According to Judy
Title: According to Judy
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers: Takes place some time after "Sexy".
Rating: PG
Word Count: 8,133
Description: How Judy Fabray deals with Quinn's infatuation with Rachel.
She accused me of being blind, but I knew long before anyone else did. I knew before she did. A mother knows her daughter.
There was the day she came home seething - 6th grade, I think it was - and the second she came through that door, she started on about this girl with the ridiculous name and ridiculous enthusiasm and ridiculous smile. That was her favorite word at the time.
"What's this girl's name?" Russell asked. She told him, and he snorted. "Berry? Not the little girl with the two homos for parents?"
"She wouldn't shut up about them," she said sullenly. "She kept talking about how they took her to Cedar Point last weekend." Quinn was jealous, but I don't think Russell picked on it. He had always refused to take the girls to Cedar Point - there was a ride called Witches' Wheel and Russell thought that was just awfully unchristian.
"Damn unnatural, that's what it is," Russell said. "You know, I feel sorry for that girl. It wasn't her choice to be raised by two godless deviaints."
"They dropped her off at school this morning. They didn't seem so bad to me," she replied with a hint of defiance. Bless that girl, she's always had a good heart.
"Quinnie, you listen to me," Russell said sternly. "I know that you kids spend all day with that crap on the radio or watching MTV or what-have-you. But don't forget that those people are heathens. They don't have Christ in their hearts. You do. And you know that what the Berrys are doing is absolutely immoral, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes, daddy, but I only meant that-"
"Don't defend them," Russell interrupted sharply. "There's no point to it. None at all. They're bad people, Quinnie. You best stay away from them."
She didn't reply right away. She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out, and uncertainty was written all over her face. For one brief moment, I thought that she would defy him. Russell must have thought so too. He tightened his jaw muscle, and narrowed his eyes at her. Quinn visibly shrunk back.
"Of course, daddy," she said meekly. "Yes, you're right."
As I took a sip of the gin and tonic in my hand, I reflected that it shouldn't be surprising that I would raise a coward.
***
As far as Russell was concerned, that was the end of it. But of course, it wasn't. She kept talking about the Berry girl - to me, to her sister, to her friends. What was truly troubling was that Quinn never said anything nice about her. It'd be different if they were friends, but they weren't.
Imagine my relief when Quinn started seeing Finn. Yes, he was dumber than a sack of stones, but he was the quarterback of the football team. He came from good people too, his father having given his life for his country and all. Besides, Finn was a good boy and Quinn would be safe with him.
Or so I'd thought. I didn't quite anticipate that Quinn would come home pregnant. My little girl, having a little girl of her own. Then Russell threw her out, his own flesh and blood. My flesh and blood. And I stood by and did nothing.
I drank a lot in those months.
I thought that I could fix things. Make everything better. I kicked Russell out, I quit drinking, I got Quinn back. Quinn gave the little girl up, she was doing well in school and seeing nice, gentle boys like Sam and Finn. And I thought, all right, we can do this. The Fabray gals are going to be just fine.
Then Quinn came home and said, "Rachel's coming over tonight."
"Rachel who?"
"Rachel Berry. We're in glee together," Quinn added helpfully, as if forgetting that she had spoken incessantly of tormenting the girl for years.
"Oh," I said. "Why?"
"We're working on a song together," she told me. "She's coming over at eight." I didn't want to ask anymore. And anyway, I suppose that a part of me was hoping that this little project would be the end of it.
I finally had the chance to meet the infamous Rachel Berry. She rang the doorbell promptly at eight o'clock. I answered the door, since Quinn was still upstairs getting dressed. (She'd never changed her outfit for her other friends before. I tried not to think too much of it.)
"Good evening! You must be Mrs. Fabray! My name is Rachel Berry, co-captain of the glee club. I'm so pleased to meet you."
My, she was energetic.
"Hello, Rachel." Her nose was quite large. "Please, come in. Quinn will be down in a minute." And that hideous sweater! This was the Rachel Berry that my little Quinnie couldn't stop obsessing over?
Rachel came in, making her way to the center of the living room. I noticed her glancing surreptitiously around the room, eyeing a photograph of Quinn on the mantle. Her interest unsettled me.
"How is school these days, Rachel?" I asked hastily, hoping to distract her.
"It's going very well, Mrs. Fabray. Glee club is going to nationals in New York City. We're all very excited about it - none more than me, of course. Going to New York City has been my dream since I was two years old, which I fully plan on doing after graduation. I thought that I would visit Juilliard while we were there, and utilize this opportunity to speak with a recruiter. I'm sure that they would be very pleased to meet me."
Well. Quinn had said that the girl was verbose, but I hadn't quite expected this.
"I see," I said politely. "Would you like anything to drink, dear?"
