly clothes. The girl made a disgusted face and nodded reluctantly. "Great!"

I bought a red flat blouse, black leggings and a pair of flip-flops, because even the shoes I took with me were in miserable condition. The only reason I didn't buy panties was because the store didn't sell them. I'd have to go without. I literally ran back to Mike's apartment and took a shower, like I hadn't done in days. I washed my hair, scrubbed my skin, applied soap and cleaned my nails. I put on one of Mike's perfumes and grabbed all the change I could find to catch the bus. I still had a bit of trouble because I'd mistaken the block where the restaurant was, but I still managed to be there five minutes early.

Rachel was already there.

My fiancée looked beautiful in a blue dress that I loved. Her hair was well brushed, her face was lightly made up, and she had that young lady look that I loved.

"Rachel." I said almost breathlessly when I saw her at the table. "You look beautiful!"

"Quinn!" She didn't get up or allow me to touch her. "Are you..." She seemed to want to find the exact words as I sat down at the table next to her. "Different?"

"Let's just say I didn't take many clothes with me when you kicked me out and I didn't exactly go to the laundrette these days. I had to improvise."

"Really?" She didn't want to look impressed. "And what were you doing to look so unhealthy? You've lost a lot of weight, you know that?"

"I was completely lost without you, Rach."

"I heard that Mike hosted you during this time. It must have been exhausting for him to have you and Johnny in a one-bedroom apartment."

"We managed. How's Santana? Did she get rid of the boot?"

"Not yet."

"Well... it's a slow recovery process because of the injury she suffered."

The waiter came to serve us and left the menus. We ordered drinks. Rachel, a natural orange juice. Me, a Coke on the rocks. Everything looked good in that damn restaurant, but I was broke financially. Rachel read everything with her usual concentration. She had a habit of biting her lower lip while choosing and I thought it was adorable.

"I remember these hot asparagus and ricotta ravioli were perfect."

Perfect and expensive. I was sure I'd walk out of there broke because I'd have to pay for mine and Rachel's lunch.

"I'm not that hungry." I said.

"You can order a dish. It's on me." She said without even looking at me.

"Rachel..."

"Quinn, I've lived with you for three years and it wouldn't be a few days that would make me forget some of the monikers and codes." Then she stared at me. "No hunger, in the Fabray book, means no money. So I'll pay."

It was humiliating, but I accepted.

"The organic burger looks great." I said and Rachel nodded.

We placed our orders as the waiter brought the drinks. I wanted to introduce the subject that mattered, I just didn't know how. Rachel had had her barriers up all through the meeting. All I had to do was wait.

"What about the movie?" I asked. "You're traveling this coming week, right?"

"On Thursday."

"Looking forward to it?"

"A little bit." That's when she looked at me for the second time that day. "That's why I need you." My heart raced. I was all attention at that moment. "When I travel on Thursday, I want you to come home. Santana has to do physiotherapy every day for a long time, and we know that she neglects her health like nobody's business. I need you there to accompany her to physiotherapy, make sure she takes all her medication and make sure she eats properly while I'm away."

"You want me to come home and babysit your sister?" I was indignant.

"Honestly, I'm not ready to make any decisions involving our relationship, Quinn. Not yet. I'm not even ready to live under the same roof as you, and God knows how hard it is to be here in this restaurant with you. I'm going away for two weeks in Canada. In the meantime, I need you at home with Santana. She needs this help. Do it for the friendship we've formed over the years. When I get back, we'll talk about us. Can I count on you?"

"Of course!" There was no other way out, it seemed. Either I agreed, or Rachel could ask me to leave her life forever. That would be the worst-case scenario for me. Like it or not, Santana was my best chance of winning back some points with Rachel and, who knows, she might forgive me.

"Great. My flight is in the morning. I'll go to the airport on my own. In any case, you can return home temporarily at this time and under these conditions."

Rachel nodded and received the plate she had ordered. Hers looked much better than mine. Well, I can't deny that I was hungry. I was starving, so much so that the meat went down my throat and I could almost feel it falling into my stomach, it was so empty. We ate in silence because every time I tried to make conversation, Rachel ignored me and looked away. It really hurt to see her so uncomfortable in my presence.

At the end of lunch, Rachel asked for the bill. She didn't even let me look at the amount, but showed her bank card to the attendant and gave her a ten-dollar bill with a tip. Two years ago, we would have killed each other for a ten-dollar bill. Whoever saw you, whoever sees you.

"Rachel..." I called out to her before I left. She stared at me with a look of contempt that left me disconcerted. It was as if I had lost her, and I began to feel a horrible tightness in my chest. "See you on Thursday?"

"That's up to you. I have my own schedule. Apparently, you no longer have yours."

That sounded like a slap in my face. I confess I deserved it, but it still hurt a lot.