Fic: [5/7] The Subtle Art of Conducting a Triad, or Brittany's Psychic Cat

[cariluv]

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Part Seven. Two-and-a-Half Years Later

To be honest, I tuned out when Rachel tried to explain their relationship to me back in high school, so I’m still waiting for Puck to decide between them. I asked Quinn and Mercedes the other day what was taking him so long. Quinn started laughing (okay, so she laughed so hard she was, like, gasping. Why?), and Mercedes gave me a book (which I didn’t read) called “Polyamory: The New Love Without Limits.” And then Rachel heard about it all and tried to explain their relationship again using puppets (“Very Avenue Q, Finn"), but I totally tuned out again. I still don’t get it.
-Finn Hudson

“I’m going in an hour later from now on,” Quinn announced at breakfast that morning.

Noah shrugged. “Okay.”

Mercedes was curious. “Why?”

Quinn murmured something about new child visitation schedules and issues with overtime. “So I’ll be home later than normal,” she finished.

“Wanna take on an extra day or two of breakfast duty?” Mercedes asked. “Since you’ve got extra time.”

Quinn hesitated before agreeing to Wednesdays and Thursdays.

“You don’t have to,” Mercedes said. “It was-”

“No, it’s fine.”

Mercedes gave her a searching look. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Quinn said shortly.

“Gotta go,” Noah said. He kissed Mercedes and Quinn. “Later.”

“Can you - never mind.” Quinn clutched her glass of water.

Noah glanced at her. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she said testily.

He shrugged and glanced at Mercedes, who raised her brows. He shrugged again and left for work.

“You’re not eating,” Mercedes commented.

“Nope.”

Mercedes sighed. If Quinn wanted to be sulky - because she was being sulky, no doubt about it - there was nothing she could do about it. “See you tonight.”

“’Bye.”

Mercedes sighed again and left.

Quinn carefully took a sip of her water and stared at the kitchen calendar. She sighed.

^*^*^
Two Sundays later, Quinn and Noah were sitting in their living room watching a political-pundit-roundtable-discussion show, something along the lines of Meet the Press, except less interesting. Noah was actually getting into it, though. People do tend to become more interested in politics when Uncle Sam begins to take a serious chunk of their biweekly paychecks. Quinn was half-heartedly following along with the discussion, but she was mostly focused on Nora Roberts’ latest crappy novel. Mercedes was at church, and Quinn was waiting for her to come home.

At last, Mercedes came home. By that time, Noah had switched to ESPN. (As it turned out, they’d cut off the cable for two months before going stir crazy and renewing their contract.) Quinn was lying on the sofa, still plugging away at the novel. (Literally, it was a tome of crap. But she was holding out until the first {quite possibly disastrous} sex scene.) Mercedes walked in and tossed her purse on the sofa, barely missing Quinn’s toes. Quinn laid her book on the armrest and sat up. “How was church?”

“Great!” Mercedes said. “Good sermon, good music. You’re welcome to come whenever you want, you know.”

Quinn made a noncommittal noise. She was a lackluster Catholic who only went to mass on Christmas and Easter. Noah was a lazy Jew who barely went to temple. Mercedes faithfully went to church on Sundays, though. And she almost always came home in a good mood.

Today was no exception. Mercedes was currently dancing in front of the TV and pissing Noah off. He pulled her down onto his lap and began a mock, stern talking-to. Mercedes looked properly chastised and kissed him deeply…before dancing in front of the TV once more. Noah grabbed for her and missed, as she danced away, laughing. She sank onto the sofa next to Quinn. “How’s the book?” Mercedes asked.

“Absolute crap. I’m pregnant.”

“That sucks - what?!”

“Preggers. Me. I am. Baby. You know, the result of-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Mercedes said. “Noah!”

Noah was engrossed in the IndyCar race.

“Noah!” Mercedes shouted.

“Mama,” Noah said. “Still trying to watch TV here, I know you-”

“Quinn’s pregnant.”

“Holy shit!” Noah stood up, looking foolish, and quickly sat back down. “You have to build up to news like this, Mercedes.”