"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Fabray! I don't drink alcohol - you see, it's very bad for your vocal cord and one must take very good care of one's body when one expects to be a star with staying power. But there was that one time - well, two- three? It was part of an overaching educational experience, so I would consider it a solo occasion, one not to be repeated in the near future and certainly not while I'm still underage! I'm very law-abiding and I would never dream of..." she trailed off. "You were offering me a non-alcoholic beverage, weren't you?"
"Yes," I said slowly. What on earth was the matter with this girl?
"Right," she muttered. "Sorry. I'm fine. Thank you, Mrs. Fabray."
She fidgeted and tugged at the edges of her sleeve. I finally realized that she was nervous. It was rather uncomfortable, and Quinn's footsteps upon the stairs were a welcome interruption.
"Hi," Quinn said breathlessly as she rushed into the room.
"Hi," Rachel returned, beaming brightly as the tension slid off her face.
"Hi," Quinn said again.
I had the most awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I cleared my throat lightly, drawing Quinn's attention.
"We're just going to go upstairs and work in my room, okay, mom?"
"All right, Quinnie. You let me know if you need anything."
Quinn nodded at me, then her attention was back on Rachel again.
"It's this way."
Rachel followed Quinn out, smiling at me as she passed.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fabray."
As the two girls went up the stairs, I resisted the urge to tell Quinn to keep her door open.
Fifteen minutes later, I brought them up a tray of cookies. Twenty minutes after that, I realized that one can't possibly have cookies without milk, so I brought them a couple of glasses. Another twenty minutes later, I stopped by with some napkins. Silly me, I kept forgetting things. It was a relief when Rachel finally said goodnight. It was a bit exhausting to traipse up and down the stairs at my age.
But Rachel started coming over more often. Quinn and her were becoming friends. I had no choice but to welcome the girl into my home - what else could I do? Quinn was finally beginning to trust me again; I couldn't very well forbid her to see her friend.
I sat peacefully as Rachel honked her horn outside, and Quinn flew down the stairs and out the door to meet her, tossing behind a hasty, "GoingtothemallwithRachseeyoulatermom!"
I nodded complacently when Quinn asked me to learn some vegan recipes so that she could invite Rachel over for dinner.
I smiled tranquilly as Quinn chattered excitedly and giggled with her on the phone late into the night.
I pretended not to notice when Quinn kept a tight grip on her cellphone during our movie nights on the couch. Everytime that phone vibrated and she glanced down at the screen, an ear-to-ear grin came across her face.
I ignored that twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach as I gave Quinn permission to sleep over Rachel's house.
I could ignore a lot of things. I've had a lot of practice.
***
I found a small store 50 miles outside of Lima. To be safe, I wore dark sunglasses and a red wig. I was the only customer in there - these things are dying out quicker than America's sad loss of faith in the Lord, you know - but I still spoke in a low whisper when I asked the clerk for a recommendation.
He looked at me blankly. Then said:
"Well, ma'am, we don't carry those types of films in here, but personally, I can recommend to you this great flick called Lesbian Spank Inferno. You can find it on-"
"No no no no no no no no," I hissed angrily. "I'm not talking about those kinds of movies, I'm talking-" I cut myself off. I wasn't behaving in a very ladylike fashion, but honestly, could you blame me? The nerve of him! Nevertheless, I was brought up with good manners. I steadied myself and tried again, calmer this time:
"I am simply trying to understand their culture, and I thought I could do that with movies about them. I am looking for classy films, you see. Proper movies with proper stories about..." The word was lodged in my throat.
"Lesbians?"
"Yes." I nodded grudgingly.
"Curious?"
"In a manner of speaking," I said through gritted teeth.
"Because I've got a cousin in Illinois who's like that, and I can give you her number if-"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake- nevermind!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down, lady." He left the counter, ambled along the shelves of the store and came back with a DVD. "Will this one do?
"Yes, yes, that's fine," I said hastily, grabbing it out of his hands.
Quinn was sleeping over at Rachel's that night, and I would be able to watch the movie, this - what was it? I glanced at the title. I frowned.
I thought it was awfully funny that a movie about these sorts of women would be called Boys Don't Cry. Hmm. I suppose it's all about how devastated their poor fellows are after their wives and girlfriends leave them for each other or some such silly nonsense.
***
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
I watched the clock until I heard Quinn's key turning in the door. I immediately dashed out of bed, rushing and rushing until I had my baby girl in my arms.
"M- mom?" she asked hesitantly, her voice thickly muffled by my hug. "Are you okay?"
"Y- yes, fine," I said, pulling away and discretely wiping at my eyes. "I've missed you, that's all."
"Uh." Clearly, she didn't believe me. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, Quinnie." I smiled. And I was very good at smiling when I felt sad. "I heard a frightful noise in the middle of the night - it turned out to be the neighbor's cat prowling in the garden, but I was unnerved all the same. I called you." Several times. I was on the verge of calling the police before she walked in the door.
"I'm sorry. I forgot to charge my phone."
"That's all right, dear." I reminded myself to get my hands on her phone and erase the 27 messages that I left her. No need to make her worried. "Now, how about I make you some Mickey Mouse pancakes?"
