Fic: Summer Mornings (2.1/3)
Title: A Summer Morning-In Which Stars Align-To Make Rachel Berry's Dream Come True-Or Not
Author: freshtilapia
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5,320 (yeah, it's a long morning)
Spoilers: Season 1, definitely
Summary: (see: Title; It's vague but so is Astrology)
A/N: This is the 18th morning or the morning before the end. This is the aftermath of Summer Mornings-In Which Rachel Berry Tries To Grab Quinn Fabray’s Attention-With Lemonade And A Carwash-And Other Silly Schemes (12th-17th), which happened due to A Summer Morning-In Which Rachel Berry Wrestles With Words-But The Words Fight Back-And Win (11th), which was a direct result of Summer Mornings-In Which Rachel Berry Finds a New Reason for Exercising Vigorously Every Morning-That Reason is Quinn Fabray-Jogging (1st-10th). Whew. Why did I ever write these long titles? Maybe we'll get to know Quinn better. But no, shesfiiine and 4guiltypleasure, this still isn't from her POV, which means...this installment is for both of you.
kidney8, I'm sorry it's been 3.43 weeks since my last update. But since you said i should never stop including references to other fics, I'm doing it one more time with feelings.
jbluish, can you please stop cuddling with this fic for just a day so I can write the last installment? Thanks. Kbye.
The eighteenth morning
It’s a perfect day.
The kind of day when the sky turns into a deep cerulean blue and cotton-soft clouds hang low over the horizon…when the leaves of trees rustle gently with the breeze and their shadows dance across the pavement…when it’s warm yet cool under the shade…
It’s the perfect day to have breakfast on your porch or in your backyard. It’s the perfect day to ride your bike through town and get some ice cream. It’s the perfect day to lounge around the beach to soak up the sun. It’s the perfect day to go hiking along a nature trail or fly kites with your friends. It’s the perfect day for picnics at the park and picking flowers in the field.
It’s the perfect day to be outside.
It’s the perfect day to hope.
And if there’s something that you have in abundance right now, it’s sunshine and optimism.
You currently have enough hope to fuel a whole country and if it can only be bottled up and shipped to the most desolate of places, the world will be a better place.
It’s no surprise. Your zodiac sign’s ruling planet is Jupiter after all, the planet of hope.
Plus your horoscope today says: “Uranus recently turned retrograde in your romantic sector just 5 ½ weeks after arriving.”
Yeah, Uranus is stationary…since last night.
“This means he’ll retrograde out next month, but already the things that he’s triggered have changed everything. Whether you realize it or not…”
But you totally do.
“…a chain of events has been triggered and…”
It sets you in motion-non-stop motion!-so much so that not only are you able to get on your elliptical when you get home from your short drive yesterday morning but also stay in it for 30 more minutes; not only are you able to go through your two-hour ballet class and one-hour jazz class in the afternoon but also join a ballroom class for 10-year-olds; not only are you able to sing the whole of Rent from start to finish last night, without intermission, but also do it twice; and to top it all off, you are able to wake up early this morning.
“…at some time in the future it will all fall into place.”
You nod furiously at the prospect.
That future is now.
And you’re up for anything.
The moment you wake up, you jump out of bed and sing Seasons of Love.
You get in the shower and lather yourself with soap that gives you a boost in the morning with a soothing scent of cucumber and green tea. Still, you sing Seasons of Love.
You wash your hair with shampoo that nourishes your hair from root to tip with a hint of head-clearing eucalyptus and peppermint. Again, you sing Seasons of Love.
You step out of your bathroom wrapped in a towel then you stand in front of your mirror to brush, blow dry, and tie your hair into a ponytail, all the while singing Seasons of Love.
You put on your purple Moving Comfort Fusion Capri and a tank top you bought online that says, “Gold Star,” with a gold star on it.
You honestly aren’t aware of its connotation but it’s quite prophetic-not to mention redundant. You may as well buy another tank top from that same site that says, “I’d Go Gay for Shane.”
