Fic: [4/7] The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat
Previous: 1 • 2 • 3
Part Six. Three Years and Eight Months Later: A Day in Their Life
Their relationship improved Glee rehearsals, which is one of the reasons I was supportive of it. (Also, I wanted my fellow gleeks to be happy! But I wanted to win Nationals, too. More, to be honest.) Noah was less of a delinquent, Mercedes was less antagonistic, and Quinn was less passive-aggressive. All in all, the perfect recipe for smooth and productive rehearsals.
-Rachel Berry
Some people stand in the darkness
Afraid to step into the lights
Some people need to help somebody
When the edge of surrender’s in sight
“Mercedes,” Noah groaned.
Don’t you worry; it’s gonna be all right
‘Cause I’m always ready, I won’t let you out of my sight
“Mercedes.”
I’ll be ready. Never you fear
I’ll be ready. Forever and always, I’m always here
“Mercedes!”
Mercedes snaked a hand out from under the blankets, hit the snooze button, and spun the volume wheel down - all with amazing accuracy, considering her eyes were still closed. Noah would’ve been impressed, if he wasn’t pissed that he was waking up to the fucking theme song from fucking Baywatch.
“Mama, you can’t tell me it isn’t disconcerting as hell to wake up to the theme from Baywatch. Even if it does provide some awesome imagery of Pamela Anderson in a red one-piece. Hmmm…”
Mercedes opened her eyes then and turned to face him, propping herself up on one elbow. Between them, Quinn snored softly, oblivious to their conversation. “Compromise, Noah. Tomorrow Quinn gets to choose, and the day after that, you do.”
“Whatever happened to ‘ring ring fucking ring?’”
“‘Ring ring fucking ring’ doesn’t inspire me to wake up in the morning,” Mercedes grouched. She sat up in bed, jostling Quinn as she did so. The woman made an unintelligible sound, and remained asleep. Mercedes patted her back in apology.
“And Baywatch does?”
“Yes. Anyway, don’t you have somewhere to be? Wake Quinn before you shower.”
Noah was already headed down the hall to the bathroom. “No can do,” he called to her.
“Dammit,” Mercedes muttered. Waking Quinn was a chore that she and Noah split between them - rather unevenly, Mercedes thought. It made sense that she would be left with the task more often than not though, since it wasn’t as if she had anything to do with her days. Mercedes sighed and shook Quinn. “Quinn. Babe.”
Quinn muttered something that vaguely sounded like, “Fuck off.”
Mercedes frowned and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She probably didn’t even know what she was saying. “Quinn, wake up!”
Quinn batted at Mercedes’ hand and mumbled, “I’m sleeping, asshole.”
Okay, that was perfectly intelligible. Mercedes pulled the covers off of her.
“Dammit! It’s freezing!” Quinn folded her arms across her chest and glared at Mercedes. The glare wasn’t as indignant as Quinn probably imagined it was. Actually, it was kind of adorable because she still looked sleepy.
“Serves you right,” Mercedes said without much pity. “This is getting ridiculous, Quinn. How old are you again? One day I’m gonna let you oversleep, and you’ll miss work, and those poor kids will wonder where you are, and your supervisor will-”
“Got it,” Quinn said testily.
“You awake now?”
“Go away,” Quinn muttered. She yawned.
Mercedes rolled her eyes and left. In a few minutes, Quinn would be her normal self. Every morning was generally a variation of Noah or Mercedes (usually Mercedes) shaking Quinn awake, Quinn cursing in creepily creative ways, Noah or Mercedes getting impatient and doing something drastic (once, Noah held the alarm clock just above her ear as it blared the Kidz Bop version of “You Raise Me Up.” Quinn had leapt out of bed immediately, intent on bodily harm.), and Quinn telling them - essentially - to go fuck themselves. At least today she was nicer about it.
Noah and Quinn would want breakfast. Matt probably would, too. Mercedes sighed and made her way to the kitchen. She needed to get a damn job already; she hoped her interview today would lead to employment.