She hesitated. Sometimes she told me not to bother with the Mickey Mouse. Apparently she was a proper adult now and could eat her pancakes in their proper form. But this morning, she nodded and said,
"Sure."
And that made me happy.
***
"Mom?" she asked timidly one day at the breakfast table.
"Yes, Quinnie?" I was drinking my coffee, reading my newspaper intently.
"What do you think of Rachel?"
I froze. The words before me faded away. I took a sip of my coffee and slowly set it down. So was it now? Has the time come?
"I think she's a lovely young girl, Quinnie," I lied.
"So you like her?"
"I like all of your friends."
My answer seemed to be satisfactory, because Quinn became quiet. She looked down at her plate, pushing the eggs around with her fork. I went back to my newspaper. No sooner had I read the first word did she speak up again, in a soft, meek tone:
"I like her."
Here we are then. I had two choices. Fight or flee. Either take on the elephant in the room ("Yes, dear. I've noticed. Does she know?") or turn tail and run ("Of course you do, darling, she's your friend.").
I opted for middle ground.
"Yes, she seems lovely."
"Mom..."
Something in her voice compelled my attention. I looked up, and steadily held her gaze with mine. I could see the pain - the flickering doubt, the fearful hesitance. In that moment, there was nothing more I wanted to do than to take my baby girl into my arms and tell her that everything would be all right. She would tell me how she felt about this girl, and I would still love her (and I would). We would figure things out together, like how to tell Rachel how she felt. Rachel would love her back (because how could anyone not?) and the two of them would be happy together. For a little while.
Then when the neighbors and friends started talking, we would brush off their idle chitchat and gossip. I would protect her from every little nasty thing they said. I would make her blind to the sideway glances they received as they walked down the street. I would be there in school hallways when the boys called her filthy names and the girls ostracized her. And when the words turned into violence, I would be there to protect her.
But of course, those were all lies.
"How is Finn these days?" I asked. "I haven't seen him in ages! Why don't you invite him over for dinner, dear?"
The corners of her mouth turned slightly downward and her brows furrowed as she tried to suppress the hurt. My heart seized with pain. No mother ever wants to see her child like this. But what choice did I have?
"He's busy," she replied curtly. "Football, you know."
"Hmm. That's too bad," I remarked idly, then turned back to my newspaper.
***
I went back to the store for another movie. After all, I'm not a woman who rushes to judgment.
"This is a good one," the clerk at the store promised me. "It's by a really famous director. I've seen his other movies - they're fantastic."
To be honest, I didn't quite understand the movie. To this day, I still can't say what the plot of Mulholland Drive is, but I can tell you that I don't like it.
***
Then there was the night she asked me:
"Mom?" She looked so shy, sitting on the edge of the couch, playing with the corner of her dress. "Have you ever liked someone but didn't tell know how to tell them?"
I thought about this carefully.
"Not really, honey." And that was true. Russell and I had been high school sweethearts. We were together before I even knew what romance was.
"Well, what would you do if you were friends with somebody that you really liked but you weren't sure how they felt?"
I suddenly regretted my sobriety. A strong bourbon would have really helped.
"I suppose that I would let things be," I replied cautiously. "There's no use in rocking that boat, is there? What if he didn't feel the same way? That would be a waste of a perfectly good friendship, wouldn't it?"
"Oh," she said softly. She looked down at her hands, now neatly folded in her lap. "Y- yeah, I guess."
She looked so small and defeated. Now that wasn't the Quinn that I raised. My daughter was captain of the Cheerios! She was an honors student! And the most beautiful girl in school to boot! How could she ever be anything less than sure of herself?
So I told her as much.
"...and if he doesn't like you back, then that's just crazy," I said. "If he has any sense at all, he should consider himself the luckiest boy in the world."
She had a wide smile on her face. It was the kind of smile I want her to have for the rest of her life. She rose from her position and crossed the room quickly, embracing me.
"Thanks, mom," she whispered by my ear. "I love you."
She hummed happily to herself as she went upstairs to her room.
Maybe I shouldn't have done that - Lord knows it'll just encourage her - but somehow, in that moment, I didn't mind too much.
***
"I suppose David Lynch movies are a little weird," the clerk said apologetically. "I should've warned you. But here, try this one. Peter Jackson. He made Lord of the Rings."
"Yes, I suppose that was entertaining," I said. Besides, this movie was called Heavenly Creatures. It sounded like it was about angels. How bad could that be?
After watching that movie, for the next two weeks, I was very, very polite to Rachel whenever she came around.
***
But Rachel was always there. She was in my kitchen, eating my food. She was in my living room, watching my television. She was in my house, corrupting my daughter.
Or so I would like to believe.
I came home one day to an unsightly scene.
The movie was still playing on screen. They didn't hear me come in. I stopped dead in the entrance to the living room. There was Quinn, my perfect little angel, kissing that girl, her body nearly on top of the petite brunette's. I quickly backtracked into the hallway, closed my eyes, and wished that I was dreaming.
