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

[cariluv]

Previous: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6a • 6b

Part Nine. Two Years Later

I was the official manager of all New Directions-related betting pools. Ever since Quinn’s baby shower, we had all agreed - without ever really discussing it - to keep one going. It was fun, and we kept the wagers reasonable. The current list included: the chances of Rachel and Finn ever getting married (the odds were 7 to 4, in favor of marriage) and the odds of Santana releasing the video from Quinn’s baby shower that she was still holding hostage before the end of the year (Matt refused to bet on it).
-Artie Abrams

“I’m just saying. He’s turning into a whiny, spoiled brat,” Mercedes said.

“Can we not do this right now?” Quinn asked. She bent to pick up the spoon Adam had knocked to the floor. “Amelia is coming soon and we haven’t got enough time to talk about this properly, anyway.”

“Noah,” Mercedes appealed to her other partner.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking a mug of coffee. “Mercedes…”

“We’re going to talk about it now, okay?” Mercedes glanced at her phone for the time.

Quinn turned away from Adam’s high chair to face Mercedes. “Mercedes. Adam is two years old. Have you ever met a two-year-old who wasn’t a whiny, spoiled brat? And, no, we’re not talking about this now. Especially not in front of him.” She turned back to convincing Adam to finish his breakfast. “Where on earth is Amelia?” she muttered to herself.

“Gotta go,” Noah said. He dropped his mug into the sink. “Don’t give Amelia hell, kid,” he said to his son, ruffling his hair. He kissed Quinn’s cheek. He kissed Mercedes cheek and whispered in her ear. “Later, mama.” He placed a hand on her belly - she was four months along.

But Mercedes was not done with her spiel. “Quinn, you have no sense of discipline. You’re spoiling Adam rotten. ”

Noah sighed and sat down. There was no way Mercedes or Quinn would let him leave now, even though he’d be late to work.

Quinn gave up trying to feed Adam and lifted him out of his high chair. She settled him into the portable baby swing set up in the living room, and returned to the kitchen. “Okay, Mercedes. You really want to do this?”

“Dammit, Quinn! I’m not trying to do anything! I’m just saying that we need to seriously talk about discipline because at the rate Adam is going, it’ll be hell raising him even three years from now.”

“Mercedes, he is two years old. I’m not spoiling him rotten. He’s a baby.”

“Toddler,” Mercedes corrected.

“Like there’s a big difference,” Quinn said.

“Actually-”

“Ladies,” Noah interjected. “We all have jobs to be at, remember? Can we pick this up some other-”

They ignored him. “He’s my son,” Quinn continued. “And I know what I’m doing. For Christ’s sake, it’s not like he’s running around cursing and hitting everyone.”

“First of all,” Mercedes started, “he’s our son. We said we wouldn’t play sides like this, remember?”

“Well, it’s hard not to when you’re practically calling me a terrible parent,” Quinn shot back angrily.

Noah rose from his seat. “I’m just gonna go and-”

“Sit!” Quinn and Mercedes ordered simultaneously.

Noah sat.

“Second, I’m not calling you a terrible parent. But Adam throws tantrums whenever Noah or I say no to him, and then you give in to him anyway. He’s becoming a brat, and it’s got to stop. I mean, tantrums? I never even thought about throwing a tantrum when I was a kid. I never even knew what a tantrum was. Remember that scene in Target three weeks ago?”

They all winced, even Quinn.

“He fell out,” Mercedes said. “Because Noah told him he couldn’t have that truck, which you bought him anyway even after his bad behavior. He needs to learn to be obedient, and we need to discipline him properly. And by that I mean we have to actually start disciplining him.”

Quinn frowned. “We’re not spanking Adam!”

“I never said that!” Mercedes protested.

“You were thinking it!”

“Look. I know…okay, let me just say it, ‘cause it’s mostly true. I know white people have a thing against spanking kids, and I’m all for timeouts or whatever - well, actually, I’m not. I think timeouts are absolute crap. Spanking isn’t a bad thing. I got spanked when I was kid, and I’m not psychologically damaged or anything.”

Quinn opened her mouth to speak. Mercedes barreled on. “Something has to be done. We’re having another kid in five months; we need to present a united front. Because tantrums are never cute, no matter what anyone says, and they become downright disgusting the older the kid gets. We need to stop undermining each other.”

“I’m not spanking Adam, and neither are either of you.”

“Do something! He needs to learn that no means no, not ‘wait until Mommy gives you what you want anyway.’” Mercedes said. She glanced at the microwave clock. “Dammit, I’m going to be late to work.”

“Now you’re worried about that?” Noah asked her.

Mercedes glared at him. “Where is she?”

The doorbell rang. “Finally!” Quinn exclaimed. She hurried to answer the door.