*^*^*
Noah ate on his feet. He always ate breakfast that way, even when he wasn’t in a hurry, like today.
Quinn hurried into the kitchen pulling on a cardigan. “Have you seen my hairpin? The one I bought in Chicago.”
Mercedes’ brow furrowed. “Um…the last time I saw it, it was on the bookshelf near the weird bookend.”
“Lemme look.” Quinn hurried back into their bedroom.
“Relax,” Mercedes called after her. “You won’t be late.”
Noah put his coffee mug in the sink. “She’ll be late,” he said to Mercedes.
“I know.” Mercedes sighed. “She always has a million random things to do before she leaves.”
“Morning, Matt,” they heard Quinn say in the hallway. She hurried into the kitchen on his heels.
“Good morning,” Matt said to Noah and Mercedes.
“Morning,” they chorused.
“I’m ready,” Matt said to Mercedes.
“Have some breakfast first,” she offered.
He shrugged and sat with her at the kitchen table. Mercedes fixed him a plate while he and Noah struck up a conversation about his job.
“I found it. How does this look?” Quinn asked Mercedes.
“A little to the left.”
Quinn moved the hairpin.
“No, your left.”
Quinn moved it again.
“C’mere.”
Quinn squatted beside Mercedes, who arranged the hairpin to her satisfaction. “Okay,” Mercedes said.
“Thanks.”
“…So celebrities actually care about shit like that?” Noah asked.
Matt shrugged. “Yeah. Crazy, right? Anyway, it’s whatever the client wants.” Matt co-owned (with Santana) an upscale party planning company in Santa Barbara. Santana worked the business end while he handled the artistic side. Recently, they’d started getting celebrity clients, due to some name-dropping by Rachel and Kurt. Matt had flown to New York for the weekend to secure a job from an up-and-coming film producer, and asked to stay with the trio. Naturally, they’d welcomed him.
“Weird,” Noah said.
Matt shrugged again.
“Gotta go,” Noah said. He and Matt went through an uncomplicated handshake-and-a-pat-on-the-back maneuver - the male equivalent of a hug. Mercedes just barely restrained her eye rolling.
“It was good to see you, bro,” Matt said.
“You too, man. Have a good flight.”
“Thanks.”
Noah kissed Mercedes cheek. “Good luck with the interview.”
“Thanks.”
Quinn quit rummaging in the fridge to offer her cheek to Noah. “Try not to be late,” he said dryly. If she didn’t leave in ten minutes she would be.
“Go to work,” Quinn said in response.
“Going, going.” The front door to their condo slammed behind him.
“Thanks for breakfast, Mercedes,” Matt said.
“No problem. We’ll leave in ten minutes, okay?” Mercedes began clearing the table. “Babe,” she said to Quinn, “you’re leaving with us. I can give you a ride to the subway.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, Mercedes pulled up to the train station’s entrance. “Here you go.”
Quinn kissed her cheek. “Thanks. Good luck today. Oh, and can you drop the car off at the agency after your interview? I’ve got a ton of home visits to do today.”
Mercedes nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Quinn kissed Matt’s cheek. “Nice seeing you again, Matt! Tell Santana I said hi.” She climbed out of the backseat and ran down the station’s steps.
Mercedes shook her head fondly. “She’ll be late again.”
“Seems like you guys are doing really well. Together, I mean,” Matt commented.
“Yeah,” Mercedes said. “It’s funny. Everyone says relationships are hard work, and because we’re doing this with three people instead of two, it should be really difficult, right? But it isn’t. Obviously, it isn’t perfect. But for the most part, it’s fun and…easy. It’s as if we’re…”
“In synch,” Matt finished.
Mercedes raised her brows and glanced at him. “Yeah.” She headed toward the Conduit. On a good day, JFK was thirty minutes from their Brooklyn home. In serious traffic, it could take up to two hours. Today was a good day.
“How did your parents take it?” Matt asked.
Mercedes glanced at him again.
“It’s just that…you know Mike’s parents had a problem with his wife in the beginning, right?”