Not even a second later, I heard a scuffle - an indignant cry, the sound of a body hitting the floor, and a pained oomph. I resisted the urge to look in.
"Why did you do that?!" I heard Rachel shriek shrilly.
"I- I'm sorry!"
"Is this some kind of a joke?" My ears ached slightly at the decibel. That little girl sure carried a big voice.
"No! Rachel, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. I- I- I was only- it- it was the movie! Satine and Christian were being all romantic and-"
"And you just thought that you'd kiss me?!"
I didn't want to hear anymore. I was starting to feel a little sick. I quietly went out the door. I stood in the front yard, feeling lost and slightly nauseated. I got into my car and drove halfway down the block. I parked and watched the house, waiting. It didn't take long. Ten minutes later, Rachel stormed out. She got in her car, pulled out of the driveway and took off down the street like a maniac. That was completely unlike her. She was ordinarily such a cautious driver too, one of the few qualities I actually admired in her.
I made my way back toward the house, dreading every second of it. I was afraid of what I might find. I wish that I could say that my fears were completely unfounded, but when I walked in the door, I found what no parent ever wants to see: there, on the couch, was my child, sobbing violently. Her body was shaking, her sweet face crumpled with abject misery and pain. I noticed that her leg was red from when she fell to the floor after Rachel pushed her off.
Right then, I had quite a horrifying thought. I considered getting back into my car, finding that horrid Rachel Berry and running her over repeatedly.
But Quinnie certainly wouldn't benefit from that course of action, so I did the next best thing. I went to her side, and wrapped my arms around her. She collapsed against me, like she used to do when she was little and still needed me.
"Oh, honey," I murmured softly. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"
She just shook her head and cried into my shoulder. I didn't push her. I wasn't ready to hear the truth anyway. I cradled her in my arms, and waited for it to pass.
***
A week later, I was still waiting.
Quinn walked around in a perpetual state of gloom. Rachel hadn't called. She hadn't stopped by. And if I had to guess, the girls probably weren't speaking at school either.
I only tried to talk to her once about it, but she brushed me off rather brusquely. But that was fine by me. Yes, she was hurting now, but it would only be for a little while. Quinn was going to get over her silly schoolgirl infatuation - or whatever this little phase was - and she could go on to have a healthy, normal, life. A happy life, the one that she was meant for.
But on the eighth day, Rachel came back.
When I came home, they were sitting on the couch watching television. It was like nothing had ever happened. Well, no, that wasn't quite true - I couldn't help but notice that they were sitting closer together than usual.
"Hello, Rachel," I greeted politely.
"Hi, Mrs. Fabray," she returned with a bright smile. The nerve of her! Pretending like she hadn't left Quinn wallowing in anguish for the past week! I am a Christian woman, but I wanted to thrash her.
"We haven't seen you around here lately," I said icily.
"Y- yes, w- well-" she stamered.
"She's been sick, mom," Quinn piped up. Rachel nodded, shooting her a grateful glance.
"Right. I've been sick."
"Hmm. That's funny. Quinn hasn't mentioned that."
"I don't have to tell you everything, mom," Quinn replied defensively.
Clearly, I thought to myself. It was also clear whose side my daughter was on.
"Well, I hope that you're feeling better these days," I said to Rachel. "I would hate for you to infect Quinn with your... sickness." It was cruel, I know. Me, a grown woman, picking on a teenage girl.
"She's fine now, mother," Quinn told me sharply. There was fire in her eyes. She never used to look at me like that, you know. She was always the good, obedient daughter.
***
"Something without violence?" The clerk crinkled his eyebrows at me, like that was something he couldn't fathom. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize how violent some of this stuff is. Here, why don't you try this one? It's the got the word 'art' in it. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"
I agreed, and went home with a copy of High Art.
In the end, I concluded that lesbians could not possibly have a happy ending. Obviously, it was my duty to save my daughter from the same fate.
***
She certainly wasn't happy with me.
"What is he doing here?" she hissed at me in an undertone.
"Why, you said that he was too busy with football to come over for dinner, but I thought that he would change his mind if I called him myself - and I was right!"
"I can't believe that you did this." She looked past me, over my shoulders, to Finn who was sitting at the dinner table, enthusiastically digging into a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. He always did like my cooking.
"Oh - are you two on the outs again? I thought that the break-up was amicable this time." As far as I knew, they had been seeing each other earlier in the year, but that had stopped. Around the same time she started hanging around Rachel, I might add. I was under the impression that my daughter and Finn were friends now. If things had ended badly between them, I certainly wouldn't have invited him over. I would have tried Sam instead.
"It was, we're friends - don't try to change the subject! I know what you're doing, mother!"
"It's only dinner, Quinn," I said gently. "What's wrong with having dinner with your mother and your friend? We had Rachel over last week, didn't we?"