“Yo, blame baby mama here,” Mercedes said, pointing to Quinn. “She’s the one who blurted it out like it was nothing.”

“Q?”

“Three weeks, I think.”

“Oh, that means it was when we…”

“Yeah.”

Mercedes crossed her arms over her chest. “Um…I don’t remember discussing this.”

Quinn frowned. “Remember? A few months ago we were at that awful hotel in Atlantic City, and we started talking about maybe having kids-”

“Yes, I remember because we said maybe. So all this time…you two have been trying?”

Noah frowned, too. “We weren’t trying. We were just…”

“Having sex,” Mercedes finished.

“Yeah,” Noah said.

“Without birth control or condoms,” Mercedes continued.

“Well, yes,” Quinn said.

“Sounds like you were trying to me,” Mercedes said.

Quinn turned to face her girlfriend. “What are you saying, Mercedes? I’m NOT…it’s a baby…our baby. I thought we agreed…”

“I’m not saying to…I would never suggest that! I’m just saying that it wasn’t a clear discussion. For starters, we were in frickin’ Atlantic City.”

“True,” Noah said.

“And Noah was slightly drunk.”

“Also true,” Noah agreed.

“Well, this is where we are now,” Quinn said.

“We need to talk about this,” Mercedes said.

“We are,” Noah said. He looked less shell-shocked. He moved to sit beside Quinn, sandwiching her between himself and Mercedes.

“Seriously, I mean.”

“Okay,” Quinn said. “Let’s.”

“Not now,” Mercedes said. “Let’s give ourselves a week or two to…think.” She smoothed out her skirt. “I need at least a week, anyway,” she added.

“Okay,” Quinn said. “But I’ll say now that I know this will be…weird for you. Noah and I having a baby, I mean. Another baby,” she murmured.

Mercedes placed an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it, babe.”

“You know, normal people don’t do this.” Noah said.

“What?” Mercedes asked.

“You know, plan serious discussions.”

“Actually, they do. Haven’t you ever watched Oprah?”

“My point exactly.”

“Anyway, we’re a legit ménage a trois. Clearly, not normal.”

Noah shrugged. “This is going to be awesome!”

“You’re…really excited,” Quinn said warily.

“You were a MILF back then, and you’ll be even more of a MILF now. Besides, everyone knows preggos get crazy horny!”

Mercedes reached across Quinn and hit Noah with her purse. “Let’s wait a bit before we start talking about molesting Quinn.”

“We?” Quinn asked with a faint smirk.

“You can’t seriously believe that Noah’s the only one who’ll be getting all up on that!” Mercedes laughed, then sobered. “We’re having a baby,” she said. “This is…serious, then. Us, I mean.”

“It’s been serious, mama,” Noah said. “I’m a fucking reformed sex shark.”

“Reformed my ass,” Quinn muttered.

“You know I like it when you talk like that. If you keep it up,” Noah said, “we won’t ever leave our bed, capiche? Except for food breaks. And bathroom breaks. And work, I guess.”

“So, kind of like our life now?” Mercedes asked with a smirk.

“Doesn’t Jesus have something to say about being sarcastic?” Noah retorted.

“Not as much as He has to say about people who call themselves sex sharks,” Mercedes said sweetly.

Quinn laughed. “You two…”

“Can we keep the baby news to ourselves for a while?” Mercedes asked.

“God, yes,” Noah said. “I know my Ma will be down here the moment she hears. And she won’t leave till the kid’s 18.”

Quinn shuddered. She would definitely be eating bacon through this pregnancy.

Mercedes grinned at her. “Okay, then.” She sat on the sofa, watching TV with Noah, who returned to his chair. Quinn lay her feet across Mercedes’ lap and returned to Nora Roberts’ Dancing with Faeries.

*^*^*
Two more weeks passed before they were able to start their discussion. Meanwhile, Quinn went to her doctor, who confirmed the results of the home pregnancy test and gave her brochures reminiscent of those in Ms. Pillsbury’s office back in high school. (Quinn thought “So You’re Having a Baby, and Thus Adding to the World’s Population, Which Means Less Food and Space for the Rest of Us. Thanks” was disturbing, while Mercedes thought “Help! I Can’t Stop Eating Pickles and Ice Cream!: Hormones and You” was oddly similar to the premise of a new reality television show. Noah laughed nonstop at “How Not to Bite Off the Head of the Hundredth Person Who Asks to Touch Your Belly” and, for days after, went around requesting to touch Quinn’s still flat stomach.)

