Judy Fabray's breath catches in her throat and she holds back a sudden urge to cry.
Suppressing such urges and overwhelming emotions isn't new to the blonde paralegal. She's wasted too much of her life doing just that.
Too many arguments surrendered to her ex-husband. Too many personal beliefs subdued and then buried beneath Russell's hectoring. Her liberal views sacrificed to his mean intolerance and petty, jealous hatreds. The intelligent, whip-smart, loving young woman Judy McClelland had been through her youth and into her college days surrendered to a lost, angry man.
Her identity crushed by the abusive, deadening embrace of Tom Collins and Xanax.
Too many opportunities wasted to stand up to her spouse and express her own views.
Too many helping hands and warm hearts ignored as she fell into numb, docile compliance with a man she barely recognised any more.
As she now pretends to smile - to persist - in church each Sunday morning, she frequently asks God why HE has let her sleep for so long.
In this strange, frightening new world of standing alone for herself (and for Quinn), in this cold world where every new battle to regain her dignity, to win back her daughter's trust and respect, is harder than the last; pretending is one of the few things that Judy McClelland Fabray knows without a shadow of a doubt she is still good at.
The urge to cry she feels now however is an emotion she subdues only for the sake of societal norms.
And for her daughter.
Quinn would be as horrified as the other customers are bemused, if her mother suddenly bursts into tears in the fruity snack aisle of the Lima branch of 'World Goods Emporium'.
She watches her daughter... her beautiful, proud, determined daughter... saunter happily among the aisles, seemingly intent on molesting every possible piece of produce in this vast store that has been Quinn's favourite shop since she was a small child with a different name.
Her daughter has been positively... *what*... recently?
Judy struggles even to find the right word.
Joyous? Giddy? Incandescent?
Over the past month or so, Quinn has been a different person.
Ever since the mysterious events of the Junior Prom.
(Judy knows something had happened, between Quinn and Finn, and Quinn and one of the other Glee girls).
(So much drama!).
Her daughter won't talk about it, but the teen has been lighter somehow, less burdened, since that night.
Slowly, Quinn seems to be shaking off the dull, listless and angry demeanour of the last three years.
(And oh, how Judy had loved the Prom night portrait photo of her baby standing proudly, confidently alone. Her eyes sparkling with a confidence her mother hasn't seen in years. Quinn looked so strong there, smiling defiantly, possibly... hopefully... knowing that everything she needed to know could be found right there within herself. Now that photo takes pride of place on their mantle in the home she has tried so much to alter... to rectify... to warm, after the departure of her husband).
Now Quinn is singing softly to herself as she picks up and intensely inspects the exotic foreign candy bars that masquerade as healthy snack foods.
It's a show tune that Judy just can't place.
She's noticed her daughter singing similar tunes constantly for the last couple of weeks and has been surprised to find her Netflix list suddenly swamped with a huge amount of musicals.
(Along with just about everything Barbra Streisand has ever committed to celluloid, oddly).
She realises it must be the influence of the show choir. The kids at the Glee Club really did seem to like her and accept her for who she was, not just what they could take from her, as everyone else seems to. Again Quinn doesn't talk about it much (they still aren't 'there' yet) but Judy has seen the benefits. Her teen seems brighter, more at ease. More like the happier, confident young woman Quinn had been as a child. Singing with the Glee Club seems to have freed her. Finally.
It is a progression that seems to have sped up in the past couple of weeks.
Any tentative enquiry by mother to daughter has been shot down immediately.
(Even - and especially - her questions as to why Quinn seemed so desperate to get her pretty Gardenia Prom corsage freeze-dried ASAP. It being a very un-Quinn thing to do).
But that's fine. Judy knows not to push too far, too soon.
She is satisfied to keep a watching brief, while still curious as to what (or who?) exactly has lifted her daughter so.
She will be sure to thank that nice Mr. Schuester the next time she sees him, at least. She really wants to thank someone... anyone. She is so grateful to him or whomever has played a part in making her child a little happier and made her task of rebuilding not only their relationship but themselves, just a little easier.
And Quinn clearly has something new, something positive, something extraordinary, in her life.
It isn't necessary for Judy to know exactly what it is, she is satisfied just that there is something. A mother knows what is important to her child, even in a relationship as damaged as theirs.
She still shakes her head wearily as she's reminded so many times a day just how wretched and broken things had become in the last four years, as her lie of a marriage died its long slow death.
It wasn't merely ("merely", ha!) the living hell that the Fabray family had become, in the year before she had let Quinn be cast out.
She knew the Hell Judy McClelland Fabray was most certainly bound for could not be any worse than all she'd lived through. For all Judy knew Hell was the exact feeling of utter disgust she'd felt for herself as she thought of the scared, pregnant child she'd abandoned. That feeling. Forever.