But you don’t know who Shane is. And you probably won’t go gay for her.
Oh, for crying out loud! When are you going to stop singing Seasons of Love?
Apparently, not any time soon…
You’re out on your lawn doing squats and losing count.
You start off singing the first line of-what else?-Seasons of Love, but you keep getting distracted by everything that moves to your left and they constantly make your head turn.
Your train of thought is reduced to: …525,600 minutes…Is that…24…No, it’s a bird…525,600 minutes…There! 25…Wait, that’s my shadow…525,600 minutes…Oh…25…Nope…525,600…Uhm…25?
It’s a vicious cycle.
At some point, you don’t even realize that you’re still in a squatting position because you’re too busy finding out how far your neck can stretch. Answer: Not very far.
You also don’t realize that someone is watching you.
“Good morning, honey!”
You briefly turn your head towards the second floor window of your house to your right.
“Oh. Morning, Dad.”
You quickly turn away and return to your preferred stance.
“There’s no ‘good’ in the morning?”
“Of course there is,” you glance to speak to him again but your attention keeps getting diverted to the street to your left.
“What are you doing then?”
“I’m doing calisthenics on our lawn,” you say matter-of-factly. “It’s an activity I’ve grown rather fond of.”
“Oh! Silly me! I could’ve sworn you were waiting for someone.”
You take a good look at him this time.
“Am I really that obvious, Dad?”
Your puppy eyes-pout combo is absolutely heartrending.
“Oh, honey,” he sighs. “Judging from the way your head snaps, it’s either you’re watching a tennis match, which you aren’t, or you’re having neck spasms, which you’re not-I should know, I’m your doctor-”
You detect slight movement from your dad and a snort that doesn’t seem to come from him.
“Oh, my God, Daddy’s right there with you, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You roll your eyes and speak louder.
“Daddy, you may come out now.”
He pops up.
“I already have, honey. What about you?”
“Hah-hah, very funny Daddy…”
“I thought so, too. So where’s Quinn?”
It’s evident now that the lack of subtlety is hereditary.
“I’ve been asking myself that same question this morning, Daddy.”
You fix your gaze on the street again and continue with your squats.
“Did she mention that she’ll be jogging again this morning?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her if she’ll be jogging again this morning?”
“No.”
A beat, then you drone on, “Although she did say, ‘see you around.’ And I said, ‘that would be nice.’ So I assumed that she would take up jogging again this morning. I mean, she used to be the Head Cheerio. I don’t think that meager, shallow wounds would deter her from her daily routine. If she could take on Coach Sylvester and her torturous methods of training for the past two years, she most definitely can continue with her morning jogs regardless of her physical state, right?”
There’s a lull before you turn to them again.
“Right, Dad? Daddy?”
Their faces are all scrunched up.
“You should’ve asked her, honey,” your daddy says like it’s the most obvious thing to do.
Your dad agrees. “I’m afraid your daddy’s right. You could’ve called her.”
“Well, I didn’t have her permission to call.”
“Why didn’t you ask for permission?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“Honey, you can’t just wait around for Quinn if you want to be her girlfriend.”
“Whoa, whoa…” You let out a mirthless laugh, “I don’t want to be Quinn’s girlfriend,” you protest.
“Okay. What do you want then?”
“I don’t know!” You gripe like a five-year-old, in a pitch that’s an octave higher than your usual speaking voice.
“I just want to see her…every morning…of every day…I want to hear her voice…talk to her about mundane things…I want to sit beside her or stand close to her…jog or take a walk with her…maybe hold her hand…smell her hair…”
Your eyes widen and you turn away to hide your face.
“But I don’t want to be her stupid girlfriend, pfft.”
“Clearly,” your daddy deadpans.
You ignore him.
“What time is it, by the way?” You ask.
“It’s,” your dad takes a look at their clock, “6:15.”
“6:15?!”
You look outraged as you stare down the street.
But the look on your face promptly turns into that of a letdown.
You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath.
Then you square your shoulders and hold your head high.
You turn your body around and you don’t look at your dad and daddy when you address them.
