Fic: Company (6/?)
Title: Company
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Mothers and Daughters
A/N: Apologies and credit to everyone who developed the idea of Charlie Fabray - I'm borrowing the concept, playing with it a little to suit my own ends, please don't hurt me! :)
You dial your mother’s number seven times without once allowing the phone time to ring before hanging up. Each time you slam the phone down you run an angry hand through your hair, and it grows increasingly messy and tangled. Finally you return to Rachel’s bedroom and take the picture of the two of you from her drawer, setting it up next to the phone so you have something to look at, something to draw strength from. With your eighth dial, you let the phone ring and Judy answers.
“Hi, Mom,” your voice is hoarse, and you squeeze the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ward off your tears. “I know it’s been a couple of days, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Quinnie - what’s happening? Have you found a lawyer or anything for this farce of a hearing?”
“I have, actually - Rachel helped me find one.”
“Rachel? That’s not the same Rachel you went to school with, is it?”
You nearly drop the phone. “You remember her?”
“Of course I do, Quinn,” there’s reproach in her tone. “I’m old, not senile. You talked about her all the time after you moved back in with me. Rachel this, Rachel that. It’s not the sort of thing I’d forget. Why is she involved, though? I didn’t think you two talked anymore - not since she left your school.”
“It’s kind of a long story, mom. But she was nice enough to give me a new job, too - I’m her housekeeper now.”
“Well, that’s really good - anything’s better than you being out on the street, Quinnie.”
This time you do drop the phone, right on your foot. You curse, scrambling to pick it back up and figure out whether you actually heard what she said. “What?” you ask once you’ve got it pressed to your ear again.
“Quinn,” she says softly, “I’m not stupid. No Subway I know of stays open all night, so you couldn’t be working the night shift. And even if they were, what you usually have on under that long coat of yours - no matter how well you keep it closed around me - isn’t exactly appropriate for restaurant work.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears, and you find yourself tearing up as well. “I’ve wanted to help you, Quinn, so desperately, so much - but you know your father’s lawyers managed to take everything but the house in the divorce, and I had to sell that just to pay my own lawyers. It breaks my heart, what you’ve been doing, what you’ve had to do, but I couldn’t help the way I wanted. I slipped you a twenty when I could, and I tried to always have extra food on hand for Dylan, but I couldn’t give you enough to get you out of the mess you’ve been in, and instead I had to watch my baby girl come home at the end of every night and know where you’d been, and it hurt every single day to see what it was doing to you. I hate that Finn boy for what he’s made you do, and it sickens me that you’ve had to put yourself out there that way -but you’ve done it all for Dylan, and I’m proud of you for that - does that make sense?”
You’re unable to answer for a long few minutes, as you try to blink back the tears and figure out what you’re going to say. She misinterprets your silence.
“You’ve every right to hate me, baby - for not being able to help you, for never talking about-“
“No,” you interrupt, your voice still not working properly. “Mommy, I don’t hate you. You’ve done so much - looked after Dylan, and fed him, and I wondered sometimes where the extra twenty in my jacket came from, but it never occurred to me that it was you - I could never hate you, you’ve helped me so much, I couldn’t have done this without you, could never have taken care of Dylan.”
“He’s a beautiful boy, Quinn, and it’s because of you - you love him with all your heart, and he knows it.”
You both have to stop and gather yourselves, and the phone line is quiet for a few moments. She speaks first.
“What were you calling to ask, baby?”
“I was, uh,” it takes you a minute to remember, “I wanted to ask about the hearing. The judge is going to call on you, ask you about what I do for a living, that kind of thing.”
“And I’ll tell them the truth - but I’ll also tell them that you’re a much better mother to Dylan than I ever managed to be to you, and that it doesn’t matter what you do to earn your money, because you’ve always taken care of my grandson. I’ve called Charlie, too - she’ll be here.”
You’re fairly sure that one more shock might actually drop you dead on the spot. “Sorry, you must be talking into my crazy ear - I thought you said you called Charlie, and that she was going to show up for the hearing. My twin sister, Charlie. Charlie, who hasn’t so much as spoken to either of us in ten years. That’s not actually what you said, right?”
“That’s what I said, Quinnie - she’s flying in tomorrow.”