No, not merely those horrors.
Even the "good" things that were supposed to bring her daughter joy seemed to heap nothing but more pain, self-loathing and shame on her Quinnie:
The grotesque carnival freak show of high school "popularity".
The ridiculous false piety of the Celibacy Club her father (and by extension herself) had pushed Quinn to lead.
That strutting, swaggering, utterly lost child, Puck.
The sweet, idiot boy, Finn.
The naive, rudderless aggression of "young love".
All those stupid High School "rules" that poisoned her daughter's female friendships and ultimately led Judy to mourn still for the child and grandchild she and Quinn would never know.
Oh God, When she thinks what that awful Sylvester woman put her baby through. Every ounce of weight fought for, cried over. Every training session wreaking havoc on her developing body. All those dead, soulless "smiles" plastered on Quinn's face that couldn't hide the pain; the knowledge that this was all so hollow, so worthless.
Damn it, Quinn can have all the candy bars she wants, Judy thinks. In all honesty she would happily see her daughter put a few pounds back on.
Heaven knows they both seemed happier when her girl carried the extra weight in middle school.
There are still days now when she perhaps overcompensates for their fractured relationship and she can't hold back with the lost endearments that hark back to when her baby was a cute, overweight, troubled young teen with the nose God gave her. Her Lucy-loo.
And bless her little girl for indulging her Mom now by responding to her when she is a little tipsy and calls her 'loo-loo'. She knows her babygirl wouldn't allow anyone else in the world such an egregious presumption. Lucy is gone. Judy knows that. But, from time to time, Quinn will still allow her to see the small parts of the dear departed that remain.
She lives for those moments.
Judy loves Quinn with the burning pride and feral intensity of a lioness... but she misses her Lucy too.
Oh God, in this moment, on the verge of losing it in a supermarket on a sticky Ohio day, she needs a drink so very badly.
But no.
No more bad thoughts.
Not today.
There are still plenty of bad days and troubles to come with this force of nature she's reared.
This is turning out to be one of the good days. New days. Days of surprisingly loose, easy socialising. Days of joking and teasing and girly fun with her beloved child on a sunny day in late May.
There will be NO tears, even if, in this instance, for once, they are happy tears.
**** **** **** ****
Quinn throws a small maroon coloured snack bar into the cart.
"Want that", she smiles and goes back to singing and idly troubling the produce.
Judy picks up the bar and examines it suspiciously.
"NAKD?, she asks, pronouncing the word 'NACT'.
"What kind of a name is NAKD, anywa...? Oh! Naked. Right".
There is no blush (she isn't that staid, that stuffy and momsy... she thinks), but she feels foolish for a second or two.
Quinn just grins and Judy knows the girl is mentally notching up a point in the generation wars.
"So...", Judy examines the small print, talking to herself as she does. "Naked candy bar. Berry Delight".
Judy is suddenly indignant.
"'Gleefully made in Britain?', she snorts. "'Gleefully'? It's a candy bar! Was it made my Oompah-loompahs?"
"Oompah-loompahs, mother?". Quinn makes her patented eyebrow arch of doom over her shoulder.
"Gay Oompah-loompahs by the sounds of it", the matriarch mutters.
Quinn appears to freeze. She turns to glare at her mother with a look that chills Judy's heart.
Oh god, she's offended her. Has she been homophobic? Is that even a big deal for Quinn? She knows her daughter is remarkably tolerant and loving of others (given her bloodline and all), but she still isn't entirely sure where the teenager stands on such issues, or on how much of her husband's petty meanness may have rubbed off on their child.
Quinn's eyes narrow and her face hardens into what Judy had heard the girl's friends refer to as '"Serial-Killer Quinn" face'.
It's a name Judy isn't particularly fond of, but... if the Quinn-sized hat fits.
(To her mom, of course, it is just Quinn's 'Paddington Bear stare' and she could never take it too seriously. She knows her baby girl).
"ALL! Oompah-loompahs! Are! Gay!, Mom!" She hisses. "It's the rules".
Quinn holds her stern, accusatory glare for another long few seconds... before a mischievously angelic smile breaks through and it only takes Judy a moment or two to twig she is being teased.
"Oh, Quinnie. Stop baiting the old broad", Judy chides.
Quinn giggles, lightly punches her mom on the arm and dances a little way down the aisle.
Judy looks back down at the 'NAKD' bar in her hand, trying to ignore the many nagging 'old people' suspicions the thing inspires.
"Didn't candy bars used to be bigger than this?"
Quinn nods with great seriousness.
"Yessiree! And they were called moon pies and they cost a nickel and you ate them to ward off the rickets, colsarnit!"
"Are you done?", her mother smiles.