Mercedes turned to Noah. “Mr. Puckerman.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I agree with you, mama. A few swats on the hand won’t hurt the kid. But Quinn’s being an overprotective mom. It’s hard for her to-”

“You’re always agreeing with Mercedes,” Quinn said.

“That was fast,” Noah said, biding the time till Quinn’s blow up.

“Amelia knows where everything is by now,” Quinn said.

“Q, I don’t always agree with Mercedes,” Noah placated her.

“Discipline? You agree with her. Vacationing in Williamsburg? You agree with her. New sweaters for Adam, of all fucking things? You agree with her.”

“To be fair, that last one was Hummel’s bright idea,” Noah pointed out. “Also, they’re sweaters! Q, now is not the time to be-”

“What, Noah? Hormonal? You two really don’t value any of my opinions, do you?”

“What? Quinn, listen to yourself. Of course we value your opinions! Christ!”

“I am fucking sick of feeling like the idiot child in this relationship!” Quinn exclaimed.

Amelia wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping. It couldn’t be helped, given the small size of the condo.

Mercedes sighed. “Babe.”

“No,” Noah interrupted her. “Look, Quinn. We’re all late for work by now, so whatever right? Yeah, I agree with Mercedes on some things. Just like I agree with you on other things. Don’t play this game now.”

“This isn’t a game I’m playing, Noah. This is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re trying to placate me and-”

Noah grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close to him. Their faces were barely inches apart. “Quinn. Listen to me, for fuck’s sake. I have loved you since we were sixteen years old. I never stopped loving you after the Babygate drama, after you decided to give Beth up for adoption, after we broke up senior year. I’m not going to reaffirm that every time we have an argument, or whenever you think I’m taking Mercedes’ side over yours, or when you think I don’t give a shit about what you’re saying.”

He stepped back and pulled Mercedes to him as well. He looked at his phone, sighed, and addressed the two women. “Yeah, our relationship is getting more complicated now that we have a kid. And we’re about to have another one. But I don’t want to hear this bullshit about taking sides. We are fucking sticking this thing out, okay? I love you both, and I know you love me and each other. I am done with being stuck in the middle of the random and pointless arguments you guys have sometimes.”

Noah ran a hand over his head. “Now. I am going to work. When we get home today we will seriously talk about this discipline thing, all right? Think about whatever issues you want to get out there, because this is the last time I’m volunteering to have a discussion, got it?”

Mercedes and Quinn were quiet.

“Got it?” Noah asked.

“Got it,” Quinn said. “I know you love me, but sometimes, I just feel…”

“I know,” he said to her. “Mercedes?”

“I’m contemplating how much later to work we’ll be if you take us hard, here and now. I’m partial to that wall.” She pointed.

“That speech was kind of hot,” Quinn said.

Mercedes smiled at her. Quinn kissed her cheek, her lips. She whispered something in her ear, which made Mercedes giggle.

Noah groaned. “I can’t believe I’m turning down the opportunity for makeup sex, but I need to get paid.”

“Right, right.” Mercedes and Quinn pulled apart. The triad hurried toward the front door.

“Amelia, Noah should be back first, around five, okay?” Quinn said to the nanny. Quinn bent to kiss Adam’s head. “Bye, baby. Be good.”

“Mama,” he said in return.

Mercedes lifted Adam’s chin. “We’re having a serious talk when I get home.”

“’Cedes!” he exclaimed happily.

“You’re a charmer,” she said with a smile.

“Your moms are crazy, kid” Noah said to his son. He kissed his head.

“Cwazy!” the toddler said. He banged a toy against his swing seat.

*^*^*
4:33pm. Noah: Picking up Indian for dinner.

4:42pm. Mercedes: K. Xtra black chickpeas for me. Thanks
4:47pm. Quinn: Great. Samosas pls.

*^*^*
After a quick dinner, Noah and Quinn settled on the carpeted living room floor to play with Adam. They were going through the alphabet, and finding objects around the condo to match each letter. Quinn was sticking to the tried-and-true basics: A is for apple, B is for ball, C is for cat. She had just gathered a toy dinosaur, an egg, and a fish-shaped magnet. Noah was actively combating her choices with his own. “F is for field goal, Adam.”

“Seriously, Noah? That’s the only word you could think of,” Quinn said for the fifth time.

“He’s not too young to learn about football,” Noah responded. “Say field goal, Adam,” he prompted.

Quinn shook her head.

Mercedes was seated on the couch, trying to reason with one of her clients. “Mr. Castorini, you called me to ask my opinion. And I’ll tell you again: I just don’t think it’s wise of you to place that kind of clause in your will … yes, I know it’s your money, but you hired me to … sure, I understand that…” Mercedes sighed. “Mr. Castorini, I’ll be blunt. If you write that clause into your will, you’re practically inviting half of your relatives to murder you!”

Quinn looked up at her in alarm.

“That’s a good word for M,” Noah mused.

