Chapter 5
Contrary to popular belief, Quinn Fabray's biggest heartbreak was not Finn Hudson dumping her. Repeatedly. For the same girl. It was having, and then quickly not having, her daughter; only on occasion can she reconcile the image of herself with the concept of "mother", and each time she does she weeps until she's dehydrated. Whether it's because she's young and doesn't see in herself the experience and maturity needed to be a mother, or because she doesn't have a child to mother, she only began unpacking years after the fact. It's definitely both, with a sprinkling of not really knowing what being a mother means in the first place. She gets an increasing number of cards every mother's day - from Shelby, Noah, her mother, and sometimes Mercedes, Santana and Brittany, and Rachel - and in her freshman year of college she received one written, for the first time, by her daughter's own hand. She drank so hard that night she didn't wake up until two days later, when campus security broke in to check on her.
By the end of the week, just about everyone has left to their own places - only Mike and I remain at the apartment with Kurt and Adam, Rachel, and Santana and Brittany. Mike, announcing that the air mattress he and the boys had been sleeping on was desperately uncomfortable, relocated to the sofa as soon as Puck was finally convinced to stay at Mercedes, Blaine, and Sam's place, taking the coffee table as his closet. Not that social space mattered much more, I'll be starting the theatre workshop on Monday and I am not convinced it won't be practically all-day every day. Until then, though, I can throw my body on top of Mike's early in the morning and dig out the control for the TV from his pillow, waking him up to watch dumb talk shows as Santana makes her special fried eggs for everyone.
"And a vegan bagel for Rachel." Santana announces as she hands out the last of the plates and sits between me and Brittany on the couch - having displaced Mike to Brittany's other side. I pass her plate back to her, and dig in.
"This is honestly amazing." I moan and kiss her cheek in silent thanks.
"Wanky," she smirks, but returns the affection then takes her own mouthful.
While we're lightly mocking the political pundit on the TV, Rachel quickly finishes her breakfast bagel and makes her voice heard, depositing her plate by a t-shirt on the table. Mike leans over to take the empty plate, putting it under his own.
"I hope you don't take this as offense, Quinn," Rachel begins primly, pulling her dress down to her knees - every other eyebrow in the room raises an inch and Santana lifts a finger,
"If this is any gay shit, Berry, you are so wildly outnumbered right now, not that it would take more than one of us, or Hummel and a half, to kick your ass anyways." She snarks, not viciously anymore but certainly delivering a warning.
"No, Santana, I would never-" and further up the eyebrows creep, "I was merely going to say that, no offense, but Quinn seems a lot more, um, sane than in high school. No mood swings or personality changes. The Quinn who's been living with us has been the most pleasant version of her I've ever met." She rushes out, then reaches out for her plate to escape to the kitchen before she realizes it's not on the table.
"Well," I choose to put her out of her nervously foot-tapping misery, and all eyes flick between us, "that sounded a little offensive. But therapy and pills can do wonders, and since I do feel a lot more centered I won't bite your head off for that comment." I pause and smirk, "I can't speak for my guard dog, though." And nod to Santana, who grins widely and gently swats my arm.
Santana's smile stays, but returns to not-Joker levels, when she takes hold of my hand and prods, "I didn't know you got therapy, Q. Also kinda thought you'd resist that shit. You were all over the place senior year." She squeezes the hand she's sequestered and nudges my cheek.
I squeeze back, "Didn't remember you being so affectionate in public either," I wink at her, voice even probably only because I'm keeping focused on one person, "no, I was forced into it with rehab. Turns out when you suffer a life-changing injury at 18 just when you've got your future planned out, people worry about you. But it turned out good, you know, in the last semester we've got round to digging up, well, everything else. Absent parents, teen pregnancy, um, post-partum depression, everything. Still a bit scared in cars, but that's the next hurdle. Like I said," I look down to my lap from Santana's eyes, noticing she's now clinging to both my hands with hers, and I fidget with her fingertips, "talking it out has helped. And the pills, whenever I need them. So I'm more mellow and level-headed, obviously, I'm talking about this instead of screaming and crying." I swallow and look back up to Santana, then around at the intense stares from everyone else. "Shelby even said I could see Beth again sometime soon." With one last squeeze, I detach from Santana's grip and pick at the food on the plate in my lap. I cough without need, "So yeah, that's me healing inside, too. I appreciate the, um, care." I look back down shyly as Santana gives me a side hug and Brittany and Mike jump up to hug from me the the other side and behind.
Rachel adds her own attention-grabbing cough, "I'm glad you're doing so well, Quinn. Thank you for sharing." We all chuckle lightly at that last part.
"What is this, circle time? I'd rather circle-jerk." Santana retorts, completely breaking the slightly heavy tension that had begun to settle.