“Well, that should be interesting.”
“Quinn, I want you to know - if the worst should happen-“
“If it does, I’m running, Mom. As far as I can. That son of a bitch won’t take my son.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” she says, and there’s a watery smile in her voice. “That’s part of why I called Charlie, actually.”
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A hand on your shoulder and a soft voice in your ear wake you with a start, and you realise you’ve fallen asleep on Rachel’s couch. You leap up, embarrassed. “Oh, god - I’m sorry, Rachel, I was just sitting down for a minute, I swear - I’ve got everything cleaned, though, I just haven’t vacuumed the living room-“ she puts a finger to your lips, her skin soft and warm.
“It’s okay, Quinn - you’re recovering from a major trauma, and you were on your feet most of the day, I’m sure. I wasn’t expecting you to clean the whole house in a day, I promise you.” Suddenly she pales, and you follow her gaze to the picture you left set up beside the phone.
“Oh - I, uh, I was dusting, and I needed something to, uh, I was talking to my mom, and-“ you’re babbling, knowing you’re not making any sense, and she’s still just standing there, staring. Finally she shakes her head and her eyes return to you.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “It’s just been a while since I looked at that.”
“When is it from? I’ve been trying to think all day what performance that was, and I just can’t recall.”
She sits down on the couch, gesturing for you to sit next to her. Once you do, she takes your hand tenderly. “That was our last performance before Nationals. Do you remember, about a week before, Mister Schue decided we should give a free sort of tune-up show in that school auditorium?”
Amazingly, you do. “Wasn’t there, like, four people there watching us?”
“And the guy in the back row was a homeless man who’d been sleeping in there for two days and had no idea what was going on-“
“And only one of them bothered clapping-“
“And they always clapped in the middle of the song!” she finishes, and you both laugh.
“I knew right then, you know,” you recall fondly.
“Knew what?”
“That we were going to win Nationals. Vocal Adrenaline never had a shot against you.”
“Against us.”
“No, Rachel, against you. Even performing in that crappy auditorium, where it was so cold that I think the guy in the back row could see my nipples, where no one cared about us, you just - you fucking shone, Rach, and that’s when I knew I’d made the right decision trying to send you on your way, even if I’d gone about it wrong. You were too big for this town.”
Her eyes shine, and she looks at the dark television to avoid meeting your eyes. “Yeah, well,” she shrugs, feigning nonchalance, “it didn’t work out anyway, did it?”
“What happened?” you ask quietly. “After you left McKinley, I mean? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but-”
She releases your hand, and she’s silent for a long time. Her voice, when she starts to speak, is almost too quiet to hear. “Nothing happened. I mean, really, nothing. Even once I’d gotten over the laryngitis, my voice was wrecked - that much you know. I hated how I sounded to myself, and for the first month in the new school I didn’t say a single word to anyone. I stopped doing anything but schoolwork and watching old movies, and I skated through school and the SATs without any real difficulty. And then my dads and I started to fight. They wanted me to go to OSU, major in theatre or something, like we talked about before. I disagreed. I took a full ride to community college and did a dual English/Education major, then got into teaching. Once I’d finished my first year, my dads sold their house and moved, and gave me a portion of the proceeds to spend on a down payment for this place.” She clears her throat. “I found that job in Akron, which meant I could still live here, and I’ve basically been doing that ever since. There’s no great story behind any of it. And then I saw you on a street corner one night, and, well, the rest is history.”
“I’m sorry,” you know it’s not what she wants to hear, but you say it anyway. “I’m sorry you had to give up on your dream, Rachel.”
“What was your dream, Quinn?” she challenges. “Your real dream? The one you had before you decided you were going to be a real estate agent?”
“That was my real dream,” even you’re not convinced by your tone of voice.
“No, it wasn’t. What was your real dream?”
“I don’t know,” you confess. “I never really did - I was busy living other people's dreams. I loved Glee, and for a while I thought maybe I could do something in the arts, but I wasn’t the best singer there, and I was hardly the best dancer. I thought about acting, maybe, but,” you shrug. “Well, we all know how my story turned out.”
“What happened at McKinley after I’d gone?”