“Oh my God,” Quinn said. She covered Adam’s ears. “You’re not going to tell our son that M is for murder. M is for music, right baby?” she asked the toddler. “M is for…macaroni, mountains, milk, and…um…. Wow, this is harder than I thought.”

“Mama!” Adam said happily.

“Yes!” Quinn exclaimed. “My smart, sweet boy.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “M is for mama.”

“Fine, Mr. Castorini,” Mercedes said into her phone. “It’s your money. We’ll meet tomorrow at three? ... Okay, good. Yes, bring your wife. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.” She dropped the phone onto the accordion folder beside her. “He’s gonna die,” she said bluntly.

“Mercedes!” Quinn said, appalled. Noah had pulled Adam onto his lap, and was pretending to bite off his fingers, which - in Adam’s opinion - never got old.

“It’s true,” Mercedes said. “With a clause like that, and a family like his, I wouldn’t be surprised if his wife offed him. If it weren’t totally immoral I’d place money on it.”

“I’d join you,” Noah offered. Quinn glared at him.

“If it weren’t totally immoral, Q!” he hastened to qualify.

“You know that you jumped from F to M, right?” Mercedes asked her partners.

“Yeah, we’ll go back and go in order,” Quinn said.

“I’ll help!” Mercedes volunteered. “You’re doing the basic Sesame Street theme, Noah is going with manly stuff. I’ll think I’ll be “that person” and do black history stuff.”

“Okay,” Quinn agreed. “But not like, you know, um…L is for lynching. Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“Babe, I’m not Noah. I know what’s appropriate for a two year old.”

“Watch it, mama,” Noah said to her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “Let’s finish before his bedtime.”

She joined Noah, Quinn, and Adam on the floor, where they proceeded to continue through the alphabet. They rounded out with X is for xylophone and Malcolm X (Noah blanked on a football-related word); Y is for yo-yo and yard (Mercedes blanked on a black history-related word); and Z is for…

“I can’t think of anything but zygote,” Mercedes said. “Which has nothing to do with black people.”

“Wow, that’s the same word I was thinking of!” Quinn said.

“Are you serious?” Noah asked them both.

“What?” Mercedes said. “I’m trying to think of-”

“Z is for zebra, Adam,” Noah said to his son. “Sometimes I wonder about your moms.”

“Thank you, Noah,” Quinn said sarcastically. She hoisted Adam up and balanced him on her hip. “Now that you’ve managed to corrupt our child-”

“Educate,” Noah corrected.

“If you say so. It’s time for his bath.”

Forty minutes later, an exhausted Quinn dropped onto the couch and propped her legs up on Mercedes’ lap. “Nixay on the bubble bath. Adam kept trying to pop the bubbles with his tongue, even after I told him to stop. And now he’s miserable because he can’t get the taste of soap out of his mouth. Poor baby.”

Mercedes patted Quinn’s legs sympathetically. “I’ll keep that in mind tomorrow. Anyway, now we can talk!”

Noah groaned.

“It was your idea!”

“Don’t remind me.”

Quinn sat up and placed her feet on the floor. “Here’s the thing. I agree that we need to start on discipline, okay? Especially with another baby on the way. But we are not spanking our child. I don’t agree with it. Can we…maybe we can watch Supernanny reruns and see how the timeout thing works?”

Mercedes looked skeptical.

“I know you’re skeptical, Mercy, but let’s just give it a try.”

Mercedes shrugged and sighed. “Okay.”

“Quinn, find the reruns with the really badass kids,” Noah instructed. “The ones who run around cursing and hitting their parents.”

Mercedes laughed. “Confession? I used to watch Supernanny reruns on Hulu during law school. Wanted to see people in more hell than I was.”

“Poor baby,” Quinn said.

“So that’s it?” Noah asked.

“Yeah. I’ll look for some episodes online and we’ll watch one ASAP.” Quinn rose and stretched. “I think I’ll get a load of laundry done. And you will fold the clothes when I’m done, Noah!”

Noah absently agreed, his attention focused on the TV he had clicked on.

Quinn kissed Mercedes. “Go to bed.”

“Not yet. I’ve got to write in that stupid clause for Mr. Castorini. It won’t take long. Don’t stay up too late.”

Quinn disappeared into the bathroom to grab the clothes hamper and detergent. Mercedes bent to kiss Noah’s forehead. “Night.”

Noah tilted his head back to look at her. “Night, baby mama.”

“I hate when you call me that,” Mercedes griped.

“You’re having my baby,” he sang.

“Shut up, Puckerman.”

“You’re the woman I love and I love what it’s doing to you,” he continued to sing.

“Shut up!”

Noah laughed.