"So she's really always like that?" Adam directs at me and Brittany, pointing limply at Santana.
"Honestly, she's improved. If she hasn't threatened you in Spanish with ninja stars, you're lucky." I chuckle as I hug her back.
"Razor blades, honestly, do you even know me." She snarks as our cheeks squish together.
"Aren't they adorable, Kurt?" I look over as Adam asks this, and he's perched on the edge of their loveseat, chin on palm as he moons at us.
I meet Kurt's terrified face with the sweetest grin I can manage, "Someone call coach Sue and tell her that the unholy trinity just got called 'adorable'." He drawled as he rolled his eyes and stood, gathering plates to take to the kitchen.
"I'm sure her flying monkeys already overheard, don't worry, princess!" Santana shouted at his retreating back, muffled for being almost buried under me and Brittany.
Adam, doe-eyed, just shook his head (still on his hand) with his mouth open, "Like a chihuahua." He remarked as if disbelieving.
I laugh happily, loudly, unashamed of it among friends. "Someone call coach Sue from freshman year and tell her that the unholy trinity are all gay." I get out between peals, pulling everyone into rippling laughter, too.
Come evening, Rachel wants to order takeout again, but everyone else at the loft is set on trying to eat healthy; we've all got abs and, honestly, I want to keep them as long as I can this time. Seems everyone has the same idea, and Kurt proudly takes his shirt off to show off his workout physique when Rachel brings it into question, leading to Mike doing the same. The boys then make a salad dinner for us, and we stick on re-runs of The Bachelor.
"This is nice," Kurt says, pulling a sweater on, "like a girls and gays night!" He claps a little, perched on Adam's lap. An irritated wave from Rachel's fork hand has Adam placate her.
"And Michael." Adam melodramatically rolls his eyes.
"Oh, I didn't mind," Mike coughs out, "I can dig The Bachelor." And he shrinks back to being quiet in his seat. He becomes more lively again when the bachelorettes are being introduced, hollering along with me, Santana, and Brittany. Kurt and Adam chime in on their dresses and interviews, but it's Rachel's eye rolls at the audience participation that are more disturbing than all our noise put together. We're on charming lady number 14 when Santana's had enough.
"Hey hobbit, why are you cramping our fun over there?" She slouches back into the couch with a handful of popcorn being shoved into her mouth.
"I don't." She stops and reconsiders, "Why are you making so much noise, they're just women? They all have breasts and legs and hair, do you need to discuss it?"
I blink slowly at her. So does... everyone else. "Yes?" I try, unsure and weakly. Kurt chuckles and Santana bursts out laughing.
When she calms, Santana leans forward to grab another drink - Rachel, sitting diagonally opposite her, flinches - then sits back between me and Britt like a pimp, one arm behind each of us, Mike shaking his head next to me. "Lemme educate you. To us," Santana gestures with the bottle to the four of us on the couch, "women aren't just women. They're individual goddesses," I blush and look down to my own drink. I'm getting comfortable with my not-heterosexuality, and it feels genuinely nice to be included in the gay count without any comment, "So yeah, Cheyenne has boobs just like Ariel, but I know what I like in boobs, and Ariel's are better. Britt disagrees. You don't have opinions on boobs so you don't get a say. And, you know, all the rest of women's parts." Okay, I swear I try to stop the laugh but it bubbles raucously from me at that. Santana turns to look into my eyes and quietly mutters "wanky" before looking back at Rachel, more laughter joining mine now, "You get the idea. But yeah, if they were naked I imagine we'd be cheering on the ones whose V's we find hot then debating when someone likes piercings or whatever. That shit's weird." She pauses and raises a wicked eyebrow in my direction, "You into that, Q?" she teases. I get her back by removing her arm from around my shoulder, but she just brings it to my upper thigh so it was no sufficient punishment.
"Well," Rachel says, coughing lightly as she stands up, "that is more information than I ever wanted to know. Thank you, Santana." I find it strange that Kurt, at least, if not both him and Adam, didn't intervene when vaginas came up, but turn to the loveseat to see a quiet discussion taking place, likely blocking out the rest of the room. Rachel's back before the next girl can appear from her limo, "This one's pretty, right?" She tries, getting no response as Mike and Santana had already started debating how good her abs were based on the visible parts from the slits at the waist of her dress.
"Her face, yeah, but you can see she has curves and no ass. That figure's not my type, and I'm pretty sure it's unhealthy." I provide conversation for Rachel, leaning forward and nodding to her, lifting my own bottle to prompt her to say something. But the hand on my thigh seems to have registered my comment, adding pressure. I look to Santana.