“Glee didn’t even place at Sectionals in senior year,” you wince at the memory. “Figgins disbanded the program. Mister Schue left, and everything sort of went back to the way it had always been before. Santana and Britt went back to the Cheerios, which took a whole lot of grovelling.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. That uniform - it changed me. I didn’t like it. Uh, let’s see - Finn and I won Prom King and Queen, got married six months after school ended. We made it by okay, until I got pregnant. I was over the moon, but Finn - looking back, he seemed distant after that. And then one night he walked out, and, well, like you said - the rest is history.”
The two of you sit silently, each sneaking glances at the picture from time to time, until Rachel notices the time and winces. “Oh, it’s late - we should get going, or we’ll be late picking up Dylan.”
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You embrace your son tightly when he meets you at the car. He’s talking a mile a minute, about a field trip to the zoo that’s going to happen next week and how he got a gold star for his printing, and you can barely get him buckled in for all of his emphatic gestures. Rachel whispers in your ear once you’re inside, not wanting to interrupt him. “Can I cook for the two of you tonight? My place?”
“You don’t have to do that,” you protest, but she just smiles and starts to drive. Behind you, Dylan’s story is finally petering out, so you use the chance to interrupt.
“Dylan, baby? I need to tell you something, okay?”
“What, mommy?”
“We’re going to have a visitor tomorrow - your Aunt Charlie’s coming.” His brow furrows. “Do you remember me telling you about Aunt Charlie?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Sorry, mommy.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart, it was a long time ago. Charlie’s mommy’s sister - my twin sister, actually. She looks just like me.”
Rachel raises an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you later,” you promise. You turn back to Dylan, who’s still got a furrowed brow.
“How will I tell you apart?” he worries with the naiveté of a child.
“Don’t worry, baby - she dresses really different than mommy does, so it shouldn’t be too hard. And if you get confused I’ll wear a name tag, how’s that?” you reach back and tickle him, and he giggles. “It’ll say ‘hello, my name is mommy.’”
“But what if you meet someone else’s mommy?”
“Then we’ll both be confused, because our nametags will say the same thing!” you say thoughtfully. “What could we do about that?”
“Yours should say, ‘hello, my name is Dylan’s mommy!’”
“You’re right!” you shout, tickling him again. “You’re a genius!” Rachel snorts a laugh beside you, and you shoot her a grin.
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Rachel makes a killer macaroni and cheese, as it turns out, and Dylan falls asleep in front of the television with a stomach full of so much pasta it’s a wonder it’s not expanded to hang over his pants. You and Rachel are in the kitchen splitting a pot of coffee, and you have half an ear open in case he needs you for anything.
“So,” Rachel fidgets, and you grin a little, knowing she’s been dying to ask all afternoon, “you have a sister?”
“Biologically? Yes. In terms of really being sisters? Not so much. I haven’t seen her for,” you do some addition in your head, “thirteen years? And even that was just for a couple of minutes.”
“Why?”
“Charlotte - Charlie, that is - she was, uh, kind of a troubled child. She and Russell never saw eye to eye, from the minute she could talk, and it would have eventually turned into physical violence between them if she’d stayed. So mom sent her to live with her sister, and she’s basically been there ever since. Russell was quite happy to pretend she didn’t exist.”
“You must have missed her, though?”
“You have no idea - she’s my twin.” You’re bombarded with memories, mostly one of you screaming as they took Charlie out to the car. “We were inseparable. But even I knew she and Russell were going to kill each other.”
“You called her troubled.”
“Yeah. She’s got - well, she had, at least - some real behavioural issues. I heard a lot of psychobabble tossed around when I was a kid, but I don’t know what the final diagnosis was. Last time I heard, though, she was doing pretty well for herself. Just be aware, if you meet her - she doesn’t have much of a filter between her brain and her mouth, so she might come across as pretty rude, but she doesn’t mean it.”
“I’ll remember,” Rachel promised.
“I’d better get Dylan home - can you stay over tonight?”
“I can’t,” she pouts. “I’ll give you a ride home, but I’ve got to get to school early tomorrow, so I can’t stay. Will you be okay walking Dylan to school, walking over here? I can give you money for a cab.”
“Don’t be silly,” you wave a hand with false bravado. “I’ll be fine.”