Mercedes gathered her documents and entered their bedroom. She sank onto her side of the bed, a hand on her belly. As stereotypical as it was, she could sense that there was something a little out of the ordinary about the baby she was carrying. It wasn’t anything bad, that much she knew. She sighed and opened her laptop. A few minutes later, Quinn appeared in the doorway, crying. Noah was behind her.

Mercedes jumped up and wrapped Quinn in her arms. “Babe, what happened? Shhh. It’s okay,” she murmured. She led her to the bed. Mercedes looked at Noah for an explanation. He shrugged and awkwardly patted Quinn’s back.

“I’m going to do it,” Quinn said between sniffles. She wiped at her eyes. Noah held out a tissue, which she gratefully accepted. “I’m going to call Shelby, I will. I-I…oh God,” she moaned.

“It’s okay, Quinn,” Mercedes murmured. She gently pulled Quinn’s hair out of her face. “Okay.”

Quinn turned her head to look at Noah. “I was sorting Adam’s clothes when I just…I-I mean, I gave birth to…to Beth, and never saw her again! I just gave her away!”

“Babe, you know you did the right thing for her,” Mercedes said.

Quinn crumpled the tissue between her clasped hands. “I can’t, I can’t…”

“Okay, Q,” Noah said. “We’ll call Berry and see if she has Shelby’s number.”

“I miss her!” Quinn continued with a faint note of surprise. “I barely even know her; how can I miss her?”

“She’s your child,” Mercedes said. “Of course you miss her.”

Noah was standing next to the nightstand, talking on his phone. “Berry, do you have Shelby’s number? ... Your mom? As much as it would explain a hell of a lot, you weren’t bred in a Petri dish ... Spare me the theatrics, crazy. You got it or not? ... I want to prank call her pretending to be a sex line operator. For fuck’s sake, Berry! Q wants to talk to her about Beth … Yeah … Uh huh … 9821? Yeah, okay … ’Bye.”

Quinn and Mercedes looked at Noah expectantly.

“Got the number,” he said.

“Is it too late?” Quinn asked. “I want to call her now.”

“It’s 8:30,” Mercedes said. “Give it a shot.”

Quinn nodded. Noah handed her the cell phone.

“Here goes,” she muttered. She dialed the number and waited. “Hi, Shelby? This is Quinn. Quinn Fabray … Yes, it’s been a long time. How are you? ... Good! Listen, I was wondering…”

Part Ten. Three Years Later: Party

Matt called me to tell me that Noah, Quinn, and Mercedes wanted to have a party and invite everyone again, for a repeat of the baby shower five years ago. Only without the whole Mr. Fabray punching thing. And less hands-on involvement from Rachel. So, what the hell. I helped Matt and Santana get everyone else on board to go to New York. I joked that the next time we all met up would be at Matt and Santana’s beach wedding. Matt blanched and Santana said something in Spanish. I Googled it, later. She’d threatened to cut off my balls. Huh.
-Mike Chang

“I want to propose a toast to my wonderful niece and her…partners.” Aunt Geraldine turned around to look at her brother, Mercedes’ father. “That’s what she calls them, right?”

Mercedes, who was sitting beside Artie, groaned and sank her head into her hands. “Why, why, why-”

Artie awkwardly patted her back. “Um, there-there.”

“Anyway,” Aunt Geraldine was continuing, “They’re celebrating their fourteenth anniversary, which, now that I think about it, means…” she counted on her fingers. “Um, how old are you again, Mercedes dear? I lost count after thirty.”

“Somebody, please, shut her down,” Mercedes muttered. Artie looked like he was considering taking up the task.

“But anyway, that’s beside the point. Her partners are quite nice, and my niece does seem to be happy with her life, and God knows her babies are adorable! Still though, with her beautiful voice, I can’t help wishing she had at least auditioned for American Idol, or Star Search, or…”

Quinn paused beside Mercedes and Artie on her way to the back door of their home. “Your aunt just can’t let that go, can she?”

Mercedes shrugged. “There’s a reason why I only see her at Thanksgiving. I don’t know what my dad was thinking, inviting her.” She blew kisses at the bundle in Quinn’s arms. The four-month-old baby girl wrapped a small fist around Mercedes’ finger.

“Going to change her diaper,” Quinn said. She fondly smiled down at the baby.

Mercedes sniffed the beautifully dressed baby, courtesy of her mama and Kurt, and made a face. “Better get to it!”

Quinn stuck her tongue out and continued inside the house.

Mr. Jones decided that everyone had had enough, and quietly convinced his older sister that, yes, Mercedes and her partners appreciated the kind words, but it was time to give someone else the chance to say something, if anyone else wanted to.

It was a muggy summer evening in late July. Standing bamboo torch lamps were strategically placed around the backyard of the triad’s new-ish Brooklyn home. They had been thinking about buying a house ever since Adam was a year old and they’d decided to have more children. They had moved in the month before Mercedes’ twins were born: a boy and a girl. She swore up and down that she’d known there was something different about the baby she was carrying. Quinn had just given birth to a girl four months ago. They all agreed she was the last. Even with three parents, four children were more than enough.