"Please tell me you're an ass girl, Q. Do you know how hot girls who can appreciate a fine ass are?" She addresses me deadly seriously, so I smile back in earnest, too.
"Not as hot as girls with a fine ass." I lean back, "But no, I think I appreciate boobs just as much. Like Jessica, number 7? Her boobs and her ass were just, in combination, amazing." I place my own hand over Santana's on my thigh, getting really into just being able to talk with friends about girls.
Santana is about to respond when Rachel, from her spot between the TV and the loveseat occupied by Kurt and Adam (who are now watching the reality show of the apartment), pipes up. "Yes, I don't think I will get used to this culture," she announces as she points between all of us vaguely, "and I'm feeling a little uncomfortable. I don't really want you judging my body that way." She mutters shyly. Semi-homophobic as that is (does she rake over every man she knows? Does she expect to be allowed to talk about men she's into around other men? Does she feel the need to tell all straight men she interacts with not to?), I have to appreciate how we likely gave her a complex over her attractiveness in high school, and it can't help finding out that the girls who mocked your appearance are queer and genuinely interested in women's bodies.
When Santana's closing mouth starts to open again, I pat her hand to calm the dragon, "We don't, Rach. I imagine your body's just fine, but I'll leave it to your boyfriends to check and tell you that." Suitably attended to, Rachel beams and picks at the salad she has leftover.
Santana squeezes my hand with a little smile, then stands and turns off the TV. "Hey, hey, I have a better idea for entertainment," I raise my eyes, hand still gripped in hers hanging in the air, "Quinn, Mike, shirts off." I nearly spit out a sip I took in her dramatic pause at her absent command, spluttering an excuse me while Mike just obliges, so I follow. "Cool. Okay, Britt, who's abs do you wanna look at?" Santana smirks, sitting while meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, Mike and I topless like show ponies on the other side of the TV to Rachel, giving everyone an eyeful of my very plain bra. Santana sits back down, taking my spot.
Brittany takes the question very seriously, and I go red under her inspection, until a moment later she shrugs and says, "I like both. I haven't seen Quinn's as much, so I might pick her." Santana nodded.
"Hummel!" Santana snapped, and he jumped to attention, "Same question." And she winked at him.
"Well, Mike?" He squeaked out, looking back to Adam, "Sorry, Quinn, I'm trying to isolate your abs, but your torso isn't broad like Mike's, and I see your bra and, um, hips." I shrug as he hides his eyes and sits down next to Brittany.
"Awesome," Santana grins at Rachel, "And I pick Quinn. Love ya, Mike, but I can't help but be drawn to the silvery smoothness my lady Q's got going on. Super lickable." My cheeks turn profusely red and heart rate starts accelerating - I jitter at the thought of Santana's tongue on my stomach. "Come on Rachel, which?"
Rachel barely glances before averting her eyes melodramatically, "How do I even judge? If they're lickable, Santana?" I do manage to stifle the laugh at that, though I feel my abs ripple in mirth, and the soft whoop from Santana means she's noticed that, too.
Air-pump done, Santana turns back to Rachel, "Just whichever you like best overall for all the reasons, it's not hard. Lickability is hella important. Ooh, we should do body shots!" I try my best to ignore that idea, even after Brittany concurs.
"Can I pass?" Rachel asks, throwing her arms up in defeat, but then she continues more shyly, "Actually I have a different question." I pull my shirt down as she seems to move the game on, sitting back down between Santana and Brittany. Rachel hums a little before continuing, "What are you guys interested in romantically, with the same sex? Is that weird to ask?" She bites her lip.
"Yep!" Santana announces, folding her legs beneath her, "like, what makes you go goo-goo for guys? Whatever, I guess I'm mostly into feminine but athletic women, in figure and personality, you know. Sweet but can be hella tough." She shrugs, putting her hands back to my leg - her eyes follow and look to me, and soon everyone is looking at me, too.
"Me?" I squeak, completely unattractively, but Santana still smiles and Britt grabs a lock of my hair to play with, "I think I'd have to go on actual dates with women to know." When the gazes don't relent, I sigh and lean back more, "I don't know. Kind of the same, I guess. And witty, I like good humor."
Santana had looked taken aback when I said I didn't know, then smirks, "You should totally go out with me!" She announces, leaning back towards the arm of the couch away from me as I had done before, "I'm awesome and hilarious, we can work out your type!" And her enthusiasm just to help out seems so genuine, while my mind has gone right to what it would be like to wine and dine her.
I'm not the only positive reaction, Kurt aww-ing and Brittany shimmying into me from the other side. So Rachel's eyebrows basically disappear into her hairline, but Mike starts dancing. I grin, pulling Santana's body closer again, "So where are you taking me?" A favor, right?