“That’s enough calisthenics for the day, I think. I’m going up to my room now.”
You keep yourself as composed as you can while walking back into your house and straight to your room.
You stay unruffled as you quietly close your bedroom door behind you.
But as soon as you do, you leap to your bed and bury your face in your pillow.
How could I be so naïve! Of course, she doesn’t want anything to do with me! How could I even believe for a second that she’ll reciprocate these ever-growing feelings I have for her?
Your turn to lie down on your back, feeling extremely prickly, and your clothes are stifling.
You roughly rip your Capri pants off of you but it gets caught in one of your feet. You wriggle to get out of it and fling it around with such a struggle and your legs go up and down. It’s like your pants are really on fire.
It flies to the floor on the side of your bed, next to your bedside table.
And you’re left with nothing but your white tank top and your white hip-hanger on.
It’s too hot to process.
I’m such an idiot!
An all-too familiar piano overture starts playing and cuts off your thoughts.
Ugh! That must be Finn again.
“Something has changed within me.”
It stops.
Then it rings again.
Finn has been calling you incessantly since last night.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same.”
You hope he can take a hint.
But your ringtone starts all over again.
After you tell Finn last night, in not so many words, that you’re breaking up with him, he has been trying to talk with you again.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by-”
It ends…only to begin once more.
You can’t go on being with him if you seriously feel something for someone else. But you can’t tell him there’s someone else.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.”
But that someone else isn’t here.
You wonder if you’re doing this all wrong, but still, you don’t regret it.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game. Too late for second-guessing…”
You wonder about your relationship with Jesse and why you went through with it even if you still had feelings for Finn then. You wonder if you can do that again.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game. Too late for second-guessing…Too late to go back to sleep…It’s time to trust my instincts-”
You wonder if you should do that again, now that you remember Suzy Pepper’s words and are taking them to heart.
You and Quinn? It won’t work.
“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game. Too late for second-guessing…Too late to go back to sleep…It’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap…”
You need to get your mildly attractive groove back.
“It’s time to try…”
You grab your iPhone from your bedside table.
“…defying gravity…”
But you drop it on your bed like a hot coal as soon as you see who’s calling.
“I think I’ll try…”
You pick up.
“Hell-hello?”
(“Do you always wait for the chorus before you answer the phone?”)
You feel a surge of something rushing through your veins.
“Quinn Fabray!”
Your voice is so shrill maybe even the dogs can hear it.
“First of all, I’d like to point out that it’s the refrain and not the chorus! Second of all, where have you been? Third, I’ve been worried about you and wondering if you caught an infection or fever or some-”
(“-whoa, whoa, Berry. If I knew you’d go ballistic on me, I wouldn’t have called!”)
“Well, it’s-”
(“-no, no, it’s my turn now so listen up.”)
Then, you do.
It’s nothing short of a miracle.
(“Okay, first of all, those two words are interchangeable as far as I’m concerned. Second, I’ve been trying to call you for the past 17 minutes! Third, the reason why I’m calling is, in fact, to let you know that I’m alright, that I’m not displaying any symptoms of an infection and I don’t have fever! Although I did catch something and it’s-it’s-definitely not a cold! Or something…”)
You can hear her take a deep breath.
(“There! Satisfied?”)
You nod your head.
It takes a second for you to realize she can’t see you.
“Y-yes…thanks…for taking the time to inform me of your…wellbeing…”
You cover your face with your palm.
(“Uhm, no, really, I should thank you.”)
“Is there-is there anything else?”
You really, really hope there is.
(“That’s about it. Just wanted to say I’m okay.”)
Wanna hang out?
“Okay.”
(“Bye, then.”)
Too soon!
“Bye…”
You wait for her to drop the line, feeling angry with yourself.
(“Berry?”)
“Yes, Quinn?”
(“You’re not hanging up.”)
I don’t want to.
“I was actually waiting for you to.”
(“I’m not supposed to be the one to hang up! I’m the one who called.”)