Rachel joined Mercedes and Artie in the corner, and expressed disbelief that there wasn’t even a slapdash program to the party.

“No, there’s no program, Rachel,” Mercedes said. “We didn’t want people to feel obligated to listen to random performances, eat at a certain time, whatever. And yet, my aunt managed to be her usual self.” She sighed. “We just wanted to have a regular summer party. It just so happens to coincide with our fourteenth anniversary.”

Rachel gamely changed the subject. “I really think we should sing something. Especially since Mr. Schuester is here!”

“No, Rachel!”

“Mercedes! This is…this is downright unfair! I wanted us to sing at Mike’s wedding, we didn’t. I wanted to sing at my own wedding, but Finn wouldn’t let me.”

“Finn didn’t let you do something? I need to go give him a twenty,” Artie quipped.

Rachel frowned at him and continued her spiel. “You guys didn’t even get married…this is seriously our only chance. Now come on!”

Mercedes and Artie sighed.

Quinn exited the house with a freshly diapered Julie in tow. She was headed to her mother, who couldn’t stop exclaiming over the baby, when Aunt Geraldine found herself directly in her path. “Hi, Aunt Geraldine,” Quinn said. “Thank you for the, uh, toast.”

“Is this the baby I’ve been hearing so much about? Mercedes swears her eyes are gray-green, which if you ask me doesn’t sound all that-”

Quinn nudged the baby with a sigh. Julie opened her eyes with a disgruntled whimper.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Aunt Geraldine exclaimed.

Quinn felt a smug sense of satisfaction. Then she noticed Noah’s friends Sean, Jamal, and Rob standing by the cake table, talking. Rob was holding Adam, who looked slightly wary. She excused herself from Aunt Geraldine, and went over to where Noah was crushing ice for do-it-yourself slushies. “Noah.”

“Yeah, Q.” He dropped the ice pick and turned around.

“Go talk to your friends.” She gestured to them.

“I’m trying to-”

“Go.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

“Daddy!” Adam shouted at the approaching figure.

Noah grabbed his son from Rob. “I think Quinn is convinced something’s going on over here.”

“Funny,” Sean said.

“Um,” Jamal said.

“Is there a reason why Adam looks,” Noah peered at the five-year-old, “terrified and intrigued? What have they been telling you, kid?”

“’S a mud cake, daddy!” The boy pointed to the chocolate cake.

Jamal grabbed his drink. “Yeah, I’m just gonna-”

“Go to Uncle Finn, Adam.” Noah placed his son on the ground. The five-year-old ran off toward Matt. Close enough.

“You told him the cake was made of mud?” Noah asked.

“He’s a kid,” Rob said. “Kids love that stuff.”

“That’s why he might eat it!” Noah said angrily.

Sean’s brow furrowed. “I’m confused. What’s wrong with that? It’s cake! Unless…don’t tell me you’re becoming one of those parents that don’t allow their kids to eat candy and junk food and stuff like that. Because, let me tell you from experience, they just eat it without your knowing. My mom tried to do that to me for like a week when I was ten. It did not end well.”

“The cake has peanut butter icing!”

“Yeah, you announced that already,” Jamal said. “By the way, peanut butter icing sounds gross, man.”

“Nah, it’s kind of like eating a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup,” Rob told him.

“Oh, cool,” Jamal said. “Kinda misleading, the whole peanut butter icing thing.”

“Yeah, Hilary ordered a cake like this for-”

“Adam is obsessed with peanut butter!” Noah exclaimed.

“Maybe I’m missing something,” Sean said to Jamal.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied.

“So what if he’s obsessed with peanut butter?” Rob asked Noah.

“Because Adam is obsessed with peanut butter, he would eat the cake and love it, so he would think that mud tastes good, and then he would probably start eating mud in the future, which - just a hunch - would be fucking bad for him!” Noah growled.

“Shit! Sorry dude,” said Jamal.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rob and Sean said.

“You owe me,” Noah responded.

“Um...”

“I was crushing ice for the slushies over there. Can you finish up? There’s one block of ice left.”

“I think Jamal would be good for that,” Sean said.

“I think your punk ass should stop volunteering other people to…”

Noah walked away with a sigh, momentarily feeling his thirty-four years. Dammit, he was getting old. He noticed Tina sitting with Beth, who had re-entered their lives just a few months after Quinn’s phone call to Shelby three years ago. She was surprisingly amicable about the whole scenario; turns out Shelby hadn’t been bad-mouthing her biological parents all that time. Beth was curious about the relationship her parents had with Mercedes, and she had heard just enough about the members of New Directions she hadn’t met to decide to attend the party. Noah resisted the urge to go over to them. Tina was easy to be around, and he figured she’d explain the various relationships between everyone present.