Mercedes nodded. Mike had married an Indian woman about three years ago, and his parents (and hers too, for that matter) had given them hell.
“Now they’re finally starting to come around.”
“‘Course, it helps that she just had a baby,” Mercedes said cynically.
“Of course,” Matt said wryly. “But the situation revolved around their parents being racist. At the end of the day, it’s not like he was in a relationship with Inara and another woman.”
“Like us.”
“Like you,” Matt agreed.
Mercedes was silent for a few minutes. The metro area’s “all day, every day” news radio station was currently fixated on economic news. She turned it down when the newscaster began addressing the weather.
“Quinn’s mom was - amazingly enough - easygoing about it. I think it’s because she already knew about Quinn and Noah’s connection - Beth, I mean - and when Quinn went into labor she found out that Quinn had been staying with me. She was probably more confused about the relationship that existed between Noah and me, but…whatever. She accepted it. Accepts it. I don’t know if Quinn’s dad knows. He probably does by now; it’s been a few years.
“Noah’s mom found out by accident. He was home for Chanukah the year before we moved in together. He was writing an…explicit email to Quinn and me, and left it open on his computer in his room for a few minutes. She came in and read it.”
“How did she take it?”
“Um…not well. Let’s just say he went back to New York early. She’s still not one hundred percent about it. Actually, I don’t think any of our parents are. Now she can talk to Quinn and me without going off on a you’re-corrupting-my-only-son-you-nymphomaniac-whores tangent, so that’s something. You would think she’d get the Quinn and Noah part of our relationship because, I mean, they had a baby together! But she was pissed for a while about the baby father drama.”
“How did she even hear about that?” Matt asked.
“Mr. Schue and his thoughtful, yet meddlesome self. He spotted her in the audience after our Regionals win and they got to talking. Apparently she started cursing in…Yiddish? Hebrew? I didn’t even know they had Hebrew curse words. I suppose every language has some.
“As for my parents, they were the last to find out. I put it off for a long time…I told them a few weeks after I graduated.”
“That was five months ago, Mercedes! You guys have been together for years!”
Mercedes looked a little sheepish. “Yeah. It was mostly so they would stop bugging me about where I was living. You know I moved in with Quinn and Noah right after graduation. I think my dad tells himself that I’m just living with two roommates, but my mom doesn’t delude herself. She likes Quinn, liked her when she was living with us during high school, but I think she still sees Noah as the douche he was for most of high school.” Mercedes shrugged. “None of them really understand it.”
“That’s understandable.”
Mercedes made a noise of affirmation. “It’s kind of late for you to be asking this.”
Matt chuckled. “I honestly figured I would hear about it from Rachel at some point. But now that Mike’s parents have finally stopped bitching about Inara, it made me wonder about how your parents…deal.”
“Not great. But at least they all know by now.”
They listened to the radio for a few minutes. The station kept recounting the story of the death of a little girl at the hands of her uncle. (The tragic story was correlated with the similar story of another girl named Nixzmary Brown. It had apparently been big news more than a decade ago.) It was depressing her, and anyway, Quinn ranted enough about it that Mercedes knew the whole story. She changed the station.
“You sacrifice,” Matt said randomly.
“Come again?”
“You made breakfast. And you cleaned up. And you’ll probably make dinner too, and do whatever other domestic things you do.”
Mercedes flushed. “Sometimes I feel like a trophy wife, except I’m not slim, blonde, and white. But…things have to be done. And since I don’t have a job right now, I’m the likely candidate to do them. I don’t mind, most of the time. It isn’t as if Quinn and Noah don’t help out, too. It’s just that I do the bulk of cooking and cleaning.” She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Matt nodded. “It seems like a lot of marriages fall apart because one member of the couple, or both, isn’t willing to…pick up the slack, I guess. Or care enough about the other to do things like take on an uneven amount of chores because you know your partner has a long workweek. But you care, and you’re willing. And I know Quinn and Noah are, too. I’m glad for you guys.”
Mercedes was speechless for a few moments. Then, “Wow, insightful much?”
Matt laughed.
“We’re not married,” Mercedes said.
