Fic: [2/7] The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat
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Part Three. Later That Year
Quinn still insisted on calling me, even after I told her that I was trying to widen my friends circle. (And by that, I meant I wanted to finally shake off every last person from glee.) Quinn kept calling though. So did Kurt, and Tina for Christ’s sake, and Mike, and…okay, every last geeky gleek insisted on keeping in touch with me - five years after high school. I gave up and stopped blocking their calls. I even convinced Quinn to go on that weekend trip to New York. Maybe then she would get out of her miserable little apartment and have so much fun she wouldn’t call.
-Santana Lopez
Autumn seamlessly gave way to winter. In Ohio, Quinn was severely feeling its effects, which was why she jumped at the chance to go away for the weekend to the Regional Foster Care Conference in New York. The city was cold of course, but not as cold as Cleveland. According to weather reports, it hadn’t even snowed yet and it was three weeks to Christmas. The tinny sound of a track from Norah Jones’ latest album jolted Quinn from her thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Quinnie. How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m almost done packing. Do you think I should carry two bags?”
“That’s great,” the person on the other line barreled on, oblivious. “Listen, I was wondering. Do you want to move in?”
“Uh…with you?”
“Yes, with me! Do you have another boyfriend I don’t know about?” Harry James laughed.
“I think-”
“Great! I’ll call you later to arrange the details.”
“No, wait!”
“Bye, Quinnie. Have fun in D.C.”
Quinn tossed her cell on her bed and promised herself she would break up with Harry when she returned from New York. She had started dating him three months ago. The state of their relationship could be summed up by one rather unfortunate fact: Quinn never thought about him unless he was right in front of her. It was a relationship totally based on convenience, as well as the fact that she wanted to do something besides work all the time. Apparently, Harry felt differently about their relationship, if he wanted her to move in with him. Or maybe he didn’t. Harry was the kind of person who - although nice and generous and kind - only thought about himself. He wasn’t selfish, per se. He was simply self-centered, and it wouldn’t occur to him that that could be a problem. He thought only about things that affected him, and didn’t worry so much about how anything he did affected others. That’s why he interrupted her when he had something to say, and why he didn’t realize that she hated to be called Quinnie, and why he didn’t remember that she was going to New York, not D.C, even though she’d been talking about the trip for a good two weeks.
Quinn sighed and decided to bring along a second bag.
*^*^*
Noah was debating whether he wanted to order takeout, cook, or eat out. It was a Friday night, which he usually spent fielding phone calls from his mom (who was so proud of him she cried whenever he mentioned school at all) and watching horror movies with his roommates. Tonight, though, Jamal was in Jersey for the weekend and Rob was probably at MOMA. The museum had free first Fridays of every month. Rob claimed he went to pick up intellectual chicks, but they all knew that he mostly went for the art.
Noah ordered Chinese takeout and turned on the TV.
*^*^*
As a rule, conferences are tedious and boring. The workshops are useless, the speeches are long, and meal tickets are usually for unappetizing bag lunches.
This conference was the exception to the rule in every way. The psych workshop (somewhat disastrously titled “So You Think Your Child is an Emotional Hypochondriac”) was nonetheless helpful and unpretentious. The opening speech by the director of St. Vincent’s Home in Brooklyn was short and interesting. And the meal tickets were vouchers to a local restaurant called O Salad Mio. Quinn was glad she’d decided to come.
“C’mon, Quinn. Let’s go to lunch now.”
Quinn looked up from her brochure. “But I wanted to wait till the Q&A session.”
Her colleague, another caseworker named Rhonda, rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t come here to go to a boring ass conference. We’re in New York on an all-expenses-paid trip, and I’m gonna see as much as I can before we leave. Which is why you and I are going out tonight. Now come on!”
Quinn looked longingly at her brochure, but followed Rhonda. They were the only caseworkers allowed on the trip; the other three people were supervisors. At first Quinn thought it was based on merit (not to brag, but her cases were usually resolved quickly and positively), but now she wasn’t sure. Rhonda obviously had no interest in learning anything new, and clearly did not come to New York with the conference in mind.
“O Salad Mio. Weird name for a restaurant, but whatever. I hope the food is good.”
Rhonda held the door open for Quinn before stepping inside behind her.