As it turned out, Tina was doing just that. “That’s Mike and his wife Inara. They have two kids. He owns a chain of spas along the West Coast. Yes, I know,” she said at the look on Beth’s face. “In high school, we all figured he would win a dance competition on TV and make a lot of money promoting stuff. Anyway, we sometimes get vouchers for spa days so…. And that’s Brittany, who is…currently, she’s working for Matt and Santana as a secretary, and apparently she’s good, which is kind of amazing. She’s been with them for two months now, which is the longest she’s held a job. She likes to, uh, switch things up…. And you remember Kurt!” Tina grabbed his hand and pulled him over to them. “And his boyfriend, Jason.”

“Hi Beth. Lovely scarf,” Kurt said.

“Thanks!” she said. She fingered the blue-green scarf around her neck.

Tina grinned at Kurt. “He owns a boutique in the city, and keeps us all from committing fashion faux pas.”

“All except Rachel,” Kurt amended. “I’ve been telling her to fire her stylist for years! Have you ever seen anyone wear a mauve and orange pleated skirt?”

“Um, no?” Beth said tentatively.

Kurt shuddered. “One day I will drown Rachel’s stylist in a bin of Vogue magazine issues, and take over myself. At least then she won’t look like Liza Minelli’s even more backward cousin on the runway at the Tony’s. Anyway, Jason and I are going to get a slushie. It’s nice to finally be able to drink one without having slushie facial flashbacks. Ciao, ladies.” He and Jason walked away.

“Slushie facial flashbacks?” Beth asked.

“Ask your dad.”

*

“Why is this song a staple at every party I go to?” Matt groaned.

“Come on!” Brittany pulled Matt up and started dancing with him. Santana joined them two minutes later, tightly sandwiching Matt between herself and Brittany. Brittany’s ass was grinding against Matt’s groin while Santana’s pelvis occasionally pressed against his butt. Matt was not complaining.

Tina’s mouth fell open. She vaguely registered Mike nudging Artie and saying something that made him laugh. Artie wheeled over to Tina and whispered in her ear. Tina sighed at the thought of the money she’d just lost in the betting pool. Dammit, Billie Jean!

Billie Jean is not my lover
She’s just a girl who dreams that I am the one
But the kid is not my son

Mr. Schuester pulled his wife, Emma, onto the dance floor when Prince’s “1999” started up. He had just finished talking with Finn, and still had that teary-eyed look he was famous for.

By that time, Mercedes and Quinn had joined Tina and Beth, bringing over slushies for the four of them. Tina and Beth thanked them. They sat, staring at the dancing couples.

Mercedes smiled and took a sip of her cherry slushie. “No more slushie facial flashbacks, right girls?”

Tina turned to Mercedes. “Funny, Kurt said the same thing.”

“Great minds,” she quipped.

“Ms. Pillsbury…Mrs. Schuester…Emma’s not nearly as robotic as I thought she’d be,” Quinn commented.

“Robotic?” Beth asked.

“OCD,” Tina said.

“Terrible OCD,” Mercedes added.

“Once, when we were in high school, Kurt puked on her shoes and she went to the hospital to have, like, three full body sterilization showers done,” Quinn shared.

They winced.

“Why does Mr. Schue look like a proud papa?” Mercedes asked.

“He was talking to Finn,” Tina informed her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “He always looks like he’s gonna cry whenever we do anything even remotely amazing.”

She turned to Beth and said confidentially, “He has the track record for ‘Most Likely to Get Teary-Eyed for Absolutely No Reason.’ I mean, every week, he tore up when we sang. We were in Glee Club for two years! It was a running joke by the end.”

“That’s why we should sing!” Rachel said, popping up out of nowhere.

“RACH! Could you not pop up like that, like, ever? I nearly spilled my slushie!” Tina exclaimed.

“Sorry, Tina,” Rachel said.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying we should sing because Mr. Schue’s teary-eyed mess was a running joke at the end?”

“No, Quinn. Don’t you know how happy it would make him if we sang tonight?”

“We’re already making enough noise as it is, Rach. Our next-door neighbor is still pissed about the time Adam threw that wiffle ball through his window.”

“He threw a wiffle ball through a window?” Tina asked, interested. “Wiffle balls weigh next to nothing! What kind of window-”

“It was open,” Quinn said. “The ball sailed into the kitchen and knocked over his apparently priceless vase.”

“I still have doubts about that,” Mercedes interjected. “The value of the vase, I mean.”

“So now our neighbor hates us even more than he did when he realized that we all screw each other on the regular. Oops, Beth.”

Beth waved it off.

“We will sing,” Rachel said. She stomped off to corral Finn.

“I’ll be back,” Beth said. She headed into the house.

Mercedes, Quinn, and Tina looked at each other.