"That's different!" she shouted at me, completely forgetting or ignoring the fact that Finn was in the next room.
"Keep your voice down, young lady!"
"That's different," she repeated in a harsh undertone. Then, more subdued and a little sadly, she said, "You know it is."
"No, I don't," I said quickly.
"Yes, you do," she said insistently.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
This was a childish game. I wasn't going to do this with my daughter. "Quinn, go to your room!"
She glared at me, but did as she was told. I suspect that she only did so because she didn't want to have dinner with Finn. I returned to the dining room. After all, we still had a guest over.
"Great meatballs, Mrs. Fabray!" Finn enthused, seemingly oblivious to the tense exchange I had with Quinn. I sighed. He didn't seem to notice that either. Not like Rachel, who somehow managed to read my mood from the subtlest of body cues. It was occasionally unnerving, even creepy, but at a time like this, I would have appreciated a little intuition. Poor Finn. The boy just wasn't very bright.
I wondered what Noah was doing these days.
***
All right, yes, I did feel horrible for inviting Finn over without telling her. I knew how she would feel, but I did it anyway. I never wanted to hurt her. And there was a moment there where I wondered whether I was doing the right thing.
But then I rented Gia.
After that, I was convinced that all lesbians ended up as dead drug addicts.
***
I came home just as Rachel was leaving. She had a wide smile on her face. Her hair, usually so carefully brushed and arranged, was slightly mussed.
"Hello, Mrs. Fabray!" she trilled happily.
I greeted her stiffly and went inside. Quinn was in the kitchen, busying at the stove as she hummed happily to herself.
"Quinn," I said cautiously. Her fuse had been very short these last couple of days - ever since Finn was over for dinner.
"Hi, mom! I'm making some tea. Would you like a cup?"
Apparently she wasn't angry with me anymore.
"You're in a very good mood today."
She shrugged lightly. "I feel happy."
I probably shouldn't ask. "Oh? How come?"
"I..." Her joy fading slightly, she nervously bit at her bottom lip. "Mom," she said softly. "I like Rachel."
I knew what was coming. It seemed like a good idea to be seated for this. Quinn took my cue and sat down across from me at the kitchen table.
"I like her... and not just as a friend. I like her like her."
I took a deep breath. "Yes."
"I told her how I felt a few weeks ago," Quinn continued. I remembered this. I had walked in just as she was... 'telling' Rachel how she felt. But Quinn didn't know that. "But she didn't... she didn't feel the same way then." Which was a perfectly obvious indication of a serious mental illness, but I had a feeling that Quinn wouldn't agree. "We had a little fight over it, but then she said that we should still try to be friends. I thought that's all we were going to be, but now..." Quinn let out a small, nervous giggle. "She likes me back.." Well, of course she did. What was there not to like about my daughter?
"Right," I said numbly.
"In a way, I think it's because of you. She found out what you had invited Finn over, and she was upset about it. I guess it helped her figure out what she wanted."
Of course. I tried to do the right thing, and this is what happened? The Lord certainly had an odd sense of humor.
"Are you trying to hurt me?" I asked sharply.
She was silent. She stared back at me with those large, wounded eyes, slowly welling up with tears. God, that broke my heart. It always does when I see her cry.
"I thought that maybe you could be happy for me."
I did too. It would be nice if I could. But that wasn't very realistic.
"Quinnie," I said quietly. "You know better than that."
***
My strategy was to ignore. I didn't throw Quinn out - of course not, never again. I didn't ban Rachel from our house either. What good would that have done? No, I allowed Quinn to have her over, and I allowed Quinn to stay over at Rachel's. All in all, I thought I was being rather gracious about it.
But Quinn didn't think so. And it was true that I wasn't a good hostess to Rachel. I refused to do anything where she was involved. If she was there, I went straight to my room when I walked in the door. I found excuses to leave the house. If she stayed for dinner, I left the food on the table for the girls but ate my food in the living room. As far as I was concerned, Rachel and I could not occupy the same space.
I didn't reject her, but I didn't have to accept her either.
***
"Look, I think I've figured out what the problem is - why you don't like any of these movies," the clerk said. "I've been making all these recommendations to you, but see, I'm not a lesbian."
"How astute of you," I answered. I came back for these movies even as I was ignoring Rachel in my own home. I still wanted to understand.
"So I called up my cousin. This is one of her favorites. So there you have it. Straight from the horse's mouth."
I took the movie.
I hated it.
I suppose that I should have guessed that any movie called Lost and Delirious wouldn't end well.
***
The man who sat across from me had a bald head, a pug nose and kind eyes. He spoke like how he looked - like a blue-collar man. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course.
"Look, I get it, all right? You're freaked out. I've been there. When Kurt came out, I was scared too. Scared of what the other kids would say or do to him. Scared that I was losing him because this is just one more thing about him that I wouldn't be able to relate to. But you know what? He's a strong kid. Quinn too. You gotta let these kids go their own way."
Quinn had arranged this meeting. I knew what she was trying to do, but it wouldn't work.