Quinn tilts her head, making a play of thinking up one last crack. "And it was all in black and white!"
"Now I'm done", she grins.
Judy shakes her head. "Devil child".
Quinn pouts. "Are you finished examining every ingredient?"
"Just wait... 'Naturally free from wheat, gluten and dairy'", Judy reads from the wrapper. She shivers slightly. "And the will to live by the sound of it".
"It's vegan friendly", Quinn states haughtily... as though that would impress the woman with 12 pounds of vacuum-packed British bacon in her cart.
"Isn't one of your friends from Glee club one of those?"
"'One of *those*', mother?", Quinn demands, her eyes taking on a taunting lilt.
"A vegan... ", she shakes her head and snaps at her daughter. "Honestly, loo-loo... I'm not Hitler. I'm not judging you all the time. Or your friends".
Quinn just smiles.
"Which one is it?"
Quinn looks confused.
"Your friends. Which one is the vegan?"
"*Rachel*"...
... Quinn sighs, taking her mother somewhat by surprise... as she's made a simple name sound like a half-whispered promise kissed on the wind.
"Which one is she again?", Judy asks, her interest suddenly raised.
Quinn makes the kind of irritated clucking noise that means simply 'God, Mother... do keep up!'
"Gay dads!"
"Oh... yes. Gay dads. Right."
A light goes off in Judy's head.
"Oh, that's Hiram's daughter. Hiram Ber... ry ".
"Yep". Quinn smiles.
Judy looks back down at the candy bar in her hand.
"Rachel... Berry."
"Yep." A wider, dreamier smile.
"She's a friend of yours?"
Quinn's eyes cloud and her brow furrows.
"I guess..."
She starts but doesn't seem sure how to finish the sentence.
"I hope so..."
Quinn can't maintain eye contact, turning away a little and... was that?... Oh god, Judy can't remember the last time she saw Quinn blushing.
"I... I was really cruel to her. For a long time."
Judy simply nods. Even though she's asked little about Quinn's school experiences, she knows that is almost certainly true.
She also recognises that Quinn clearly feels guilt about it and both women have no great desire to labour the point any further.
Quinn takes the candy bar from her mother's hand.
"Canihaveitpleaeeeeeeeeease?"...
... Quinn pleads breathlessly with a sad pout her mother remembers had been a particularly effective tool in first grade.
"Hang on..." Judy asks, "Why are you even asking me? You've got your own money, Quinn".
"I didn't bring my purse. Because you didn't tell me we were coming to my favourite store! I'll get you back later. Please, Mom, It's only 3.50"
"ONLY 3.50?!"
"Uh huh".
"Three. Dollars. And. Fifty. Cents?"
Quinn nods.
"For a candy bar?"
Again a nod. Quinn sees there is work to be done.
"It's imported!"
Judy remains unimpressed.
"Uh... It's British?", Quinn tries.
A shake of the head.
"It's good for me and stuff?"
Nada.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Come on, what's 3.50 for your darling daughter's happiness?"
As she's become super-attuned to recently, Judy scans her daughter instantly for any recrimination, any passive-aggressive edge to her choice of words. She breathes easier as she finds none.
Quinn is just being Quinn. Nothing could please Judy more.
"Remind me to have that conversation with you again, young lady", Judy smiles. "The one about where your money comes from".
Quinn's eyes sparkle, as the girl shoots back:
"It comes from Daddy. Where does yours come from?"
Her mother's face blanches momentarily, every muscle in her neck tensing.
Quinn has overstepped... but it doesn't take Judy long to realise her daughter's callow, youthful jab was made without any malice or resentment.
In all honesty, it's actually pretty funny and a proud smile plays on Judy's lips. The woman bows deftly to her daughter.
"Touche, Ms. Fabray."
Quinn grins and courtsies, proud of herself.
It fades as her mother's mood momentarily darkens.
Because. Still...
Judy reaches for her daughter and pulls her into an urgent, crushing hug.
"It won't always be like that, Quinn. Yes it's your father's money now and I know 50-year-old paralegals don't make much... but I'm only a couple of credits away from graduation. Once I'm done, I won't have to be driving out to Tiffin any more and I can get a proper legal job in town."
She fears she is smothering Quinn, so intensely does she feel the need to make her daughter understand.
"I'll be the one paying for your college, okay?", she whispers insistently.
Quinn hugs her mom back just as hard, holding back tears. The harsh implication of her joke becoming shamefully clear to her.
"I know, Mom. You're doing great. You really inspire me".
"Thank you, baby girl." Judy kisses her daughter's forehead. "I am trying."
The women break away with nervous grins. This is nice but it is also new, and somewhat alien. Fabrays *really* don't show emotion in public. That is one Russell-ism that Judy McClelland Fabray is more than happy to maintain.