“I am not a singing whore,” Mercedes said.

“Neither am I,” Quinn and Tina said in unison.

They meditatively sipped on their straws. Mike and Inara had joined the other dancing couples, who were currently swaying to Chicago.

Tina pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Who are we kidding? This is Rachel. We’re singing.”

“God, I know,” Quinn agreed.

“Yep,” Mercedes said. The beginning beats of “Baby Got Back” made her groan.

Noah appeared in front of her and pulled her to her feet. “C’mon, mama.”

“No, Noah, we’re not-”

“Yes, we are.” He plucked the slushie out of her hand and gave it to Quinn. “My baby’s got back.”

“I hate you,” Mercedes said.

“I like big butts and I cannot lie,” he responded with a grin.

*

Adam had fallen asleep in his paternal grandma’s arms. She sat beside Aunt Geraldine, who had persuaded Mrs. Jones to let her watch Mercedes’ twins for a few minutes. Aunt Geraldine was sharing her interest in choosing the right name for a child. “To be honest, I’m so happy my niece didn’t name her babies something obnoxious, like Francesca. As a matter of fact, I’ve always found all derivatives of that name - Frances, for example - to be obnoxious.”

“Frances is my middle name,” Mrs. Puckerman said.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure,” Aunt Geraldine fumbled.

“I hate it,” Mrs. Puckerman offered with a smile.

“Oh! Good. I believe names are truly important. They can shape a child’s character.”

“I agree. I named Noah and Sarah after the biblical characters. They were strong characters, don’t you agree? After the whole handmaiden mess, I mean.”

“I agree,” Aunt Geraldine said.

*

“It’s your turn,” Artie told Finn.

“All right. Okay. Um, ‘I never tasted a cough medicine I didn’t love.’”

“George. ‘Sometimes the road less travelled is less travelled for a reason.’”

“Jerry. ‘Did you ever notice a lot of butlers are named Jeeves? I think when you name a baby Jeeves, you’ve pretty much mapped out his future.’”

“Jerry. ‘Alright, alright, look, I don’t have grace, I don’t want grace, I don’t even say grace, okay?’”

“…Shit!”

“It was Elaine. Drink up!”

“Artie? Finn? What is going on here?”

Finn turned to his irate wife. “Honey, Artie and I are…um…”

“You’re playing a drinking game,” she accused.

Finn raised a finger. “Actually, uh, actually…”

“Yes, we’re playing a drinking game,” Artie admitted. “One of us says a Seinfeld quote and the other person says who says that quote on the show and then adds another quote, and whoever blanks drinks and then we switch places and then it’s the opposite person’s turn. So whoever was saying the quote before now waits till the other person says the quote and then-”

“I get it,” Rachel said testily. “I can’t believe you guys! Especially you, Finn! This after I told you that we’re all singing tonight!”

“Wait, what?” Artie asked.

Rachel barreled on. “Have you any idea what alcohol does to your vocal chords?”

Artie raised his hand. “Nothing; it screws up your liver. I believe dairy does some degree of damage, though.”

“Take it from someone who is starring in a musical The New York Times calls ‘a tour-de-force of almost immeasurable proportions.’ Alcohol is no good for your voice.”

“Jeez, Rachel, conceited much?” Artie said.

“Self-confident, Artie. After we sing you can go back to scarring your liver.”

“So what you’re saying is you care more about our vocal chords than our livers,” Artie deadpanned.

“Artie!”

“Rachel. Sweetheart. Why don’t we…” Finn rose and grabbed Rachel’s hand. “Why don’t you talk to Brittany about the song you want to choose, okay? She was just telling me that she has a few ideas of her own.” Finn maneuvered her toward Brittany, who had quit dancing moments earlier. He gave Brittany an apologetic look that she either overlooked or didn’t understand.

“Hi, Rachel!”

“Brittany, you don’t mind if I run some song ideas by you,” Rachel stated.

“Of course not, Rachel. My iPod is inside the house! I sometimes like to listen to the Backstreet Boys while I practice my Cheerio routines.”

“Brittany? You haven’t been a Cheerio for almost fifteen years.”

“You just never know, Rachel,” Brittany said. “Coach Sylvester still checks up on me,” she confided.

Rachel tightened her lips to keep from bursting into uncharacteristic, riotous laughter. “Okay, Brittany. Let’s head inside.”

*

Rachel managed to gather everyone into the living room. “Okay guys! We’re singing You’ve Got the Love.”

Mercedes spoke up. “A: We’re not singing. B: You’ve Got the Love is not a group song. If you want to sing so badly, why don’t you sing it? That was not a suggestion, by the way.”

“We’re singing. I was thinking the guys could sing the second verse, and us ladies can harmonize on the first - with adlibs by yours truly, naturally - although we can all decide.”