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Mothers and Daughters
A/N: Apologies and credit to everyone who developed the idea of Charlie Fabray - I'm borrowing the concept, playing with it a little to suit my own ends, please don't hurt me! :)
You dial your mother’s number seven times without once allowing the phone time to ring before hanging up. Each time you slam the phone down you run an angry hand through your hair, and it grows increasingly messy and tangled. Finally you return to Rachel’s bedroom and take the picture of the two of you from her drawer, setting it up next to the phone so you have something to look at, something to draw strength from. With your eighth dial, you let the phone ring and Judy answers.
“Hi, Mom,” your voice is hoarse, and you squeeze the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ward off your tears. “I know it’s been a couple of days, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Quinnie - what’s happening? Have you found a lawyer or anything for this farce of a hearing?”
“I have, actually - Rachel helped me find one.”
“Rachel? That’s not the same Rachel you went to school with, is it?”
You nearly drop the phone. “You remember her?”
“Of course I do, Quinn,” there’s reproach in her tone. “I’m old, not senile. You talked about her all the time after you moved back in with me. Rachel this, Rachel that. It’s not the sort of thing I’d forget. Why is she involved, though? I didn’t think you two talked anymore - not since she left your school.”
“It’s kind of a long story, mom. But she was nice enough to give me a new job, too - I’m her housekeeper now.”
“Well, that’s really good - anything’s better than you being out on the street, Quinnie.”
This time you do drop the phone, right on your foot. You curse, scrambling to pick it back up and figure out whether you actually heard what she said. “What?” you ask once you’ve got it pressed to your ear again.
“Quinn,” she says softly, “I’m not stupid. No Subway I know of stays open all night, so you couldn’t be working the night shift. And even if they were, what you usually have on under that long coat of yours - no matter how well you keep it closed around me - isn’t exactly appropriate for restaurant work.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears, and you find yourself tearing up as well. “I’ve wanted to help you, Quinn, so desperately, so much - but you know your father’s lawyers managed to take everything but the house in the divorce, and I had to sell that just to pay my own lawyers. It breaks my heart, what you’ve been doing, what you’ve had to do, but I couldn’t help the way I wanted. I slipped you a twenty when I could, and I tried to always have extra food on hand for Dylan, but I couldn’t give you enough to get you out of the mess you’ve been in, and instead I had to watch my baby girl come home at the end of every night and know where you’d been, and it hurt every single day to see what it was doing to you. I hate that Finn boy for what he’s made you do, and it sickens me that you’ve had to put yourself out there that way -but you’ve done it all for Dylan, and I’m proud of you for that - does that make sense?”
You’re unable to answer for a long few minutes, as you try to blink back the tears and figure out what you’re going to say. She misinterprets your silence.
“You’ve every right to hate me, baby - for not being able to help you, for never talking about-“
“No,” you interrupt, your voice still not working properly. “Mommy, I don’t hate you. You’ve done so much - looked after Dylan, and fed him, and I wondered sometimes where the extra twenty in my jacket came from, but it never occurred to me that it was you - I could never hate you, you’ve helped me so much, I couldn’t have done this without you, could never have taken care of Dylan.”
“He’s a beautiful boy, Quinn, and it’s because of you - you love him with all your heart, and he knows it.”
You both have to stop and gather yourselves, and the phone line is quiet for a few moments. She speaks first.
“What were you calling to ask, baby?”
“I was, uh,” it takes you a minute to remember, “I wanted to ask about the hearing. The judge is going to call on you, ask you about what I do for a living, that kind of thing.”
“And I’ll tell them the truth - but I’ll also tell them that you’re a much better mother to Dylan than I ever managed to be to you, and that it doesn’t matter what you do to earn your money, because you’ve always taken care of my grandson. I’ve called Charlie, too - she’ll be here.”
You’re fairly sure that one more shock might actually drop you dead on the spot. “Sorry, you must be talking into my crazy ear - I thought you said you called Charlie, and that she was going to show up for the hearing. My twin sister, Charlie. Charlie, who hasn’t so much as spoken to either of us in ten years. That’s not actually what you said, right?”
“That’s what I said, Quinnie - she’s flying in tomorrow.”