"Mr. Hummel," I said politely. "I appreciate you coming here today. May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"If you had the chance to protect Kurt from harm, grief and heartache by changing this one thing about him, wouldn't you do it?"
"It's not just one thing, it's who he is," he replied. "I love my son for who he is."
"Do you think that your son could pass for normal?"
His face hardened. "Now look-"
"I've offended you, I apologize. What I mean is - you know that Kurt's very... obvious. He's born the way he is. There was never any question about it, is there? People who meet him... well, they all know, don't they?"
"Where you goin' with this?" he asked, not without hostility.
"Quinn's not like Kurt. She still has a chance. Kurt - well, like you said, it's who he is. But that's not true for my daughter." I've displeased him greatly. That was understandable, but it hadn't been my intention. "Please don't misunderstand. I rather admire Kurt. Your son is very brave, Mr. Hummel. He has courage. You ought to be proud of him."
"I am." This man, so warm and cordial moments before, was now cold and disdainful. I suppose I couldn't blame him. "You should be proud of yours too."
"I am. Of course I am. She's very brave as well. Much braver than I am, I'm afraid. The problem is me. I'm weak, you see. I couldn't bear to see her hurt. If I can protect her, I will, and it doesn't matter to me what you or anyone else say."
"But you are hurting her with what you're doin' right now."
"Yes. But in the long-run, I am also keeping her safe. Parents must make difficult decisions. You understand."
"I don't." He looked sad, almost as if he pitied me.
"But of course you do. We live in Lima, Ohio, Mr. Hummel. Are you telling me that when Kurt's late for his curfew, your mind doesn't fly to the worst possible scenario?"
"I-" He hesitated. "I'm his father. I'm gonna worry either way."
"But more so because you know that there are people out there who would hurt him for who he is."
His lips tightened into a thin line. A reluctant acknowledgement. It was much as I was ever going to get out of him.
"You know what you would do if you could fix it so that no one willl ever hurt your child." I sat back in my seat, primly folding my hands across my lap. "And that's what I'm doing. I'm fixing it."
***
"Look, lady, I don't make these movies," the clerk said in response to my complaint. "I haven't even seen any of these. It's not my fault if people die in them!"
"But someone always dies! I'm only asking for one movie where there isn't all this grief," I pleaded. "It's very depressing, you know."
Grumbling under his breath, he moved to his computer and started typing away. Moments later, he went to the shelves and brought me a movie.
"I don't think anyone dies in this one," he said. "But don't quote me on it. Watch it at your own risk."
I did. And he was right, no one died in Loving Annabelle.
But it was still very depressing, and it did make me awfully suspicious of that Ms. Pillsbury that Quinn was always talking about. So far, all I've gleamed is that lesbians are murdered, murderers, drugs addicts or pedophiles. Why on earth would anyone want to be one?
***
I was ambushed.
Rachel and Quinn were waiting for me in the kitchen when I came home. Rachel had made peanut butter cookies. I had to admit, grudgingly, that her cookies were very good, even if they were vegan and consequently completely unnatural.
"I thought that perhaps it was time that the three of us sat down and had a frank discussion," Rachel said. The nerve of that girl, sitting in my own kitchen, telling me what to do.
"Mom, please," Quinn pleaded gently. I couldn't say no to her when she used that tone, so I took a seat.
"Mrs. Fabray, I feel as if you have some misconceptions about the LGBTQIQ community-"
"And what does that mean?" I asked wearily.
"Lesbian gay bisexual transgender queer intersex questioning," she promptly rattled off.
"Do you really need all those letters?"
Rachel stared me as if I was the freak.
"Of course. We must be inclusive. Discrimination has no place in our modern society."
"It's a little much, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't," she huffed. A little snidely, I thought. "When you consider the hardships and adversity that nontraditional individuals must overcome in order to conform with our heteronormative culture, you would realize that any exclusion is an obvious sign of bigotry."
I felt a headache coming on. Along with the urge to drink. Especially now that I've noticed that Rachel has three very large, very thick binders stuffed with pages and pages of Lord-knows-what.
"Rachel," Quinn said nervously, nudging her in the side.
"Ahem. Maybe we should get started with the presentation," Rachel said, reaching for one of her binders.
"Or maybe we can just talk," Quinn quickly suggested.
"What is there to talk about, girls?" I felt so, so tired.
"The three of us need to find a way to make this work."
"It's working fine."
"No, it's not," Quinn replied sharply. I almost flinched. My little girl could be quite intimidating at times. She really did make me proud. "I can't have my mother walking around pretending like my girlfriend doesn't exist."
Girlfriend. It was very strange to hear her say that, to say the least.
"I've prepared a wealth of literature on the various interpretations of the Biblical language relevant to homosexuality," Rachel said. "A number of scholars and religious figureheads would interpret-"
"Rachel," I interrupted. "You'll forgive me if I'm not prepared to take lessons on my religion from a 16-year-old Jewish girl."