*^*^*
Meanwhile, Noah was finally buying new pairs of jeans. It was a task he had put off for three weeks, and two months before that, but when even Jamal noticed that his distressed jeans were actually distressed, it was clearly time for a new pair or two.
Saturday afternoon, then, found him braving the cold (and the tourists) to stop at American Eagle. He looked for ten minutes, found three pairs of the same style, and decided that was good enough. In and out, just how he liked it.
Hungry, he mentally considered the restaurants nearby. There was an Au Bon Pair nearby, and a Chipotle, and a Gray’s Papaya. Oh, and there was O Salad Mio, which was decent. He thought about going to O Salad Mio - he even started walking there - but decided to go to Taste of Tandoor, an Indian restaurant downtown, instead.
*^*^*
After lunch, Quinn headed back to the conference, much to Rhonda’s dismay. Technically, they were supposed to stick together and report their activities to the supervisors. Neither party was interested in giving or hearing reports, so Rhonda walked into the nearest Strawberry while Quinn - feeling like a stick-in-the-mud - went back to another five hours of workshops and raffles, because the conference was really worthwhile. Besides, she wasn’t as obsessed with New York as Rachel Berry or Kurt Hummel. She would be back some other time, maybe, and she could sightsee then.
Rhonda returned near the end of a seminar on better record keeping. “Quinn, this is the last workshop for you, okay? It’s past six o’clock and we’re going out tonight, remember?”
Quinn wondered why she let herself be bullied by Rhonda, but didn’t think too much on it. Rhonda was nice, for the most part; she just had her own set of priorities and she liked to be in charge. So if she said Quinn was going out that night, then Quinn was going out that night.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah, okay. Let me just hear the last five minutes.”
*
“This better be fun,” Quinn muttered. She tugged on her little black dress.
“It will be, girl! Lighten up!” Rhonda pulled Quinn into Fiery Nights, a bar in Tribeca. “Oh, it’s a little crowded.”
That was the understatement of the year. The bar was packed, even with people spilling out to an outdoor patio. Quinn groaned. A preppy guy caught her eye from the bar counter and smiled. Quinn groaned again.
“Look, that table over there just opened up.” Rhonda pushed her way through solid blocks of people before just barely claiming the table. She and Quinn squeezed into their seats and motioned for a waiter. “I’ll have a Mojito to start, and she’ll have-”
“A strawberry daiquiri,” Quinn said.
“You know I’m judging you, right?” Rhonda winked at Quinn.
Quinn smiled and felt herself relaxing. She gossiped with Rhonda for a while. Then they people watched. In the two booths near the window alone, a guy was clearly being dumped, another guy was making out with his boyfriend, and a girl was knocking back more than her weight in drinks.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Quinn said suddenly. “Be right back.”
Rhonda nodded absently. She was preoccupied with trying to interpret the signals she was getting from the sexy brotha two tables across the room.
*^*^*
“I didn’t know married couples even went to bars,” Noah said.
“You have a lot to learn, my friend,” Sean said. “The trick is - wait, hold on…. Emily says not to tell you our trick until you get here.”
“And you do everything Emily says? Man, you are whipped.”
“I’m not whipped, mate. I’m married. There’s a difference.”
Noah grinned into his phone. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“When you get here.”
“Where is here, again?”
“Tribeca. Nights of Fire. Murray Street.”
“What?”
Sean yelled, “Nights of Fire!”
“What?!” Noah cursed his phone for acting up at the worst possible times. “I heard night and I think I heard fire. Murray Street? Okay. Later.”
Thirty minutes later, Noah found himself in front of Fiery Nights. He walked in and scanned the crowded room as best he could, looking for Sean and Emily. After a few minutes, he decided to step outside and call his friend.
“Hey, I’m at Fiery Nights. Where are you sitting?”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m at Fiery Nights,” Noah repeated impatiently. “Where-”
Sean laughed. “No, no, I said Nights of Fire. On Murray.”
“Are you kidding me? I am on Murray.”
“It’s next to Starbucks.”
“Sean, this is Manhattan. Everything is next to a Starbucks! What’s the cross street?”
“Em, what’s the cross street?” Noah could hear Sean asking his wife. “It’s West Broadway.”