“I’m not familiar with phone etiquette, Quinn! How do I know you’re telling the truth? Who’s your source? If you give me time, I’ll research it online right now, just so we can be absolutely certain which of us should hang up first.”
(“Seriously, Berry?”)
“Well, yes! If that’s what it takes-”
(“Let’s just do it at the same time, okay? On the count of three: one…two…three.”)
She lets out an exasperated groan.
(“Berry, you didn’t hang up!”)
“But you also didn’t!”
(“Fine! If neither one of us is hanging up, we might as well talk.”)
Yipee!
You sit against your headboard with your knees folded up.
“What do you want to talk about?”
(“I don’t know.”)
Just ask her something!
“Well…how are you feeling…today?”
(“Fine…”)
Wanna hang out?
“Great…”
Ask her something personal!
“Can I ask you something personal?”
(“Okay.”)
“Uhm…"
Think, think!
“At what age did you get your first period?”
(“Did you just ask me about my period?”)
“No, I didn’t.”
This is an impending disaster of epic proportions.
She sighs.
(“This isn’t…going…so well.”)
Oh no! Now, she’s really gonna hang up.
(“Let’s do over.”)
You sigh.
Wanna hang out?
“Okay.”
She sighs.
(“So…Berry…Tell me about your day…or the day before which was yesterday, I’m not really particular about…the time frame. Just tell me about it…and…not just what happened…how you felt…about what happened.”)
“What did you just say?”
She clears her throat.
(“I’m not looking to problem-solve. I’m just looking to listen.”)
Did she just modulate her voice?
“Quinn, are you alright?”
(“Of course, I am. How many times do I have to tell you?”)
“It’s just that…you’re acting a bit…strange.”
(“No, I’m not.”)
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not used to talking to this Quinn. It’s freaking me out. On second thought…I’m not used to talking with you, at all.”
(“Well, yeah…it’s pretty understandable-do you know any jokes?”)
“Uhm, I know just the one…”
(“Fantastic! Let’s hear it!”)
“Are you sure? It’s not that funny.”
(“I’m positive. So, tell me, tell me.”)
You sigh.
“How many altos does it take to change a light bulb?”
(“How many?”)
“None. They couldn’t reach that high.”
She doubles up with laughter.
(“That’s hilarious! Great joke, Berry. Great joke.”)
“No offense, Quinn, but, like I told you, it wasn’t that funny.”
(“Are you kidding? That was a great joke! It’s smart, funny, beautiful-the whole package! It’s everything you’re afraid to let yourself want…in a…joke.”)
“Okay, who are you and what have you done to Quinn Fabray? Seriously, did you take something? Oh, my God, you took pain killers, didn’t you? No wonder you’re high!”
(“Uh, I am incredibly insulted, Berry. I’m not just the head-bitch-in-charge, you know. I have several other facets that you don’t know about yet. And I didn’t take anything! You could say I’m a bit high but it’s a natural high. I just have scratches! I didn’t hit my head. Although, I feel like I did. I think I’m going crazy…”)
You giggle.
(“What?”)
“You said ‘facets.’”
(“So?”)
“I like that word.”
(“You’re such a dork.”)
“Uh, well, you’re dorkier.”
(“Whatever. So what are your other favorite words?”)
“Languid.”
(“Languid…”) She repeats, a bit dreamily, and stays silent for a short while.
“Quinn?”
(“Hmm?”)
“Where did you go?”
(“Nowhere.”)
“Well, it’s your turn. Give me two of your favorite words.”
(“First would be ‘facets.’”)
“Cop-out.”
She chuckles.
(“Second…‘effervescent…’”)
“Effervescent…”
(“Yes, ‘effervescent,’ as in vibrant, bubbly, lively, bouncy, active…energetic …vivacious…vigorous…”)
You feel like she can read you the dictionary all day.
(“Okay Berry, where did you go?”)
“Nowhere-what was the second to the last word, again?”
(“Vivacious.”)
You can hear her smirking and you get weak in the knees and can hardly speak.