“You might as well be.”
Mercedes mulled that over in her mind. She changed the subject. “Which airline are you taking?”
“American.”
“It’s Gate 4.”
Mercedes pulled up to the drop off point. “Be safe, Matt. Call one of us when you land.”
Matt nodded and pulled her into a hug as best he could, with the gearstick in the way. “You have an interview today, right? Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She kissed his cheek.
He grabbed his book bag (Men, thought Mercedes. Travelling with only one small book bag for an entire weekend.), and slammed the car door shut behind him. Mercedes waited till he entered the automatic double doors before driving away.
*^*^*
Noah shoved aside the blueprints and stretched. It seemed every profession required some form of research; architecture was no exception. The firm at which he worked specialized in urban planning and historical preservation consulting. As an associate to a junior designer (You’ve gotta start somewhere, Noah kept telling himself) his job consisted of looking through blueprints of buildings similar to the current project, and noting anything interesting, unique, standard, etc. He was also allowed to submit his own ideas for consideration. All in all, it wasn’t exciting, but definitely not as dull as studying NYC building codes, which was what the other associate regularly got stuck with.
“Find anything interesting?” his boss asked.
Noah reached for the blueprints he had just shoved aside. “Nothing yet.”
“Keep looking. It might help if the blueprints were nearby.” Martin Newquist disappeared back into his corner cubicle.
Asshole, Noah thought. He might’ve been an associate to a junior designer, but at least he had the talent to move up the ladder. Martin was a junior designer who wasn’t good enough to be a junior designer, much less become a senior designer. It was a mystery that he’d made it as far as he had.
The other associate, Kevin, sat in a tiny cubicle next to his. He wheeled his chair back to get a view into Noah’s cubicle. “How’s it going?”
*
“Okay,” Quinn responded to her coworkers’ question. She looked up from her paperwork. Half of social work was writing reports, filing reports, and crosschecking everything.
“I meant to ask you,” the petite Hispanic woman continued, “are you still in the MSW program at Fordham?”
Quinn nodded.
“Is it worth it? It seems everyone has a master’s degree in social work.”
Quinn nodded again. “That’s true. It is worth it, though, as long as you have at least seven or eight years experience to go with the degree. The more the better. By itself, an MSW is essentially worthless. With experience, though, you can become a supervisor or even director of an agency.”
“Maybe I’ll do it. I don’t know…it costs a lot of money.”
“St. Vincent’s will pay for most of it. And the rest isn’t that much.”
Arianna nodded. “Oh, by the way. Shanice is looking for you. I told her we’re going to lunch right now.”
Quinn grinned. “Thank you! Let’s go now before she decides to stop us.” Shanice reveled in relaying bad news, which usually centered on misplaced documents, and was typically a result of her screw up. Quinn had been waiting weeks for a marriage certificate connected to one of her cases. Something told her Shanice would have a long and pointless story about its disappearance.
“What are you having for lunch today?” Arianna asked her.
*
“Sweet and sour chicken, please. And vegetable fried rice.”
Mercedes had gone home after dropping Matt off at the airport. She’d finished cleaning the kitchen, chosen an outfit to wear to her interview, changed the sheets in the spare bedroom Matt had slept in, and sorted the dirty laundry. She would finish the laundry after lunch; today, it was takeout from the Chinese food place near their condo. She sat in a booth and waited for her order.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Matt. She didn’t resent her current role in the relationship, but at the same time, five months of housewifery - for lack of a better term - were more than enough. Even after getting through her daily routine of domestic chores and after looking for a job, she still had a decent block of time to kill each day. It was pathetic.
Mercedes sighed. Today, she was interviewing at a medium-sized firm, hoping to get a job in her area of expertise (wills and estate planning, and family law) - but at this point, anything would do. Within reason, Mercedes amended to herself. She wasn’t totally desperate. But it would be nice to have money of her own, and not just generous allowances from her…from Noah and Quinn. She never knew quite what to call them, and usually introduced them by their names, not their relationship to her.