“Only two blocks away. See you.” Noah ended the call and started walking toward the correct bar.
*^*^*
“I was just about to send out a search party. What, did you fall in?”
“Very funny,” Quinn muttered. She squeezed back into her seat and ordered another drink.
“This really hot guy just walked in and out a few minutes ago.”
“Yeah?” Quinn said, with zero interest.
“He was definitely your type,” Rhonda continued.
“How do you know my type?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, and brooding. Am I right?”
Quinn gained a newfound respect for Rhonda. “I’m not looking.”
“You don’t have to marry anyone. Just be open to possibilities.”
“Thanks, Oprah.”
“Well, damn.”
*
“I need coffee,” Quinn said two hours later.
“Didja know,” Rhonda began slowly, “didja know that coffee is the most racist beverage out there? Think about it. No one likes it black except for…except for…”
Quinn maneuvered Rhonda out of Fiery Nights. “I think you shouldn’t have had that last drink.”
“Two,” Rhonda said clearly.
“Last two drinks,” Quinn self-corrected. “Come on. We’ll find a coffee shop before we head back to the hotel.”
“Coffee,” Rhonda said. She stumbled a little. Quinn gripped her arm tighter. “Didja know that coffee is-”
“Racist? Yeah, I got it. You told me already.”
“I did?”
“Yes, Rhonda.”
“’Kay. Just so you…just so you know.”
Quinn sighed and stopped in front of a Starbucks. “Here we go. Now come on and…don’t say anything about…anything. Okay?”
Rhonda nodded meekly. “Okay Quinn. Quiiiiinn. Quuuuuinn. Qu-”
“Rhonda!” Quinn settled her friend at a table near the entrance and gave her a stern look before going to the cash register.
*^*^*
Emily was trying to tell a funny story about a job gone wrong last week, but she kept laughing before she could get to the point. Sean laughed along with her as they exited Nights of Fire. Noah let the sound of their laughter wash over him. He wasn’t drunk. He was just enough buzzed, though, that - at first - he didn’t recognize her. Then he did a double take, stared at the back of a small blonde woman half a block in front of him, and said, “Quinn?”
Emily looked at him oddly. “Actually, her name was Sarah, but…”
“No, I mean…” Noah shook his head and shouted. “Quinn!”
The blonde woman turned around. Hazel eyes met brown ones. Quinn and Noah walked toward each other. Sean, Emily, and Rhonda scrambled to catch up.
“Hi,” Quinn said.
“Hi,” Noah said.
They stood in silence. It was cold outside. Quinn was still clutching a cup of coffee. Noah stuck his hands in his pockets. Sean and Emily, and Rhonda eyed each other a little warily.
Two minutes passed in complete silence. Quinn and Noah studied each other. ‘He’s still hot,’ Quinn thought to herself. ‘She’s thinner, but still sexy. That dress!’ Noah thought to himself.
“I don’t want to be that person,” Sean began, “but who are you? And if you’re going to keep staring at each other can we at least get out of the cold?”
“I’m-” Quinn said.
“She’s-” Noah started simultaneously.
“Go ahead,” Quinn offered.
“She was my…my-”
“A friend from high school,” Quinn said. “We haven’t seen each other in five years.”
“Great!” Sean said. “Nice to meet you. Noah, Em and I are going to go home, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Noah said absently.
“Oh, Rhonda!” Quinn exclaimed. She linked arms with Rhonda. “This is Rhonda. We work together. We should probably be getting back-”
“I’ll take a cab,” Rhonda said promptly. She nodded. “I’ll take a cab.”
“I’ll get one for you,” Noah offered. He walked over to the curb and tried to flag down a taxi.
Quinn fussed over Rhonda a little. “Are you sure you’re okay to go alone?”
“Yeah! Cold air and coffee…I’m so sober now I could…do something really difficult. Fly a spaceship or something.”
“Okay,” Quinn said doubtfully.
“You know that’s the guy I was telling you about, in the bar.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah. Get it girl!”
“Rhonda!”
Rhonda shrugged. “Told you he was your type. And you know him, so it’s all good.”
Quinn groaned.
“Cab’s here.” Noah motioned to Quinn and Rhonda.
Quinn gave the taxi driver the hotel’s address and waited till he pulled into traffic, Rhonda in tow.