“Um,” Matt began. “Isn’t this Mercedes, Noah, and Quinn’s anniversary party? They can decide what they want to do, right? And they don’t want to sing.”

Rachel fixed him with a thanks-for-not-helping look.

“Just sayin’,” Matt said with a shrug.

“Thanks bro,” Noah said.

“No problem.”

Mr. Schuester wandered in early enough to hear the gist of the conversation. “You guys are going to sing?” He had the teary-eyed look again. Mercedes, Tina, and Quinn exchanged amused glances.

Rachel gestured to her former teacher. “See? Now we have to!”

“We should sing!” Brittany cheerfully agreed.

“Thank you, Brittany.”

“Oh my God,” Tina said. “Britt’s the last person you need to convince to do anything….” She deliberately trailed off.

“Come on guys! Take it from the top!” Mr. Schuester said, completely serious.

Mercedes, Artie, Quinn, Tina, and Santana all groaned.

“We’re all adults here,” Kurt said. “So I speak for all of us - except for Rachel. And, apparently, Brittany - when I say that I want to kill you right now, Mr. Schue.”

“That sounds like a yes to me!” Rachel said. “Let’s practice it for a few minutes before we go out.”

They were all powerless to resist, and grudgingly managed to put together a decent group version of “You’ve Got the Love,” which reduced Mike’s wife, Inara, to tears. He moved to her side immediately after the song ended (to enthusiastic, if slightly perplexed applause), and she informed him that they were having another baby.

“Am I the only person here who doesn’t want kids?” Santana asked upon hearing the news.

“No,” Tina said.

“Just checking.”

*

Three hours later, the gleeks (along with Mike’s wife and Kurt’s boyfriend), gathered in the living room to finally watch the video from Quinn’s first baby shower five years ago.

Noah looked around the room with (mostly mock) disgust. “I had to sing at my own anniversary party. Artie and Finn drank all my beer. Brittany instigated a Soul Train Line. And now I might have to pay Santana for a bet I made, like, five years ago! I am fucking sick of you guys. I need to move to…I don’t know where. Michigan.”

“Oh, please,” Rachel said. “You love us.”

Quinn smiled at Noah, who raised his eyes heavenward.

Mercedes and Kurt returned from lightly cleaning up. “Rach,” Mercedes began. “I still can’t understand how you’re a big time Broadway star and yet have so much time to come to these things.”

“Family comes first!” Rachel said brightly.

“That’s why your agent is the first number of your speed dial?” Kurt asked.

“So why is your agent your number one contact?” Mercedes asked simultaneously. She and Kurt wiggled their fingers together.

“Okay, it’s about to start,” Santana said. “After this, you’re all paying up.”

“This is so wrong, Santana,” Finn said.

“Did none of you hear me when I said I like money? I still do.”

Beth poked her head into the room. “Um…hey. Can I…grandma is kind of tipsy and trying to convince everyone else to watch Schindler’s list instead of The Ten Commandments next Easter.”

“She’s watching the children!” Mercedes exclaimed worriedly.

“No, your aunt is watching them now,” Beth said.

“That’s even worse!” Mercedes started to get up.

“No, I mean, your aunt is watching them with your mom and my other grandma.”

“Oh, okay.” She sat back down. Kurt patted her hand sympathetically.

“Come on in, Beth,” Quinn said. “We were just about to watch the video of the first baby shower your dad and Mercedes surprised me with.”

“And Rachel and me,” Kurt said.

“Rachel and Kurt helped too,” Quinn agreed.

Beth settled on a spot on the floor between Tina and Brittany.

Noah threw an arm behind both Quinn and Mercedes. “Never thanked you for inviting Mercedes on our date back in high school, Q.”

“You’re welcome, Noah,” she said with a smile.

“So this means you loooooove me?” Mercedes teased.

“I already say it way more than I ever thought I would.”

“You do,” Mercedes said.

Quinn nodded. “That’s true.”

Santana paused the DVD. “Okay, we get it. You love each other. We all love each other. We’re gonna be singing Kumbaya together until we’re wearing dentures and those creepy orthopedic shoes. And probably after that. Whatever. Can we please watch the video so I can get my damn money?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“’K, ‘Tana.”

Santana hit the play button. Noah, Quinn, and Mercedes grinned at each other.

*

“Six hundred bucks! Pay up, bitches!”

The End

Rachel also tried to give me the puppet lesson on Noah, Quinnie, and Mercedes’ relationship, but I didn’t pay attention. It didn’t matter, anyway. Because they had somehow become, like, the backbone of the family-friendship between the twelve of us. Their house was open whenever any of us didn’t want to pay for a hotel in the city. We kept in touch through them. And they remained solid proof of what New Directions meant to us then and now. And to think, it all started with my psychic cat, Alfred. Or Angelina. I never could remember his name. Or her name. Its name?
-Brittany S. Pierce

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