But you snap out of it and clear your throat.
“What’s next?”
(“You haven’t told me about your day yet.”)
Wanna hang out?
“What would you like to know?”
(“I dunno. What did you do yesterday?”)
“Okay, well, I…went on my elliptical machine in the morning for one and a half hours…”
(“Impressive.”)
“It should be. Give me any strenuous activity and I could probably do it for a long period of time. I could go on the whole day!”
(“Well, your machine seems to be very reliable.”)
“Absolutely! It’s been with me for several years and I’m riding it every day and it still hasn’t given out.”
(“Then it’s worth every penny.”)
“Yes, it is!”
(“Great…”)
“Quinn?”
(“Hmm?”)
“Is this boring you?”
(“No, no!-so then what did you do after?”)
“Well, I went to my ballet class, and my jazz class, and then I still had the energy to join a ballroom class. I know now how to dance the tango!”
(“Congratulations!”)
“Thank you very much. I just realized I’m very, very flexible and I’ve been dancing for years!”
You giggle, highly amused with yourself.
(“Good for you. Joint flexibility is really one of the ideal attributes of a dancer.”)
“You’re right! I’m just working on my strength. But I do have the muscular and cardiovascular endurance, which is very important. I truly believe that endurance is a key to happiness.”
(“Keep it up.”)
“What about you, Quinn? What did you do yesterday?”
(“I…nothing…I didn’t do anything yesterday.”)
“Even if it’s nothing, I’m sure you were actually doing something?”
(“Well, yeah. I just listened to my iPod and stayed in bed.”)
“Ooh, so what’s your favorite song?”
(“It’s too hard to pick just one.”)
“What’s the current song on your iPod?”
(“Hold on. Let me check.”)
You hear her shuffling around.
(“The Look of Love…”)
“What’s The Look of Love?”
(“You don’t know The Look of Love? Dusty Springfield?”)
“No-maybe-I don’t remember…”
Actually, you do.
“Can you sing it for me to refresh my memory?”
You smile mischievously.
(“Berry, I can’t-”)
“-yes, you can.
A couple of months ago, the other members of the Glee Club let you know about Quinn’s astounding rendition of It’s a Man’s, Man’s World. You regret not being there to watch her, hear her sing.
(“Fine. But you have to sing whatever current song is on your iPod.”)
“Deal.”
She takes a deep breath and sings.
(“The look…”)
You almost drop your phone.
(“…of love…is in…your eyes…”)
You almost forget how to breathe…
(“A look…your smile…can’t disguise…”)
…and breathe properly.
(“The look…”)
You almost faint…
(“…of love…”)
…as she hits the high note.
(“It’s saying so much more than just words could ever say…”)
Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest yet again.
(“And what my heart has heard, well, it takes my breath away…”)
This time, you almost let it.
(“I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you…How long I have waited…waited just to love you, now that I have found you…You’ve got the look…of love…It’s on…your face…The look…that time…can’t erase…”)
A whimper almost escapes from your throat.
(“Be mine-”)
Another high note-
(“Tonight…”)
And you almost say yes…
(“Let this be just the start of so many nights like this…”)
…Again…
(“Let’s take a lover’s vow and then seal it with a kiss…”)
…And again…and again…
(“I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you…how long I have waited…waited just to love you, now that I have found you…don’t ever go…Don’t ever go…”)
Her voice fades.
And she doesn’t sing the last line.
You know the last line.
You almost sing it.
But you don’t.
And both of you fall into a deep, soothing silence.
For a while, you just listen to her breathing and picture her rolling around her bed like you do.
You wonder if she’s thinking about you the same way. You hope she does.
She breaks the silence with a whisper.
(“Rach…”)
“Hmm…”
There’s a long pause…
You hear a soft knock on the other line.
(“Quinn!”)
You hear her gasp.
(“I’m so sorry. I’ll call you back, I’ll call you back!”)
Wait!
Then you hear nothing but the dial tone.
No, no, no, no, no!
You stare at your phone.
You want to do something with it but you don’t know what.