“So…”
“So…”
Noah ran a hand over his head. “Wanna talk in Starbucks?”
Quinn pulled out her cell phone. “It’s already 2:30am. Won’t it close soon?”
Noah pointed to the large sign in the window. “It’s open 24/7.”
“Oh. Okay.”
*
They settled into the same table Quinn had sat with Rhonda thirty minutes earlier. Noah polished off a danish while Quinn occasionally sipped at her coffee.
“You don’t live in New York, do you?”
Quinn looked affronted. What was he trying to say, anyway? “Why do you think I don’t live in New York?”
“If you did, I probably would’ve heard about it from Berry,” Noah explained.
Quinn’s jaw dropped. “You kept in touch with Rachel?” And not with me?, she wanted to continue, but didn’t.
“Hell no! I mean, it’s not like I wanted to. Finn and I still talk sometimes, and he still has a thing for her - dude needs to let it go already - so he gets news from her. Berry is the same, maybe a little less neurotic. Maybe. I think she keeps tabs on all of us from glee.”
“But…I don’t talk to her. I haven’t even seen her since graduation. How would she know where I live? Or what I’ve been doing?”
Noah shrugged. “Do you talk to anyone from glee?”
“Uh…Santana. And Mike and Matt, on and off.”
“Yeah. That’s how Berry knows. What have you been doing, anyway?”
“I’m a social worker in Cleveland.” Quinn looked annoyed. “It’s like Big Brother.”
Noah shrugged again. “Berry is insane.”
An awkward silence fell. Quinn wanted desperately to be real with Noah, to talk about the elephant in the room: their relationship. But she didn’t have the courage. “So you live in New York,” she said instead. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ she thought. ‘Of course he lives in New York. What else would he be doing here?’
“Yeah. I go to Columbia. Sean - that’s the guy I was with - goes there, too. So do my roommates; that’s where we met. Sean’s wife works at a catering company.” Noah knew he was rambling, but he wanted to fill the silence with something.
“Columbia, wow!” Quinn said, impressed. “Not that I’m surprised. Merc - um…you really pulled it together senior year. But you went to Notre Dame, right? So you’re in grad school?”
Noah didn’t want to think about Mercedes, because that would force him to think about the relationship they’d all had, and he definitely didn’t want to think about that. “School of Architecture,” he said tersely.
Quinn picked up on his tone and frowned. She took another sip of her cooling coffee and gathered her thoughts. “You’ve really changed, Noah,” she said quietly.
He looked her dead in the eyes. Quinn tried not to squirm. “Yeah?”
“For the better. I mean, not that-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Noah saved her. “School, you know. Either you grow up or you drop out. Especially since it’s so fucking expensive.”
Quinn nodded.
“What are you doing in New York?”
“There was a foster care conference this weekend. Closing ceremony is tomorrow. It was good.”
“So you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
Noah finished his muffin. “Huh.”
‘Huh?’ Quinn thought. “It’s getting late,” Quinn said.
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
They walked out of the Starbucks and awkwardly stood together outside. Quinn pulled her scarf up to her earlobes.
“Maybe we should-”
“Don’t you think-” Quinn said simultaneously.
“You first,” Noah said generously. He could see his breath in the cold air.
“Um,” Quinn began. “Uh. Um….phone numbers?” she squeaked out. It was hard to be so forward.
“Yeah,” Noah said quickly. He got out a piece of paper and scribbled on it. “Here’s my email address, too.” He pulled out his iPhone. “You?”
Quinn recited her cell number and email address.
“Let me get you a taxi,” Noah offered. He walked to the curb where he had hailed a cab for Rhonda.
Quinn was struck by his chivalry. Her mind immediately flashed back to a conversation she’d had with Mercedes after their fourth date with Noah, sophomore year. Their relationship was still very new then.
Mercedes peeled open a fruit cup. “Quinn, you were about to jump him!”
“I was not,” Quinn protested half-heartedly.
“Face it, girl. He called you ‘Q’ and you nearly threw yourself at him.”
Quinn groaned. “You’re right. But don’t you find it hot when he calls you ‘mama?’ You can’t tell me you don’t want to grab him and…you know.”