“Miss,” the man at the counter said to her. Mercedes nodded. Her lunch was ready.
*^*^*
4:15pm. Mercedes: Got it!
4:20pm. Noah: My girl. U know what this means?
4:22pm. Mercedes: Lol yeah I know.
4:23pm. Mercedes: So mean of u to bet me 50 bucks I would get this job!
4:25pm. Mercedes: Especially since I don’t have any money.
4:27pm. Noah: U will soon. Pay up 1st paycheck! I’m splittin the money w/ Berry.
4:29pm. Noah: Guess she *is* psychic. Congrats mama!
4:31pm. Mercedes: Omg Rachel is crazy! Later.
4:34pm. Noah: Later.
*
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart. How was the interview?”
“I got it!”
“Thank God! I knew you would get it.”
“You and Rachel both,” Mercedes muttered.
“Hmmm?”
“Nothing. Listen, Mom, I’ll call you later.”
’Kay. ’Bye dear.”
“’Bye Mom.”
*
Mercedes waited for Quinn on the sidewalk outside of the agency. Quinn hurried through the door, cell phone at her ear.
“Look, Mr. Santiago. The best thing you can do for Yesenia right now is what’s in your service plan. Show up to your randoms. Go to the counseling ses-”
Quinn stopped in front of Mercedes and rolled her eyes. Mercedes mouthed, “Angry dad?”
Quinn nodded and started to mouth something back to Mercedes. “He-” Quinn jumped back into her conversation. “That’s what I’m telling you!” Quinn said into the phone. “If you don’t go to counseling, and you don’t show up for your random drug screens, and you don’t come to the agency to visit your daughter more than twice a year, then there’s nothing I can do to help you. Okay?”
Quinn held the phone away from her ear. “Hi,” she said to Mercedes.
“Hiya back,” Mercedes said amusedly.
“There’s no reason to start cursing! I…” Quinn rolled her eyes again. Mercedes rubbed her back to calm her down.
“Goodbye, Mr. Santiago. Call me back when you haven’t been drinking … yes I can tell you’ve been drinking … no, I’m not a doctor … or a … what? Look, I will call you in a few hours. Okay?”
Mercedes held the car keys out to Quinn. Quinn nodded her thanks and dropped them in her coat pocket.
“Now you don’t understand English? ¡Yo te llamo más tarde! Adios.” Quinn forcefully hit the end button.
“Tough job,” Mercedes commented.
“Don’t get me started,” Quinn said. “I don’t even know how he got my cell number. Speaking of jobs, how did it go?”
“Good. Really good. He asked the salary question.”
“And?”
“I asked for five grand more than we talked about.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped. “That’s a lot, Mercy!”
Mercedes shrugged and grinned. “He said yes right away.”
Quinn squealed and hugged her. “Yes! I’m so happy for you!”
Mercedes squeezed her tight. “I start a week from now.”
“I guess we need to talk about how to split up chores more evenly now. I know you’ve been doing a lot…”
“No worries.”
“You’re great, hon.” Quinn stuck her hands in her coat pockets. “Hey, doesn’t this mean you owe Noah fifty bucks?”
“Yes, as he so nicely reminded me. I parked the car around the corner in front of the deli. There’s no meter.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ve gotta get back.”
Mercedes squeezed her hand. “See you later.”
“Likewise, you rich woman you.” Quinn’s phone rang again. She looked at the caller ID and groaned. “Him again. Shoot me, will you?”
“Then who would call me an asshole in the mornings?” Mercedes quipped.
“I’m sorry about that,” Quinn said contritely. “You know I’m not myself at 7am.”
Mercedes waved it off. “Better answer the phone. Mr. Santiago might decide to fill your voicemail box with creative Spanish insults. And English ones.”
Quinn blanched and answered her phone with a sigh. She waved to Mercedes and disappeared into the building.