A part of you wants to hurl it across the room and watch it shatter into tiny pieces.
Another part of you wants to purposely set it down somewhere-somewhere dark and out of sight-and forget it ever existed.
But a big part of you wants to hold on to it like a lifesaver and hope against hope that it will ring again.
It doesn’t.
Why?
Why did there have to be…a…man…
There was a man. Who was it?
He sounded so familiar…
You bash your forehead with your phone.
Was it Noah?
It didn’t sound like him at all…
But what if it was him? Oh, God!
It suddenly occurs to you that maybe they’re together-still together-and you feel like an idiot all over again.
Why can’t you ask these things?
And now that you think about it, maybe it has also occurred to her that you’re still with Finn.
Why are these things so complicated? Why am I making it more complicated? Ugh.
Am I thinking too much?
You already talk too much. Now it’s a double-whammy.
So what if she’s still with Puck? So what if she thinks you’re still with Finn? It shouldn’t bother you, should it? You’re just trying to be friends with her…
Are you sure you only want to be friends with her?
You honestly don’t know.
You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to think. You don’t know what you want.
It’s a predicament you’re experiencing for the first time.
And it hurts too much.
You want everything too much.
Just then, a knock disrupts your melodramatic moment and your bedroom door opens all too suddenly.
“Honey, look who we found in the street-”
You turn around in time to see the guest come through your door and both your eyes go wide in shock.
You roll off your bed as she rapidly turns around and you fall on the floor with a thud as she smashes her face into your dad’s chest.
“Ow! Sorry Michael.”
You grab a pillow to cover yourself when you stand.
“No worries. You okay, Quinn?”
She nods and brings her left hand up to touch her nose.
“Hey,” you say as you clutch at your pillow with both hands and squeeze your thighs together as if it’ll make you feel a lot less naked.
“Hey,” she says as she raises her left hand again to wave with her back still turned away from you.
“It’s safe to turn around now, Quinn,” your dad suggests.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Oh sweetie,” your daddy says to her, “you will have to, at some point, ‘cause we’re leaving you both here to prepare breakfast.”
Then he tells you with a huge grin, “We just bought your favorite herb bagels!”
You force yourself to smile.
“I can help,” she offers.
“Oh, thanks sweetie but-”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Quinn,” you butt in. “As much as I am terribly embarrassed for you to see me in my underwear and for us to remain in the same room, watching my dads prepare breakfast is a much more traumatic experience. I learned that lesson when I was ten. Believe me. It’s not worth the therapy sessions.”
Your dad looks at her and asks, “You still want to help?”
She sighs, “I guess not.”
“Okay then,” your daddy exclaims. “We’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”
Your dad grabs Quinn by the shoulders and turns her around to face you.
They leave you two with knowing smiles.
As soon as you think they’re out of earshot, you ask.
“You were right outside?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“I would’ve asked you to come over.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“Doesn’t matter anymore, I guess…I’m here now…”
“Yes.”
You finally take in her appearance.
She looks like she could use some sleep.
She’s wearing a t-shirt that’s one size too small, a pair of red and blue plaid boxer shorts, and a pair of red Keds sneakers.
She’s holding a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses in her right hand.
And her hair is still a bit damp.
“So,” you say.
“So,” she says.
“Love-A-Lot Bear, huh?” You ask with a smirk.
She looks down at her shirt then at you and raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t think anyone in just their underpants has the right to mock me in my vintage t-shirt.”
“Point taken,” you quickly wipe the smirk off your face and take a step back towards your bathroom door. “Although, I might add that you’ve just given me an incentive for putting on something other than a pillow…”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
You stare each other down.
It’s like a scene straight out of an old Western movie.
But she draws her weapon quicker than you.
She smiles.
You die instantly and go to heaven.
“Okay, I think I’m gonna go change now. Please make yourself comfortable.”
You hurriedly retreat to your bathroom, slip inside, and throw your pillow on your bed before slamming your bathroom door shut.
Oh shit.
You don’t have anything to change in.