"Mom, why can't you just listen to what she has to say?!" Quinn lashed out at me.
"Because, Quinnie, I'm not interested."
"You're not interested in my happiness?"
"I'm not interested in your destruction."
"It's not a sin! It isn't!" She was half-risen out of her seat, her hands balled up into little fists as angry tears pooled.
"Perhaps not," I said calmly.
"Then what is it? What is it that you're so worried about? The gossip at the country club? The neighbors? Because guess what? They've chatted up a storm when daddy ran off with that tattooed freak." Quinn was like a madwoman. A hurtful madwoman.
"I'm worried about you!" I snapped back. "You, Quinnie. My child. I don't think you realize the life that you're choosing for yourself-"
"It's not a choice-" Rachel started to say.
"Oh, for God's sake, keep quiet!" I barked at her, and she shut up quickly. "Quinn, listen to me. This is a bad world with bad people and I can't keep them away from you. People will burn you for this, do you understand? Don't you see? If you want to be this way - well, all right, I know I can't stop you. But don't ask me to be happy and cheer you on, just don't. It's cruel of you to ask me to."
She looked at me in stunned silence, taking a minute to process my outbrust. I, chest heaving, tears running, tried to collect myself. I really hadn't wanted to do this in front of her. One wants to appear strong for one's child.
"Mom, it isn't like that anymore," she said softly.
"That's a lie," I responded darkly. "People like you get hurt. There are redneck ex-convicts who want to hurt you. That is if you don't become mentally unhinged or start plotting my murder. And you'll almost certainly become addicted to illegal narcotics and overdose."
Quinn stared at me.
"What?! Where are you getting this from?"
"Quinn, as I said, I'm afraid that there isn't much for us to talk about," I told her. "Nothing you say can convince me that you're not making a mistake."
***
That was the end of it, as far as I was concerned. But Quinn had other ideas. I suppose that wasn't surprising.
A few days later, she knocked on my bedroom door and invited me to watch a movie with her and Rachel.
"I'll pass, dear," I said stiffly.
"It's called Imagine Me and You. It's a really cute movie."
"No, thank you."
"Rachel thinks that you would like it."
"I'm sure she does," I muttered.
"She really wants to watch it with you."
"I don't think so."
"Please? Just for a little while? You can come back up if you don't like it," Quinn persisted. I silently cursed the day when I had taught her to never give up.
"I'm a little tired. Maybe next time."
"You know that you don't mean that," Quinn said with exasperation.
"Don't I?" I answered sweetly. She turned away, muttering under her breath - something dreadful, I'm sure, and stomped down the stairs.
***
"Mrs. Fabray," Rachel said politely. "I'm calling to check on your availability this evening. You had said that you would watch that movie with us next time?"
"I'm busy," I said, and hung up on her.
She left me two voicemails a day for the next 10 days, "checking on my availability".
***
She sent me cards. RSVP requests printed on heavy card stock with embossed lettering that smelled faintly of lilacs. There was always a ton of glitter in the envelopes.
"There is something very wrong with that girl," I complained as I swept up the glitter from the table. Quinn smirked as she continued eating her cereal.
"If you accept her invitation, she'll leave you alone," she said. "Eventually."
"This is coercion," I huffed.
"She prefers to call it Rachel Berry-style tough love."
"And how is this supposed to make me less concerned about the time you spend with this girl?"
Quinn shrugged lightly. "You'll get used to it."
***
She was waiting for me by my car when I left the house.
"Young lady," I told her sternly. "This type of behavior is unacceptable! I have half a mind to call the police on you."
"No, you won't," Rachel replied. "Because that would make Quinn very upset." Sometimes I really disliked her.
"What do you want?"
"You know. I want you to watch a movie."
"Well, that isn't going to happen," I nearly growled.
"I'll make you a deal," Rachel quickly said. "If you watch it, I won't call or see Quinn for an entire weekend."
I eyed her suspiciously. Surely this was a trick.
"It's not a trick," Rachel said. Lord, this girl was creepy. "I promise. You can have Quinn all to yourself for a weekend if you watch this movie with us."
It didn't seem like a bad idea.
"You're a very annoying girl," I told her.
"Yes, I know," she answered. "But I love your daughter very much."
***
So I watched the darn movie.
It was all right.
I rather felt sorry for the jilted husband, but I didn't hate the women couple. Blame it on the charm of the Brits.
At the end of it, I turned to Rachel and said,
"All right, I've done my part. Now if you'll please keep your end of the bargain and leave our house."
"Mom-"
"It's okay, Quinn, we had a deal," Rachel assured her. Quinn didn't look happy at all. I was sure that we were going to fight about this later.
"Did you really think that everything would change just because you made me watch a movie?"
"No," Rachel said. "Not yet anyway."
***
She called me and invited me to watch some movie called But I'm A Cheerleader. It sounded silly, and I still dreaded spending time with her, so of course I declined.