*^*^*
Mercedes clicked on the small kitchen TV and changed the channel in time to hear the last few strains of “Killing Me Softly.” “Crap,” she muttered. Anita Baker’s “Body and Soul” started up next, which brought a delighted smile to Mercedes’ face. She liked to cook dinner while listening to (and singing along with) the R&B music channel. Today was no exception. The outcome of her interview had put her in a good mood, and she danced around the kitchen as she gathered ingredients. She was in the middle of mincing garlic when the front door opened.
Noah tossed his coat on the back of a chair, grabbed the stack of mail from the hall table, and entered the kitchen. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “We should eat out tonight to celebrate.” He kissed her cheek.
“Quinn’s getting home a little late today. By the time she comes…let’s just stay in.”
“Your call,” Noah said. He kissed the base of her neck and started working his hands under her thin chemise. He hit a ticklish spot and Mercedes giggled and jerked reflexively. She tried to elbow him off of her.
“Noah! I’ve got a knife in my hands! Get off of me!”
“C’mon, mama,” he said in his best bedroom voice.
Mercedes did her best to keep herself under control. After all these years, it was kind of amazing that she still experienced a distinct lack of willpower around him. “Noooah,” she moaned softly. “I can’t…you can’t keep doing…dinner! Dinner,” she repeated more firmly. “Don’t you want to eat sometime soon?”
Noah grinned.
Mercedes rolled her eyes. “Don’t answer that.” In the background, Janet Jackson began singing about nasty boys. “The song says it all.”
Noah ceased his ministrations and leaned against the wall. “Fine, fine. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to feel up his sexy girlfriend.”
Mercedes blushed. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a decent amount of self-confidence. She did. She knew how to choose clothes that looked good on her, and enough guys tried to hit on her that she felt kind of desirable. But it still made her feel good to know that Noah found her attractive and sexy.
“Matt got back okay,” Noah said. He shuffled through the mail.
“Oh, good.”
“Dammit, I thought I paid this already.”
Mercedes turned away from the stove to glance at the cable bill he showed her. “You did. Quinn sent it in last Friday on her way to work. Better check online.”
Noah cursed. “We should switch companies.”
“We should,” Mercedes agreed. “Or maybe we should get rid of our cable altogether. I mean, do any of us watch TV that isn’t news anyway? I watch shows online. And Quinn never has the time or the energy to watch much TV.”
“I watch ESPN,” Noah pointed out.
“Hardly,” Mercedes countered. “Anyway, at some point they show those games on the regular channels.” She took his silence to mean he wouldn’t refute that.
“We’ll talk about it,” he said. He disappeared into their bedroom, presumably to use his laptop.
Mercedes started singing along to the TV again.
*
Quinn arrived home a little after 7pm. By that time, everything was almost ready. Noah was finishing up the task Mercedes had given him: putting together a small salad. Quinn snagged a cherry tomato from the salad bowl and popped it in her mouth. She kissed Noah and smiled. “Where’s Mercy?”
“Here,” Mercedes called from the bedroom.
Quinn appeared in the doorway. Mercedes offered her cheek, and Quinn obliged with a kiss on the lips. “You made baked ziti.”
“You and Noah are obsessed with it, for some reason.”
“It’s good.” Quinn leaned against the doorjamb. “Remember my friend Rhonda?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s having a baby.”
“What is it?”
“A boy.”
“Good luck to her,” Mercedes said.
“She and her boyfriend are excited.”
“Babies,” Mercedes said.
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “They’re so…”
“Dependent.”
“Cute too.”
“Yeah.”
“I did it,” Quinn said.
“What?”
Quinn lifted her shirt.
Mercedes gaped. “That is…” She swallowed. “Let me…”
The doorbell rang. Quinn pulled her shirt down and hurried to answer it. Inside their bedroom, Mercedes cursed.
“Hello, Quinn!”
“Hi, Rachel,” Quinn said with much less enthusiasm. By this time, they were all resigned to being friends with Rachel. Deep down, the gleeks all considered each other family, in an undefined way. Rachel was just so…exhausting. And she tended to invite herself places (like their home) without at least calling ahead. She was a force of nature and quite unstoppable. Finn had given up trying to rein her in. Speaking of… “Where’s Finn?”