Mercedes grinned. “Hell yes. But it’s called self control, dear.”
Quinn groaned again. Mercedes peered at her. “You actually get turned on by, like, chivalry?”
“Don’t laugh,” Quinn said.
Mercedes was already laughing.
“Stop laughing, Mercy!”
Mercedes’ laughter was uncontrollable.
“You’re crying!” Quinn said in disbelief.
Mercedes gasped for breath. “I’m-I’m sorry.” She giggled. “Oh God.” She tried to calm herself down, and ate the last of the diced peaches. “So if I treat you like a princess will you make out with me?”
Quinn leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Quinn. Quinn!” Noah’s voice broke her out of her reverie.
“Yeah?”
“Taxi’s here.” Noah looked at her curiously.
“Thanks.” Quinn wanted to hug him. Or touch him in some way. But she didn’t make a move to, and neither did he.
“So…I’ll call you,” Noah said.
“Okay.”
“’Bye.”
“’Bye,” Quinn whispered. She slid into the cab. Noah shut the door behind her and watched the car pull away.
‘Chivalry,’ Quinn thought.
Part Four. Communication Interlude
When I finally realized what was going on between Mercedes, Puck, and Quinn, I went to Emma for advice. “They’re not hurting anyone, right? Maybe it will blow over,” she said. I nodded. Two years later, they each had solos in “Let the River Run” for our sectionals performance their senior year, and the amount of emotion they infused into Carly Simon’s Oscar-winning song told me that they were still going strong. The three of them. Together. Sue Sylvester never let me forget it; if I had a nickel for every Utah-polygamy-Mormonism quip she told me…
-William Schuester
December 25. 2:34pm.
Merry Christmas
*
December 25. 4:01pm.
Thanks, Happy Chanukah!
*
January 3. 11:42am.
From: npuckerman@gmail.com
To: qisaletterofthealphabet@yahoo.com
Who the fuck is Harry?
Hey Quinn
I got an email from some guy named Harry James two days ago. He bitched a little about you, and me, and this mythical “us.” How did he get my email? What the fuck is his problem? And why is he named after a fictional character? I was going to tell him to shove it-
Okay, you called while I was typing this. Glad you dropped him. He sounds like a real creep, especially since he looked through your phone to get my email address.
Yo change the locks on your door.
Later
Noah
*
January 17. 6:07pm.
“This is Noah. I’m not here. Leave a message, unless you know I don’t want to hear from you.”
Hi Noah, it’s Quinn. You’re probably studying or something. I wanted to know if you got the invitation to Mike’s wedding? Mike Chang? I know it’s not for a few months, but are you planning on going? Let me know. Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. ‘Bye.
*
January 20. 7:35am.
“This is Quinn Fabray’s phone. I’m unavailable right now. If you need to reach me urgently, try my work phone: 216 568 2047. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks. ‘Bye.”
Sorry it’s so late, I’ve been busy. I can’t believe Mike’s getting married. I’m going. It’s in July right? I talked to him yesterday. He invited the whole glee crew.
*
January 31. 2:21am.
From: qisaletterofthealphabet@yahoo.com
To: npuckerman@gmail.com
It’s like watching a train wreck…you know you should but you can’t look away.
I started talking to Rachel again. You were right, she’s basically the same. A little nicer, I think, but still crazy. I think we’re all drawn to her in a weird way. Anyway, she keeps going on about this Off-Off-Broadway production she’s in. You’ve probably heard about it from Finn. You should go see it! Lucky me, I’m in Ohio so she knows there’s no way I can go see it.
I attached an mp3 of Rachel’s solo in the play.
Quinn
Attachment: This_Burden_is_not_Mine_Alone
*
February 3. 12:45pm.
“This is Quinn Fabray’s phone. I’m unavailable right now. If you need to reach me urgently, try my work phone: 216 568 2047. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks. ‘Bye.”
Hey it’s Noah. Listen, I’ll be in Chicago two weeks from now for a few days. Maybe we can meet up? Let me know. Oh, and I was forced to see Berry’s show last night. I think Finn’s seen it seven times already. She was good; I’m not going to lie. Don’t tell her I said that though. I told her she was crap. But I know she saw through it because she smiled and grabbed the flowers I’d brought. Whatever.
Call me back.
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