It was a rainy spring Saturday afternoon, and they were all unexpectedly available. Noah had mixed up the date for plans with his grad school friends - they were meeting next Saturday, not this one. At the last minute, Quinn’s sister had changed her mind about coming down for the weekend. And Rachel had felt the beginnings of a cold and decided to skip her brunch date with Kurt and Mercedes to self medicate with honeyed tea and antibiotics. The trio found themselves home that afternoon, and Mercedes suggested they finally have the Discussion. Quinn agreed. Noah shrugged; it wasn’t as if he could get out of it.

They sat in the living room. Noah sprawled on the couch; Quinn lay between his legs, her back against his chest. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist. Mercedes leaned against the other armrest, her legs tangling with Quinn’s and Noah’s. Comfortably squished, and armed with a few snacks on the table nearby, they began.

“I’ve got a short list,” Mercedes said.

Quinn smiled fondly. It was little things like that that gave her a glimpse of Mercedes the Lawyer, not Mercedes the Lover/Girlfriend.

“I’ll start,” Noah said, tone serious. Mercedes deferred to him.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since last year. A few months ago - before we went to Atlantic City - I, well-” He opened a concealed drawer beneath the table and pulled out two small velvet boxes.

“Oh!” Quinn gasped.

“I bought these,” Noah continued. “I wanted to wait for…anyway, I think this is the right moment. I’m not on my knees or anything-”

“That’s fine,” Mercedes said softly.

“And obviously I can’t marry you both, but, um, I…really fucking love you, okay? And I really love fucking you-”

“Noah!” Quinn predictably exclaimed.

“Seriously, though. I like coming home to my best girls, knowing that you mostly don’t bitch and get on my case about shit, and knowing that I’m guaranteed crazy hot, awesome sex with crazy hot, awesome ladies. And knowing that we’re all in this together, to be Zac Efron for a minute. So…here.”

Noah opened the boxes. The rings were identical white gold bands, except for a single marquise-shaped gem. He slid the ring with the ruby on Mercedes’ ring finger and said “Ani ledodi v’dodi li, haRo’eh baShushanim. Ani ohev otkhah.” He slid the ring with the emerald on Quinn’s finger and whispered the same phrase. She smiled at him teary-eyed, and thought that this was what her life was now, what it forever would be: living with her best friends and lovers, raising a child and daily finding something new to love about her…about her family.

“What does it mean?” Mercedes asked huskily.

“It’s a text from Song of Solomon. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine; he feedeth among the lilies. And then I said I love you.”

“It’s beautiful,” Quinn whispered. She kissed him, after some slight maneuvering. She now sat on his lap. Mercedes kissed Noah next. He could feel her lips curve into a smile before she pulled away. “We have to get you a ring,” she said.

“Yes,” Quinn agreed immediately. “We’re going to claim you as our own and break the hearts of women everywhere.”

“Or at least women in the tri-state area,” Mercedes said.

“At the very least, in Brooklyn.”

“Our neighborhood?”

“Surely our building!”

“Thanks,” muttered Noah.

They sat in companionable silence for several moments.

“It feels almost wrong to continue our discussion after this,” Mercedes said.

“Well…” Quinn said.

“I agree,” Noah said immediately. “Let’s do it later.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “You just don’t like discussions.”

“I’m a dude. Can you blame me? Here, take Q.” He lifted Quinn and dumped her into Mercedes’ lap. “See ya!” Noah ran into their bedroom for his jacket and car keys and left their condo.

Quinn looked bewildered from her place on Mercedes’ lap. “What just happened?”

“I think he’s going to call up a friend and drink to the fact that he narrowly escaped an overflow of estrogen.”

“Huh. Wanna make out?”

“Yes. Yes. Okay!”

Mercedes’ phone rang.

