Fic: Summer Mornings (3/3) - Part 3
Title: Summer Mornings-In Which Breakfast Will Never Be The Same Again-For Rachel Berry-And Quinn Fabray
A/N: This is the end.
The twenty-eighth morning
“Good morning, Mr. B.”
“Good morning to you, too, Mercedes.”
“Is Rachel here?”
“I’m afraid she left early this morning and I don’t know where she went.”
“Oh.”
“Are you supposed to have breakfast here again? I can whip up something for you-”
“It’s okay. We’ll think of somewhere else to go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Alright, well, have a good day.”
“You too, Mr. B…”
Your main door shuts and it takes a while before your daddy appears in the kitchen. When he does, he’s sporting a grave expression on his face.
“Girls, I hope you do know that lying,” he stresses, “is a very bad thing.”
“We know, Daddy,” you promise. “It won’t happen again.”
“Absolutely,” Quinn confirms. “One-time thing…”
But you both fail at keeping yourselves from snorting and end up giggling nervously.
“Teenagers,” your daddy groans before departing.
You’re sitting side by side on the kitchen floor with your legs stretched and your backs against the island cabinet.
“You’re a horrible, horrible person, Rachel Berry.”
“Excuse me, but this was your idea, Quinn Fabray.”
“And who insisted on asking daddy for help?”
“You were all for it!”
Another round of giggling ensues.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
“I dunno,” she shrugs. “What did you usually have for breakfast before you had to feed a horde of hungry teenagers?”
You chuckle before answering.
“I actually love having Cheerios in the morning.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love all kinds of Cheerios or just one…in particular?”
“Very astute, Fabray…”
She smirks. You roll your eyes.
After a moment of silence, you whisper.
“Just one in particular, really…”
She looks at you and you look at her and you realize that moments like this are totally worth waking up early for every day.
And just as easily as it had been the past few days, her hand finds yours and you instantly feel dizzy. It’s like your whole body is humming in raptures. It’s incredible what this simple gesture can do to you.
You close your eyes and catch your breath and feel your hand being lifted from your lap onto a pair of lips that linger at the back of your palm.
You release a shaky breath as you open your eyes to look at Quinn, who isn’t looking at you, but before you can act on impulse, your daddy strolls inside the kitchen again.
“Honey?”
“Yes Daddy?”
This intrusion doesn’t surprise you anymore. It’s like your dad and daddy have kissing radars. One day you’ll get your chance and they won’t be there to disrupt it. You can wait. You must.
“I’m leaving early for work. Don’t forget to wake your Dad for lunch-don’t tell me you’ll just sit there all day.”
“We won’t. But can you please give us a box of Cheerios before you leave?”
Snigger, snigger…
Your daddy shakes his head but goes towards the cupboards and takes out a box.
“You know, I was just complaining to your Dad the other day about how you’re growing up so fast but now that you’re acting like a five-year-old-”
“I love you, too, Daddy!”
He hands the box over to you.
“Remember not to always let her have her way, Quinn.”
“I’ll…try…”
“Okay,” he sighs, “bye my pretties, I’ll see you later.”
He kisses you on top of your head then does the same for Quinn. You love your daddy even more.
“Bye, Daddy!”
“Bye, David.”
He leaves and you both look at the box of Cheerios foolishly. You don’t want to let go of her hand and it seems that neither does she, so you somehow attempt to maneuver opening the box with your free hands until she finally brings her hand clasped with yours up for aid. It’s completely laughable and your laughter fills the kitchen again.
When it dies down, you both start wondering how all the other Glee kids are and you talk about them one by one while eating Cheerios from the box.
You talk about Mercedes and her soulful voice and how her friendship with Mercedes began. Then you talk about how Mercedes asked her to move out of Puck’s.
“What if I asked you to live here instead?”
“There would be a lot of stories to tell…”
“What do you think would’ve happened?”
“I don’t know…but it would probably end the same way.”
You give her a questioning look.
“I’d still be holding your hand right now.”
You smile and talk about Mercedes and Kurt and then you talk about Kurt. You tell her you want to invite him over to give him the chance to talk with your dads because you’ve seen the way he looks at them and he seems to be very much affected by it.
“They make you want to believe, you know,” she confesses.
“In what?”
“That it can happen to you…that you can live a happy life despite the…circumstance.”
You talk about how hard it must be for Kurt and how hard it must’ve been for your dads. And you talk about how easy it all seems for Santana and Brittany.
“It’s just sex.”
“I don’t want that.”
“You don’t want sex?”