“Overtime.” Rachel pushed past Quinn and entered the kitchen. “Hello, Noah!”
“Berry. Just who I wanted to see today,” Noah deadpanned.
Quinn closed the door with a sigh and followed Rachel into the kitchen. Mercedes exited the bedroom.
“Hello, Mercedes!”
“Hi, Rach,” Mercedes said. The diva had grown on her. “Apparently,” she glared at Noah, “I owe you 25 bucks.”
“You received the job!” Rachel exclaimed. She hugged Mercedes. “I knew you would. I have a kind of sixth sense, you know.”
“Yes, you do,” Mercedes agreed. Quinn was standing behind Rachel, rolling her eyes. “Why are you here?”
Rachel sat at the kitchen table. “As you probably know, after much hard work and persistence, I have finally received a part in a Broadway production. It isn’t the lead role, but I am confident that my performance in ‘A Bed of Pearls’ will lead to several offers for compelling lead roles.”
“Um, that’s great, Rachel,” Quinn said. A Bed of Pearls?, she mouthed to Noah and Mercedes.
“I have several playbills with me, and I would appreciate it if you left some at your workplaces, and told your friends to support the show. It will be very good. In fact, my character - although not the main one - is pivotal to the story and, dare I say, the sole reason for the climactic ending.”
“You want us to promote your play?” Noah asked incredulously. “I’m pretty sure there’s someone already getting paid for that.”
“It’s a musical,” Rachel corrected. “And I have one solo. Did I mention that? Naturally, it’s amazing.”
“Naturally,” Quinn muttered.
“Of course there are publicists and PR people attached to the musical. But there is nothing quite like mouth-to-mouth advertising.” Rachel smiled at the trio.
Quinn took the playbills Rachel offered her. “Thanks for dropping by, Rachel,” she said completely unsubtly. “We’ll talk again soon, okay?”
“You won’t mind if I stay for dinner,” Rachel stated.
“YES,” Quinn mouthed to Mercedes. “I MIND.” She frantically made the cutthroat symbol.
“Of course not,” Mercedes said. Quinn glared at her. Mercedes smiled.
“Don’t you have some adoring fans to flash?” Noah griped.
“Don’t you have brain cells to be lost somehow?” Rachel shot back sweetly.
Quinn and Mercedes laughed. Noah glared at them.
“Mercedes owes me money that I might decide not to split with you, Berry. Think about that,” Noah said.
“It’s twenty-five dollars,” Rachel said. “My wallet costs more than that.”
“So you don’t want it? Okay.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Rachel protested. She and Noah continued their conversation. Mercedes listened, smirking in all the right places. Quinn had just decided to interrupt when her cell phone rang. She groaned.
“Hello? ... Hi, Shanice … You don’t know what happened to the marriage certificate? Of course … No, I meant … Can’t you resubmit your request and get another copy?” Quinn watched Mercedes dish out the baked ziti.
“I’m not asking for … what does that have to do with anything? That’s … how did we get from the Wingfield case to … I’m not gonna talk about this, I’ll see you tomorrow … no, it’s none of your goddamned business!”
Mercedes looked at Quinn worriedly.
"Look, I'm not a Mormon, I'm just horny. Goodbye." Quinn tossed the phone into her purse.
Rachel piped up, "I believe that relating Mormonism to being in a polyamorous relationship is not only incorrect, but religious discrimination and bigotry, even. Quinn, you can’t just-”
“Oh, just shut it, PC police,” Quinn said more harshly than she’d intended. She made a face, then frowned. “Sorry, Rachel. Shanice is kind of a…”
“Bitch?” Noah said.
Quinn nodded. “She is always losing important documents and then being.... Anyway, I don’t want to talk about her. Or work. It was a long damn day.”
“You wouldn’t believe who I received an email from,” Rachel said.
“Do we care?” Noah asked.
Rachel ignored him. “Jesse St. James. It was a long message, too. He…”
*^*^*
By the time Rachel left, it was 10 o’clock. Quinn and Noah were cleaning the dishes as Mercedes saw Rachel to the door. “The next time I see you, you’d better be wearing an engagement ring. Tell Finn I said that he needs to get it together and put a ring on it before Jesse what’s-his-face does.”