“Ignore it,” Quinn said. She was playing with Mercedes’ gold necklace and tracing designs on the upper curves of her breasts.

“My clients are mostly rich old ladies who still haven’t decided whom to leave their money. One of them could be dying! Or pulling a Helmsley!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Leona Helmsley? She left twelve million to her dog? News?”

Mercedes grabbed her phone and batted at Quinn’s hand. Distracting, she mouthed. Quinn stuck her tongue out and decided to straddle Mercedes for easier access.

“Hello? ... Rachel … uh huh … I’m glad you’re feeling better … no, now is not a good time … IT’S NOT A GOOD TIME, RACH! ... I’m not sorry for shouting.” Mercedes exchanged knowing glances with Quinn. “Look Rach, right now Quinn is about to do something really wonderful to the R-rated portions of my body, would you like to listen in? ... yeah, I didn’t think so … ’bye, Rach.” Mercedes tossed her phone on the table.

“Get it, babe!” Mercedes cheered.

“Oh my God,” Quinn said. “I don’t think you’re supposed to urge someone to ‘get it’ when you’re talking about yourself.”

“Get it!” Mercedes repeated.

“If you insist.”

*^*^*
Tuesday was Quinn’s day off from work. She went to class in the mornings (this was the last semester of her MSW program), and usually spent the rest of the day rivaling June Cleaver in domesticity. This particular Tuesday, however, Noah and Mercedes had decided to meet on their lunch breaks, and Quinn had decided to join them. She was picking the restaurant, on one condition:

“I need real food, Quinn.”

“What does that even mean, Mercy? Where would they sell fake food?”

“You know what I mean. I’m not into sandwiches.”

“I still don’t understand that. Sandwiches are lunch food. They’re what make lunch lunch! I mean, Subway!”

“I need food. Like rice. Or pasta. Just think dinner leftovers. Okay?”

“Noah. Any requests from you?” Quinn asked him sarcastically.

“I really need the sun to be shining through the windows on my right, and the waiters all have to be Ecuadorian. But, like, not young Ecuadorian. Middle-aged Ecuadorian. And if the chairs weren’t those deceptive-lightweight-metal-looking ones, that would be awesome too. And the bottled water has to be Poland Spring, not Aqua-fucking-“

“Oh, shut up Noah! I wasn’t being that picky,” Mercedes protested. “I have a legitimate request. You’re bitching about sunlight angles and Ecuadorians.”

Quinn debated hanging up on them.

“Okay, babe? Thanks a lot. See you around 1:30-ish. Let me know where by…noon.”

“Me, too,” Noah said.

“’Kay, ‘bye,” Quinn said, and hung up. Sometimes Noah and Mercedes could be such children.

*
“Good choice, Quinn. I approve.” Mercedes sank into a seat next to Quinn. They were sitting in the outdoor garden of a Thai restaurant on the East Side.

“I’m so glad,” Quinn said sarcastically.

“I’m loving this sarcasm thing you have going on, too. Is it one of those pregnancy hormonal things?”

“Don’t think so,” Quinn said.

“And the terseness is good, too,” Mercedes said.

“Is it really?” Quinn asked.

“Oh, definitely. It’s really…inviting. Makes me want to do naughty, naughty things to you. Like back you against the wall with the…vine things-”

“Wisteria,” Quinn said.

“Against the wall with the wisteria and…how do you know that?”

“One of my foster mothers has flowerpots on the windowsill.”

“Oh, okay. Back to the wisteria and the making out that would occur as a result of your terseness. It’s really sexy, babe, honestly! I can’t resist-” Mercedes couldn’t hold back any longer and burst into uproarious laughter.

Quinn pouted and tried to look upset, but failed. She burst into laughter as well. “When did you figure out?”

“That you were pretending to be an ass and hoping I wouldn’t notice? When I realized that we’re sitting outside of a Thai restaurant.”

“Damn, you really are good. Yeah, maybe we should recreate our fight. How did it start again?”

Mercedes forehead wrinkled in thought. “Something something Josh…Josh? James? Something Santana’s ass something Brittany’s psychic cat.”

“Silly cat, mindreading is for people.”

“…Seriously? Trix?”