“Well, that should be interesting.”
“Quinn, I want you to know - if the worst should happen-“
“If it does, I’m running, Mom. As far as I can. That son of a bitch won’t take my son.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” she says, and there’s a watery smile in her voice. “That’s part of why I called Charlie, actually.”
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A hand on your shoulder and a soft voice in your ear wake you with a start, and you realise you’ve fallen asleep on Rachel’s couch. You leap up, embarrassed. “Oh, god - I’m sorry, Rachel, I was just sitting down for a minute, I swear - I’ve got everything cleaned, though, I just haven’t vacuumed the living room-“ she puts a finger to your lips, her skin soft and warm.
“It’s okay, Quinn - you’re recovering from a major trauma, and you were on your feet most of the day, I’m sure. I wasn’t expecting you to clean the whole house in a day, I promise you.” Suddenly she pales, and you follow her gaze to the picture you left set up beside the phone.
“Oh - I, uh, I was dusting, and I needed something to, uh, I was talking to my mom, and-“ you’re babbling, knowing you’re not making any sense, and she’s still just standing there, staring. Finally she shakes her head and her eyes return to you.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “It’s just been a while since I looked at that.”
“When is it from? I’ve been trying to think all day what performance that was, and I just can’t recall.”
She sits down on the couch, gesturing for you to sit next to her. Once you do, she takes your hand tenderly. “That was our last performance before Nationals. Do you remember, about a week before, Mister Schue decided we should give a free sort of tune-up show in that school auditorium?”
Amazingly, you do. “Wasn’t there, like, four people there watching us?”
“And the guy in the back row was a homeless man who’d been sleeping in there for two days and had no idea what was going on-“
“And only one of them bothered clapping-“
“And they always clapped in the middle of the song!” she finishes, and you both laugh.
“I knew right then, you know,” you recall fondly.
“Knew what?”
“That we were going to win Nationals. Vocal Adrenaline never had a shot against you.”
“Against us.”
“No, Rachel, against you. Even performing in that crappy auditorium, where it was so cold that I think the guy in the back row could see my nipples, where no one cared about us, you just - you fucking shone, Rach, and that’s when I knew I’d made the right decision trying to send you on your way, even if I’d gone about it wrong. You were too big for this town.”
Her eyes shine, and she looks at the dark television to avoid meeting your eyes. “Yeah, well,” she shrugs, feigning nonchalance, “it didn’t work out anyway, did it?”
“What happened?” you ask quietly. “After you left McKinley, I mean? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but-”
She releases your hand, and she’s silent for a long time. Her voice, when she starts to speak, is almost too quiet to hear. “Nothing happened. I mean, really, nothing. Even once I’d gotten over the laryngitis, my voice was wrecked - that much you know. I hated how I sounded to myself, and for the first month in the new school I didn’t say a single word to anyone. I stopped doing anything but schoolwork and watching old movies, and I skated through school and the SATs without any real difficulty. And then my dads and I started to fight. They wanted me to go to OSU, major in theatre or something, like we talked about before. I disagreed. I took a full ride to community college and did a dual English/Education major, then got into teaching. Once I’d finished my first year, my dads sold their house and moved, and gave me a portion of the proceeds to spend on a down payment for this place.” She clears her throat. “I found that job in Akron, which meant I could still live here, and I’ve basically been doing that ever since. There’s no great story behind any of it. And then I saw you on a street corner one night, and, well, the rest is history.”
“I’m sorry,” you know it’s not what she wants to hear, but you say it anyway. “I’m sorry you had to give up on your dream, Rachel.”
“What was your dream, Quinn?” she challenges. “Your real dream? The one you had before you decided you were going to be a real estate agent?”
“That was my real dream,” even you’re not convinced by your tone of voice.
“No, it wasn’t. What was your real dream?”
“I don’t know,” you confess. “I never really did - I was busy living other people's dreams. I loved Glee, and for a while I thought maybe I could do something in the arts, but I wasn’t the best singer there, and I was hardly the best dancer. I thought about acting, maybe, but,” you shrug. “Well, we all know how my story turned out.”
“What happened at McKinley after I’d gone?”