“It’s not that…although I did plan to wait until I was 25.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing…”
And you talk about sex.
It’s not as enticing as it sounds.
You talk about sex and Puck and sex with Puck. You talk about Puck and Finn then you talk about Finn. You talk about you and Finn. You talk about her and Finn. And you talk about Jesse and sex and sex with Jesse that didn’t happen.
“You didn’t do it?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’m waiting for the right person.”
“Are you still waiting?”
“Not anymore…”
She smiles and you talk about love.
The twenty-ninth morning
You’re so happy you can’t contain yourself.
You see her walking through your front door and you run towards her with your arms wide open.
She gladly receives your embrace with a big smile on her face and you almost tackle her to the ground.
“You won’t believe what happened,” you squeak excitedly as both your hands find their way around each other’s waists while you’re walking towards the kitchen.
“I’m dying in anticipation.”
“Don’t mock me.”
She laughs, “Okay, what is it?”
“Finn and Kurt are going on an excursion with their parents, Mercedes has a big family barbeque party because her cousins are in town, Brittany and Santana went to New York for a weekend getaway, Tina broke up with Artie and got together with Mike and they, therefore, would like to spend the weekend by themselves, poor Artie doesn’t want to get out of his house, and Noah dropped by just to say hi and asked if you were here-he’s smiling a bit strange now that I remember it-anyway, none of them are coming over this weekend!”
“Awesome.”
“Okay, I will disregard your lack of enthusiasm for this bit of-oh, my God! You had everything to do with it, didn’t you?”
“Yep, sure did…”
She looks absolutely smug.
“You are devious, Quinn Fabray!”
“It’s one of my favorite words! But I really can’t take credit for Tina and Artie’s breakup. That’s Tina’s doing.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to say that Tina is at fault if Mike had kept on flaunting his abs right in front of her.”
“So you think Mike is to blame?”
“Completely, and in conjunction with his abs,” you nod sternly.
“I’m sure Mike had no intention of showing off his abs for Tina and was just thinking about his own comfort but then she decides to grab his attention by bursting into song-from a musical!”
“What’s wrong with singing a song from a musical?! Tina can’t help it if she has a great singing voice and she loves to sing! It was mere coincidence that she was singing when she and Mike kissed.”
You both stop by the entryway to your kitchen.
“Good for them,” Quinn laments.
“Tell me about it,” you reply in kind.
The enmity subsides as you both reflect on the fact that Tina and Mike have kissed.
“I bet their parents weren’t there to interrupt their moments…”
“Clearly…”
“Are your dads here?”
“Yes, they are…”
She sighs.
“…but I’ll have you know that they bought bacon-”
“-I love your dads!”
You both giggle as you pull out a chair for her and hold it until she’s seated.
“Why, thank you, Rachel! I’m glad to know that chivalry isn’t dead.”
“You’re most welcome, Quinn! I’m glad you know its definition.”
Insert eye-roll here.
You both laugh it off.
Then you bring two plates complete with stainless covers and she gasps.
“I’m getting the full treatment, aren’t I?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Where are the candlesticks?”
You laugh out loud.
“I’m afraid there’s no such thing as a candlelit breakfast, Quinn.”
“Who says so? We can just start that tradition!”
You shake your head with a smile and remove the plate covers. She gasps again.
“Oh my…”
Her meal consists of three strips of bacon, two breakfast sausages, one egg over easy, hash browns, baked beans, fried mushrooms, toasted bread, and half a tomato. Your meal is virtually the same.
“Why does your bacon look funny?”
“That’s because it’s not real bacon.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s fake bacon, also known as ‘facon.’”
“What? But…why?”
“Because, Quinn, I’m vegan. Also, Jewish…”
“And you’re okay with that?!”
“Quinn!”
“I’m kidding. Let’s eat!”
She reaches for your hand across the table, bows her head, and murmurs what you now assume to be a quick prayer before saying an eager amen.
You think she’ll start gulping down her food greedily but she doesn’t even touch the bacon.
She notices that you’re staring at her curiously. And she grins.
“I’m saving the best for last…”
You’re grinning just as brightly as you go back to your food. And from time to time, you glance at her and see her taking her time to consume her meal and savoring every bite.
“Don’t you get tired of staying here the whole day and doing nothing?”
She swallows before answering.
“Even if it’s nothing, we’re actually doing something, aren’t we? You said so yourself.”
“Well, yes…I just thought…since it’s your last weekend of freedom-as Santana puts it-I just…wanted to…make it count, you know…maybe do something else…something…special…”
“Okay…what did you have in mind?”