"Talking of Russell's money. Let's get some lunch and then what say we head to the mall and buy ourselves stupidly overpriced dresses?"
"Oh god, yes!", Quinn cackles. She winks at her mom. "Thank you, daddy!"
Judy moves to push the cart toward cereals. There is still much to do and she is eager for that lunch now.
But her passage is impeded by her daughter, who is now holding that damn candy bar. Waving it at her.
No surprise there, Judy supposes. The one thing her girl has never lacked is persistence. Now though she is also showing an impishly malevolent gleam in her eye that Judy knows very well.
Lucy Quinn Fabray is clearly in the mood for a little fun at her Mom's expense.
"Stiiiiiiiiiiillllll want this, Mom".
Judy just growls.
(Three. Dollars. And. Fifty. Cents).
"I just want it inside me", the girl pants, making an overly-stylised eating motion with the bar that is borderline obscene for a girl who has long been the pride of her church Sunday school class.
Quinn is clearly amused by her own attempts to shock and takes herself dancing (victoriously) down the aisle again. She doesn't catch her mom's thoughtful gaze that is weighing and measuring the situation.
Judy casts her reel out.
"Are you really sure, honey? 'Naked Berry Delight'? It really doesn't sound very nice".
"I think it sounds heavenly", Quinn sighs dramatically (with perhaps now an added touch of impatience).
"Everything about it is gorgeous and I just want it in my mouth".
Her mother can only stare at her, taken aback slightly by her oblivious daughter's odd, challenging turn of phrase.
She knows her girl is now in one of her flighty, giddy moods (and what a joy it is to have those back) and Judy is happy that their relationship has recovered to the point where Quinn obviously feels comfortable enough to push her mom a little. Bullishly peppering their easy interaction with a frisson of youthful rebellion and attempts to shock.
(What pleases and excites Judy even more is the cogniscance that for all her sins as a mother in recent years - sins a certain Mr. Jack Daniels will so obligingly and often remind her of - her daughter has clearly forgiven her enough to treat her as an equal, a confidante. Maybe even, one day soon, as the friends they had once been and Judy prayed they could be again).
Not that Judy is prepared to be bested by her daughter's cheek, of course.
(Almost) graduates of Antioch College - Class of '89 don't go down without a fight.
"So. Just to be clear, darling daughter: You want the Naked Berry".
Quinn grins and nods, sensing she is on the verge of a victory so grand it will be sung of by the bards for many moons to come.
"You, Lucy Quinn Fabray, want the 'Naked Berry Delight'... ", Judy shudders slightly but stubbornly persists. "... inside you."
"Ew, Mom. GROSS!". Quinn Is openly laughing, delighted with how much she's apparently drawn from her buttoned-down mother.
She pokes the bear again. "But, yes. Yes, I do!"
"Fine." Judy concedes, through a tight, unreadable smile (that really should have her daughter's alarm bells ringing).
Grumbling, Judy hands her beaming, triumphant daughter a twenty.
Quinn's Snoopy dance of conquest is a joy to behold.
"Nearly four dollars for a candy bar, though", Judy mutters as Quinn sets off at speed toward the checkout.
"Gee whillikerz, Mom, tell me again about when you were a girl, when five bucks would get you a movie, a fountain soda and a streetcar ride home!", Quinn taunts over her shoulder as she skips to the shortest line at the check-out. (Before her mom can change her mind).
Judy satisfies herself with wondering at what point in their day her daughter will be struck by the inevitable, soul-scrambling, discombobulating realisation of what she's been crudely alluding to for the last five minutes.
(Apparently obliviously - but really... HOW????)
Mother Fabray says a silent prayer that whenever that particular hammer falls, the good Lord will let her be present to witness it.
(Schadenfreude isn't a real sin, after all. A misdemeanor at most).
As she follows with her cart and looks on from afar (but not too far), Judy is reminded of the power of prayer, and is very happy to discover that (only mildly vengeful) satisfaction can arrive pleasantly fast sometimes.
For it is at the check-out that the threads come together.
And the walls came tumbling down.
Quinn smiles as she puts the candy bar on the conveyor and hands the pretty ("pretty?"), cute ("wait... cute?") brunette college student the money.
As she celebrates her victory, tearing open the wrapper and lifting her hard earned prize to her expectant (and for some reason she can't quite fathom, slightly swollen) lips, Quinn Fabray sing-songs a tuneless ditty to herself:
"Naked Berry in my mou... !"
!!!!
FUUUUUUUCK!
It takes a moment of panicked searching for Judy to locate her daughter, crouching, almost doubled over at the Coinstar, white as a sheet and on the verge of panicky hyperventilation.
"Quinnie, are you okay?", her mom asks, not a little smugly. "Why are you so pale, sweetheart?"