“Glee didn’t even place at Sectionals in senior year,” you wince at the memory. “Figgins disbanded the program. Mister Schue left, and everything sort of went back to the way it had always been before. Santana and Britt went back to the Cheerios, which took a whole lot of grovelling.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. That uniform - it changed me. I didn’t like it. Uh, let’s see - Finn and I won Prom King and Queen, got married six months after school ended. We made it by okay, until I got pregnant. I was over the moon, but Finn - looking back, he seemed distant after that. And then one night he walked out, and, well, like you said - the rest is history.”
The two of you sit silently, each sneaking glances at the picture from time to time, until Rachel notices the time and winces. “Oh, it’s late - we should get going, or we’ll be late picking up Dylan.”
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You embrace your son tightly when he meets you at the car. He’s talking a mile a minute, about a field trip to the zoo that’s going to happen next week and how he got a gold star for his printing, and you can barely get him buckled in for all of his emphatic gestures. Rachel whispers in your ear once you’re inside, not wanting to interrupt him. “Can I cook for the two of you tonight? My place?”
“You don’t have to do that,” you protest, but she just smiles and starts to drive. Behind you, Dylan’s story is finally petering out, so you use the chance to interrupt.
“Dylan, baby? I need to tell you something, okay?”
“What, mommy?”
“We’re going to have a visitor tomorrow - your Aunt Charlie’s coming.” His brow furrows. “Do you remember me telling you about Aunt Charlie?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “Sorry, mommy.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart, it was a long time ago. Charlie’s mommy’s sister - my twin sister, actually. She looks just like me.”
Rachel raises an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you later,” you promise. You turn back to Dylan, who’s still got a furrowed brow.
“How will I tell you apart?” he worries with the naiveté of a child.
“Don’t worry, baby - she dresses really different than mommy does, so it shouldn’t be too hard. And if you get confused I’ll wear a name tag, how’s that?” you reach back and tickle him, and he giggles. “It’ll say ‘hello, my name is mommy.’”
“But what if you meet someone else’s mommy?”
“Then we’ll both be confused, because our nametags will say the same thing!” you say thoughtfully. “What could we do about that?”
“Yours should say, ‘hello, my name is Dylan’s mommy!’”
“You’re right!” you shout, tickling him again. “You’re a genius!” Rachel snorts a laugh beside you, and you shoot her a grin.
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Rachel makes a killer macaroni and cheese, as it turns out, and Dylan falls asleep in front of the television with a stomach full of so much pasta it’s a wonder it’s not expanded to hang over his pants. You and Rachel are in the kitchen splitting a pot of coffee, and you have half an ear open in case he needs you for anything.
“So,” Rachel fidgets, and you grin a little, knowing she’s been dying to ask all afternoon, “you have a sister?”
“Biologically? Yes. In terms of really being sisters? Not so much. I haven’t seen her for,” you do some addition in your head, “thirteen years? And even that was just for a couple of minutes.”
“Why?”
“Charlotte - Charlie, that is - she was, uh, kind of a troubled child. She and Russell never saw eye to eye, from the minute she could talk, and it would have eventually turned into physical violence between them if she’d stayed. So mom sent her to live with her sister, and she’s basically been there ever since. Russell was quite happy to pretend she didn’t exist.”
“You must have missed her, though?”
“You have no idea - she’s my twin.” You’re bombarded with memories, mostly one of you screaming as they took Charlie out to the car. “We were inseparable. But even I knew she and Russell were going to kill each other.”
“You called her troubled.”
“Yeah. She’s got - well, she had, at least - some real behavioural issues. I heard a lot of psychobabble tossed around when I was a kid, but I don’t know what the final diagnosis was. Last time I heard, though, she was doing pretty well for herself. Just be aware, if you meet her - she doesn’t have much of a filter between her brain and her mouth, so she might come across as pretty rude, but she doesn’t mean it.”
“I’ll remember,” Rachel promised.
“I’d better get Dylan home - can you stay over tonight?”
“I can’t,” she pouts. “I’ll give you a ride home, but I’ve got to get to school early tomorrow, so I can’t stay. Will you be okay walking Dylan to school, walking over here? I can give you money for a cab.”
“Don’t be silly,” you wave a hand with false bravado. “I’ll be fine.”