Quinn frowned. “It doesn’t work, right?”

“No, it definitely does not, babe.”

“It’s hard to be clever on the spot!”

“No kidding.”

Quinn stuck her tongue out at Mercedes. “Oh, there’s Noah.”

Noah slid into the last seat. “I’m fucking starving. Where’s the menu?”

“Hello to you, too,” Quinn said. She winked at Mercedes.

Noah glanced at Mercedes and turned to Quinn. “Are you okay?”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She turned to call over a waiter.

What’s up with her? Noah mouthed to Mercedes.

Tell you later, Mercedes mouthed back with a smile.

The waiter (who wasn’t Ecuadorian) dropped a few menus on their table and hurried away. Mercedes frowned at his back. Quinn placed a hand over hers. Noah didn’t notice, as he’d already begun scanning the menu.

“I like Pad Thai, don’t I?” he asked.

“Yes, Noah,” Quinn said long-sufferingly.

“Great. Where’s the waiter?”

“Mercedes and I haven’t decided yet!”

“Then let me get a drink while I wait.” Noah signaled for the waiter. “A root beer for me. Thanks.”

“Can I get a cranberry juice?” Quinn asked.

“Make that two,” Mercedes said.

The waiter nodded and hurried away.

Quinn frowned. “He’s…”

“…busy,” Mercedes finished. “Kind of weird.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Why’s he in such a hurry?”

“Why do you care? And Quinn, he isn’t Ecuadorian,” Noah said.

“You’ve got sunlight,” Quinn responded.

“It’s not coming from the…which angle did I say?”

“The right,” Mercedes helped him.

“Yeah. It isn’t coming from the right.”

“I swear I’m going to push you both into the Hudson,” Quinn said.

Noah and Mercedes laughed. “You’re just so easy, babe,” Mercedes said.

“Ha ha,” Quinn said, pouting. “Last I checked, I was carrying your baby and-”

“Oh, you’re good, Q,” Noah said. “I feel serious guilt now.”

“That’s exactly what - oh, you are definitely being dumped in the Hudson, mister!” Quinn glared at Noah, who had started laughing.

The waiter came for their orders then. Mercedes waited till he left to broach one of the topics on her ‘Things to Discuss’ list.

“Let’s say you and I have a baby,” Mercedes said to Noah.

“Um, hypothetically, right? Because, yeah, this is a very bad way to tell me you’re preggers.”

“I’m not pregnant, Noah!”

“Great! Not that…I mean, one at a time, right?”

“Yeah. So let’s say that you and I have a baby sometime in the future. The not so near future, Noah. Focus!”

“Okay.”

“The baby will be black.”

“I’m not black.”

Mercedes looked up to the sky and sighed. “I know you’re not black, Noah.”

“The baby will be mixed. He’ll be half-Jewish.”

Mercedes shrugged. “He’ll be black.”

“You can’t discount my half of-”

“I’m not, Noah. I’m just sayin’…no one calls Obama or Halle Berry half-white. They’re black. And don’t you think it’ll be weird for our kid to have a white sibling?”

“What can we do about that?”

“Nothing, but-”

“Relax, mama. I’m not saying shit won’t be…shitty sometimes-“

Mercedes looked like she was seriously rethinking her decision to be in a committed relationship with Noah.

“Yes, shit can be used in many different ways, Mercedes.”

“Please, continue.” Mercedes glanced at Quinn, who shrugged and took a sip of her cranberry juice.

“But the kid isn’t gonna get a fucking complex. The baby we’re really having hasn’t even been born yet! Let’s take it slow, okay?”

“People will think I’m the baby’s nanny!” Mercedes burst out.

“Where is this fucking coming from?” Noah asked. “Q? Help?”

“First,” Quinn said, “our kid is going to come out swearing like a sailor.”

“Sorry,” Noah said, without sounding the least bit sorry.

“Second, Mercy, I know…well, I don’t know how it feels to be black. Because I’m not black. And it’s probably kind of hard for you to be in a relationship with two people who won’t ever really understand that. But…if someone mistakes you for our baby’s nanny…curse ‘em out in legalese. Then we’ll make a voodoo doll or something. Or not,” Quinn amended at the look on Mercedes’ face. “Shit happens. And people are shitty-”

“Sailor,” Noah said.