You remember that your pants are on the floor, on the other side of your bed.
You open the door just a crack to take a peek inside your room.
“Quinn?”
You see her slumped over, sitting on your bed with her head between her knees.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a bit…dizzy.”
“Please lie down. My bed is super, super comfy.”
She does what you tell her to and drops sideways down your bed and rolls onto her back, with her right foot hanging off the bed and her left still planted firmly on the floor.
“Oh my God, Berry. You are so right. I never noticed before. This bed is heaven…hmm…”
“I’m glad you think so,” you say with a giggle. “Can you please close your eyes for a few minutes so I can get dressed?”
“Sure.”
You tiptoe out of your bathroom towards your bedside table where your pants are. You pick them up but suddenly feel like not wearing them anymore. You move towards your closet.
You open it and your eyes immediately spot a very short, drawstring, cotton shorts.
You throw your Capri pants inside your closet and get into your shorts.
Feeling satisfied with how you look, you close it and turn around.
“Okay, I’m fully clothed now.”
-If you can actually call it that.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
“Quinn?”
You get no response.
For a moment there, you grow worried but you see her chest rising up and down and you’re relieved she’s still breathing.
Okay. You can look away from her chest now.
Look away. Look away.
You take a deep breath and stagger towards your chair in front of your desk to take a seat.
But your eyes keep wandering back to the sleeping figure on your bed. She looks so serene and content.
Before long, exhaustion starts creeping through your body. And sleep seems like a very good idea.
So you tiptoe back towards your bed and stop before you reach it.
You go around to her side and carefully untie her shoelaces then remove her right shoe. You lift her left leg up your bed and do the same to her other shoe. She doesn’t even stir.
You smile and look at her tenderly.
Then you crawl into bed, lie on your side, and watch her sleep until your eyes finally droop to a close.
And you begin to dream.
You’re in a dimly lit room with candles all around, which is probably a dead giveaway to what you’re up to. Quinn is standing by the foot of the bed with a shirt on, a bit older but looking like she’s in damn good shape. It’s just you and her. Then suddenly, it isn’t. Someone else is in the room. And oh, my God! There are two Quinn’s.
You reach out to take the younger Quinn’s hand.
Then the dream becomes a nightmare wherein Quinn and your baby drive off into the cold, driving rain, leaving you standing there, alone and wet. You wake up from it, alone in your room in the middle of the night. You walk out of it and slip into another’s. There’s a bassinet across the second room while Quinn is on a bed, sound asleep.
You slide next to her and press your forehead into her upper arm.
The scene dissolves and you find yourself in a small clearing in the woods out in the middle of nowhere, lying down on a blanket and laughing. “I’m kidding. Who has sex in the woods? I mean there’s like innocent bunnies and shit in those trees.” She asks, “Innocent bunnies and shit?” And she bursts into laughter.
Then she stretches her right arm, threads it under your neck, and wraps it around your shoulder.
The setting changes and you’re in your living room playing Twister. You, Quinn, Santana, and Mike are the only ones left on the mat. Mercedes says, “Rachel, right hand green.” You grow pale, “What?” Santana replies with a grin, “You heard her…”
You drape your right arm across Quinn’s waist and place your palm behind her back.
It fades into another scene and you’re in the auditorium for one of your rehearsal sessions. You feel like you’re being watched and your skin is prickling with something while you are on stage. It feels…Electric. Suddenly, it cuts to a scene in the hallway at school. You’re walking along in it and you can feel that same electricity.
You turn your head.
And open your eyes. The sun is up.
You’re alone in your room. And Quinn is no longer on your bed. Is that why you’re in the middle of it? You blink several times just to make sure you’re really wide awake.
You’re lying on your stomach with your left hand pressed under it and your right hand stretched across your bed. And your neck feels a bit strained.
You don’t want to move.
Was it all just a dream?
Something tells you that it wasn’t.
You bury your face further into your pillow to breathe in the scent that’s right under your nose.
And it smells like wild violets and pomegranate.
The nineteenth morning