“I don’t really know…would you like to go bowling?”
“Do you even like bowling?”
“Not exactly…I suck at it, actually…but I am nothing if not persistent.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” she jokes.
You pout. She giggles.
“If you really don’t like it, then it’s out of the question,” she decides.
“What about a picnic?”
“We’d basically just be changing venues.”
“Well…yes, but…there are other activities we can incorporate with it, like…strolling around the park…”
“You know, that actually sounds nice…”
She deliberates the idea for a moment. You wait anxiously.
“Personally,” she finally says, “I’d prefer to do that in autumn.”
“I see…”
You remember your food and take a spoonful.
“Well,” you resume, “can I interest you with the local production of Footloose at the Encore Theater?”
“Oh, God,” she groans. “They made it into a musical?!”
“Okay, I guess not-what about an actual movie-in a cinema?”
A beat, and then she asks.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I…no…I wasn’t…but…what if I am?”
“Then I’d have to say no.”
“Oh…okay…good to know.”
The sausage really looks interesting at the moment, like, really, really interesting. There are flecks and spots all around it-
“But,” you blurt out, “why?”
“Because,” she drags out, “I want to be the one to ask you.”
You look like she just surprised you with a kiss.
But she calmly goes back to eating.
“I don’t really care what we’d do as long as…”
Her unspoken words ring true to you.
“Neither do I…”
The thirtieth morning
“So what happens now?”
You and Quinn are stooping on the couch, with your legs bent on it and your knees almost touching her hip and her legs stretched out on an ottoman. You’re sitting face to face, with your faces inches apart and one cheek brushing against the back of the couch.
You’re putting yourselves out of sight for fear of seeing anything discomfiting from your dad and daddy while they’re making breakfast.
“I mean, what happens once you start training to become a Cheerio again?”
“You don’t like the idea.” It isn’t a question.
“I’m not exactly looking forward to it, to be honest, but…you do want to be a Cheerio again, don’t you?”
“I’ve only been sure of wanting three things in my life so far, Rach. I wanted to be the head cheerleader in school…I wanted to join Glee club, no matter how odd that sounds…”
“And the third?”
“I want…to be here every morning…”
Her eyes are fixed on you and you don’t know what kind of expression you have on your face but it prompts her hand to caress your cheek.
“It’s not gonna be the same as before,” she assures you, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You lean at the touch.
“I don’t like who I was before,” she continues, “I don’t like the kind of girl I’ve made myself to be…I don’t like the girl who was head bitch in charge…I don’t like the girl who was the dumb quarterback’s girlfriend…I don’t like the girl who slept with a guy just to feel good about herself…”
Her soft voice makes you shiver.
“Then I got pregnant and was lost…”
Your palm meets the back of her hand to keep it on your cheek.
“But summer came and I…learned to smile again because of the girl I used to call Man Hands…”
Your other hand clutches at her wrist.
“And she drew me in and now…”
Your thumb draws patterns on her skin.
“I like who I am now.”
You take a deep breath and slide forward to rest your forehead on her shoulder with your arms enclosed around her waist.
It’s the most intimate you’ve felt.
“What time do you need to be there at the summer camp?”
“6am…”
Your heart drops.
“I guess you won’t be jogging anymore, huh?”
“I guess not…unless I wake up really, really early.”
And you stay where you are until your dad and daddy tell you that breakfast is ready.
This morning’s meal is a Jewish staple-of bagel and lox.
It’s the best one your daddies have prepared. But you hardly notice.
The air becomes tinged with sadness and something akin to regret.
And the only sound you hear is stainless steel grating porcelain.
She looks at your plate, the movement of your knife, the portion that you slice, the path it follows to get to your mouth…and your mouth.
You turn to her and she looks down at her plate.
And it’s your turn to stare.
Your dad and daddy keep exchanging bemused glances and wondering what’s happening between you two.
“Well, this is a lovely meal,” your daddy says. “Darling, don’t you think so?”
“Why, yes, my love,” your dad assents, “very enjoyable.”
But you and Quinn never utter a word and the too few hours she spends with you before going to church with her mom occur in silence.
You let her do the dishes and she maintains her elbows close to her waist to keep your arms wrapped around it the whole time, your arms conveying, I don’t want you to go.
You keep inhaling her scent and planting soft kisses between her shoulder blades and each time it says, thank you.
You watch a movie and this time, you let her choose. And of course, she chooses Star Wars.
You snuggle close in the sofa while she’s grasping your hand and every once in a while, she brings it up to her lips and every time, it promises, I’ll come back.