“Noted,” Quinn said. She continued to Mercedes, “but…love conquers all?”

“Is that a question?” Mercedes asked incredulously.

“Love conquers all,” Quinn said. “Final answer,” she mumbled.

“Babe, that was…that was…have you ever heard of the term ‘after school special?’”

“Bite me,” Quinn said.

“Where?” Mercedes asked with a grin.

Quinn grinned in return. “This baby is all of ours, not just mine and Noah’s. We’re all in this together - damn, we’ve really had High School Musical on the brain lately. Why?”

“People Magazine. Vanessa Hudgens just had a baby,” Noah spoke up.

“How do you know that?” Mercedes asked.

“Creepy guy at my job is obsessed with her.”

“Anyway,” Quinn began. “You won’t be a nanny. Or a glorified aunt. You’ll be his mom, too. Or her mom. Obviously, the dynamic will be different, but…I’m going to shut up now.”

“No, you’ve redeemed yourself,” Mercedes said. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime, Mercy.”

“Did our fucking waiter go all the way to fucking Thailand to get our food? Asshole.”

Quinn glared at Noah. “The baby-”

“Is a fucking embryo right now, Q. It can’t hear a damned thing. Yes, I paid attention in biology.”

“Noah’s got a point,” Mercedes said.

Quinn glared at her.

“About the food, I mean,” Mercedes said hurriedly. “Noah and I have to get back to work.”

The waiter appeared just then with their dishes. Mercedes distracted Noah so he wouldn’t be rude.

“Thank you,” Quinn said, smile firmly in place.

The waiter hurried away once more.

“He’s so fucking busy,” Noah said. “What the fuck-”

“That exactly what we were saying!” Quinn exclaimed. “You see? Admit it, we’re brilliant.”

“Food is calling,” Noah said.

Quinn whispered something in his ear.

“You’re both brilliant,” he said.

Mercedes shook her head. “It’s so sad that we can still bribe you with sexual favors.”

Noah shrugged. “It’s a win-win.”

Privately, Quinn and Mercedes agreed.

*^*^*
A few nights later, Quinn cornered Noah. “Mercedes raised some good points, didn’t she?”

“Q.”

“She did.”

Noah looked up from his computer. “I agree. We talked everything to death. Now I want to read about how the Knicks might actually get into the playoffs, okay?” He returned to the Internet page he was reading.

“I think we should talk about-”

Noah slammed the laptop shut. “You wanna talk?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about Beth. Our first kid, remember?”

Quinn looked away from his stare. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Q…”

“Don’t want to talk about it!”

Noah sighed. “Then talk to Rachel.”

“What does Rachel have to do with anything?”

“Shelby’s her mom. She can get in touch with her. Then maybe we can-”

“I’m not calling Rachel!”

“Fuck, Quinn! She’s my kid, too. You act like you’re the only one who-”

Quinn left the living room, shouting behind her, “I’m not calling Rachel! And I’m not talking about…I’m not talking about it!”

“So now you don’t want to talk?!” Noah shouted at her back.

Quinn disappeared into the kitchen and switched on the television. Noah muttered a string of expletives before opening his computer.

“And I don’t act like I’m the only one who misses her!” Quinn reappeared in the living room, still angry.

Noah didn’t even look up. “We’re not talking, remember?”

“Fine!”

“Great. ‘Bye.”

Quinn threw up her hands and marched off.

Mercedes came home a few minutes later, armed with client folders and grocery bags. “Hi, Noah.”

“Hey. Talk to your girlfriend.”

“Um, okaaaay. Where is she?”

“Kitchen.”

Mercedes kissed his lips before warily entering the kitchen. “Quinn? Babe? Are you okay? How was-” She glanced at the TV, and turned back to Quinn. “You’re watching The Magic School Bus?”

Quinn viciously hit the remote’s buttons and changed the channel. “It’s very cute.”

Mercedes raised her eyebrows and sat across from Quinn. “Let’s talk.”

[6a/7] >>