“Oh, Mercedes!”
“Night, Rachel.”
Mercedes headed to the fridge for cranberry juice.
“You look as exhausted as I feel,” Quinn said to her.
“I love her, I’ll admit that, but…I’m good for at least a month now.”
“A month? If I see her three months from now it’ll be too soon!”
Mercedes chuckled. Noah put the last pot away. “Never thought I’d say this, but Finn is a fucking saint.”
“It helps that he’s kind of oblivious,” Mercedes commented.
“Time for Firefly!” Quinn said happily. She clapped her hands.
“Are you sure I’ll like it?” Mercedes remained suspicious of Quinn’s enthusiasm about some old, western-sci-fi-spaceship-whatever TV series.
“I still can’t understand how you haven’t seen it by now! If you don’t like it - if you both don’t like it,” Quinn amended, “then you’re both humorless zombies and we can’t be in a relationship anymore.”
Noah laughed.
“I’m serious,” Quinn said seriously.
Noah stopped laughing.
“Put it on,” Mercedes said.
*^*^*
Noah looked gratified. “That was the most seriously awesome shit I’ve ever seen.”
Quinn turned to Mercedes. “Well?”
Mercedes surreptitiously wiped at her eyes.
“You’re crying!”
“I don’t know why!” Mercedes moaned. “It was…I can’t explain. It…”
“That’s just the pilot. If you’re crying now, wait till we finish the series. And watch the movie.”
“There’s a movie?” Noah asked.
“Hell yes,” Quinn said. “Told you you’d like it. I’m glad we can still be together.” She patted Mercedes’ back. “It’s okay, Mercy. Firefly tends to have that effect on people.”
*^*^*
It was bedtime. Mercedes stood beside the nightstand and fiddled with her iPod. “Quinn, what’ll it be?”
“Christina Aguilera, I think. Fighter.”
“Christina Agui - Christ, Quinn!” Noah exclaimed.
“It’s very loud,” Quinn said placidly.
“That’s my point. Anyway, you don’t even wake up to the alarm clock! You shouldn’t get a choice.”
“Don’t discriminate against me,” Quinn said.
“Discrimination? I think that’s Mercedes’ card to play.”
“Very funny,” Mercedes said.
“Fine,” Noah said. “Wait till you hear which song I pick tomorrow.”
“Noah,” Quinn said.
“You’ll probably want to kill me,” Noah continued.
“Noah. Honey,” Quinn said. She kissed his shoulder. Mercedes looked on amusedly.
“It won’t work,” Noah said. “So don’t even-”
Quinn sat on his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. She kissed the base of his neck, sucked on an earlobe. She whispered something in his ear.
“Not working,” Noah said in a singsong voice.
Mercedes’ phone rang. “Hey Kurt. Thank God. You saved me from…you don’t even want to know. Hold on a sec.” Mercedes covered the base of the phone with a hand. “Babe, good luck. Noah, stay strong.”
“Damn right, mama.”
“Thanks, Mercy.”
Mercedes left their bedroom. “What’s up?” she said into the phone.
“Now, where were we?” Quinn made an elaborate show of pulling off her nightgown. “Surprise!”
Noah stared at the glinting gold bars through Quinn’s nipples. “Shit,” he said.
*
Thirty minutes later, Quinn murmured, “So?”
“Whatever you want, Q,” Noah said. “Whatever you want.”
Mercedes walked in just in time to hear him surrender. “You are such a pussy, Noah.”
Noah cupped Quinn’s right breast. “Did you know about this?” he asked accusingly.
Mercedes tried not to laugh and failed. “I knew she was thinking about it. When she came home today, she told me she’d done it. You didn’t stand a chance.”
Noah groaned. “Why am I even here? You guys are crazy. Why did I decide to-”
“Because you love us,” Quinn said.
“Because you love us,” Mercedes agreed.
Noah didn’t refute that.
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