You give her a kiss that lingers on her temple and reassures her, I’ll wait.
And for the rest of the morning, you both let your actions do the talking.
The thirty-first morning
Your phone vibrates.
And the light coming from the LCD screen bathes your room with an eerie glow.
You can’t go to sleep. You don’t want to.
You don’t want it to be tomorrow. But tomorrow still comes and it’s here now.
You quickly answer your phone in your haze.
“Quinn?”
The conversation that follows barely registers in your mind.
You may just be half awake when you get to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.
You may not even recall brushing your hair.
But you find yourself downstairs in your living room, walking towards the front door, seeing bright lights hitting the windows left to right, and hearing a low murmur of an engine dying down.
You place your left palm against the doorframe and your right hand around the knob.
And you listen closely.
“Rach?”
You open the door and fling your arms around her neck.
Quinn…
You hold each other as tightly as you possibly can and the world may stop spinning for all you care.
You don’t want to let go and neither does she.
And you stay entangled in each other’s arms.
You must be hearing the same music in your heads because you’re almost dancing to the same intrinsic rhythm that comes out booming off your chests.
In the end, she reluctantly releases you from her grip and you take a good look at her for the first time this morning through the muted light coming from a lamppost down the road.
She’s wearing a pair of knee shorts and a sweater and her hair is neatly tied into a loose ponytail.
She takes your right hand and opens up your palm and gives you the keys to her car. But you know she’s giving you more than that.
Her other hand makes you close your hand around it.
Then she stares at your joined hands and takes a deep breath before looking up to meet your gaze.
You catch your breath.
Then she closes the gap between you…ever so slowly…and you find your right hand being folded against her chest…the back of your fist pressed next to her heart…and her face...drawing near…little by little…leaning down…bit by bit…
You forget how to breathe.
Your eyelids fall gradually…with the nearness of her lips…until…they fall completely…and as they close, another part of you opens…
You heave a sigh.
And your lips part…and her lips brush against them lightly…left…to right…right…to left…left…to right…asking permission…and her warm breath…mingles with yours…
You shudder.
Then her lips angle higher…
Oh, God…
And you kiss.
And you almost melt.
It’s pure…and chaste…and tender…until you both remember how to move…and you both part your lips…only to lock lips again…this time, it’s eager…and fervent…and…wet…and her lips travel across the length of your upper lip…down to your lower lip… and back again…leaving her mark with gentle bites…
Then a tongue flicks.
And the kiss deepens instantly.
And now, it’s urgent and heated and profound. And your free hand cups the side of her face and moves around her neck. Then her hands let go of your other hand and envelop you completely as you bring your right arm up and around her shoulders.
Heads tilt and mouths open and tongues entwine. And, oh, my God…
You can’t get enough.
But lips swell and tongues tire out and breaths diminish.
You reluctantly break apart; far enough to breathe yet close enough to give each other swift kisses.
She gives you one. You give her another. And then another. And then another.
And you’re at it again.
And you kiss…and you kiss…and you kiss…
She squeezes you tighter while you cling to her neck like your lives depend on it.
Maybe they do.
But then you remember that she came here for a reason-not just to kiss you-well, yes, to kiss you-but other than that, she needs to go jogging.
And as much as it pains you to do it, you delicately pull back…
You open your eyes and she’s looking back at you.
Somehow, there’s understanding there.
The sooner she leaves, the sooner she can come back to you.
She steals another kiss and it makes both of you grin.
Then she unzips her sweater without taking her eyes off you, smirking, and damn, why is she such a tease…
She takes it off, drapes it over your back, and grabs it by the collar, effectively tugging you back to her and back to her lips…
You can feel the smiles with the kiss.
But before you get carried away, you both stop, gasping for air, and she leans her forehead on yours.
You leave a trail of supple kisses, from the corner of her mouth, to one side of her cheek, up to her temple, and close to her ear.
And you share one more embrace…that lingers…and doesn’t want to end…
With a lot of hesitance, you finally let go.
And with a smile that glows with pure and unmarred joy, she starts walking backwards, away from you.
Then she winks and turns around and goes for her run.
You’re so happy that she went for a run this summer. And you’re happier that the road she took lies alongside your house. But most of all, you’re even happier-happier than you can imagine-no-ecstatic-that her new route leads to your direction…a route that begins with your lips…and ends…in your arms.
***
You close the door, turn around, and take a step when you hear a shout coming from the street. And it sounds a lot like wuhoo.
***
Autumn Nights