It took me twelve more phone calls before I gave in.
***
"Fingersmith, despite being set in the Victorian era, is quite an inventive and modern tale of strong, independent women seeking to break out of their societally-imposed roles. It's more than a story about women who love other women, it's a social commentary on the restrictive-"
"I'll agree to watch it," I interrupted. "If you just please be quiet."
***
I knew what she was doing. I knew it because she told me. Frankly, there weren't a lot of things that Rachel didn't want to explain in great detail.
"I concede that movies about lesbians tend to end tragically, but you can't base your opinions off of them. For one, they're based on fiction and it's absurd to build your worldview on fiction. Nevertheless, I acknowledge their persuasive value, so I'm going to show you films with positive portrayals until you see that lesbians are just like anybody else."
"I really wonder what my daughter sees in you," I sighed. Rachel and Quinn both just smiled at me. I suppose that I hadn't said that with as much menace as I could muster.
"This is Show Me Love," Rachel announced, pressing play on the remote.
***
Rachel was right.
It was absurd to build your worldview on fiction.
The movies that she made me watch didn't warm me to her or their relationship. Stories like D.E.B.S. about a lesbian superspy falling in love with a super villain didn't convince me that my daughter's relationship with Rachel wasn't a complete disaster. Saving Face is a nice enough story about an Asian doctor in New York, but it didn't help me see how I could get through the night without worrying about my daughter's safety.
It was the hours on the couch.
It was listening to the girls bicker over pizza toppings until they reached a compromise. Quinn never compromised on her pizza toppings.
It was having Rachel make batches after batches of cookies and brownies, which were infuriatingly delicious.
It was watching my daughter grin like a silly fool everytime Rachel smiled or grazed her hand along Quinn's hand.
It was seeing Rachel tirelessly running from the kitchen to the couch while anticipating every little thing that Quinn could need or want so that Quinn wouldn't have to lift a finger.
It was seeing my daughter happy.
It is really, really difficult to be indifferent to something - someone - that made my daughter so full of joy.
I could ignore a lot of things. But not this.
So then there was the day when, after an afternoon viewing of I Can't Think Straight, I asked,
"Rachel, would you like to stay for dinner?"
Quinn gasped. Rachel squealed, started crying and threw her arms around me.
It was rather awkward.
But I suppose that it was better than nothing.
Frankly, I'm just happy that no one died.
Endnote: some people would not consider Boys Don't Cry to be a lesbian movie. I agree, but that movie worked well for the purposes of this story. I also want to emphasize that the opinions in this story are meant to be Judy Fabray's and not mine.
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn
Spoilers: Takes place some time after "Sexy".
Rating: PG
Word Count: 8,133
Description: How Judy Fabray deals with Quinn's infatuation with Rachel.
She accused me of being blind, but I knew long before anyone else did. I knew before she did. A mother knows her daughter.
There was the day she came home seething - 6th grade, I think it was - and the second she came through that door, she started on about this girl with the ridiculous name and ridiculous enthusiasm and ridiculous smile. That was her favorite word at the time.
"What's this girl's name?" Russell asked. She told him, and he snorted. "Berry? Not the little girl with the two homos for parents?"
"She wouldn't shut up about them," she said sullenly. "She kept talking about how they took her to Cedar Point last weekend." Quinn was jealous, but I don't think Russell picked on it. He had always refused to take the girls to Cedar Point - there was a ride called Witches' Wheel and Russell thought that was just awfully unchristian.
"Damn unnatural, that's what it is," Russell said. "You know, I feel sorry for that girl. It wasn't her choice to be raised by two godless deviaints."
"They dropped her off at school this morning. They didn't seem so bad to me," she replied with a hint of defiance. Bless that girl, she's always had a good heart.
"Quinnie, you listen to me," Russell said sternly. "I know that you kids spend all day with that crap on the radio or watching MTV or what-have-you. But don't forget that those people are heathens. They don't have Christ in their hearts. You do. And you know that what the Berrys are doing is absolutely immoral, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes, daddy, but I only meant that-"
"Don't defend them," Russell interrupted sharply. "There's no point to it. None at all. They're bad people, Quinnie. You best stay away from them."
She didn't reply right away. She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out, and uncertainty was written all over her face. For one brief moment, I thought that she would defy him. Russell must have thought so too. He tightened his jaw muscle, and narrowed his eyes at her. Quinn visibly shrunk back.
"Of course, daddy," she said meekly. "Yes, you're right."
As I took a sip of the gin and tonic in my hand, I reflected that it shouldn't be surprising that I would raise a coward.
***
As far as Russell was concerned, that was the end of it. But of course, it wasn't. She kept talking about the Berry girl - to me, to her sister, to her friends. What was truly troubling was that Quinn never said anything nice about her. It'd be different if they were friends, but they weren't.
Imagine my relief when Quinn started seeing Finn. Yes, he was dumber than a sack of stones, but he was the quarterback of the football team. He came from good people too, his father having given his life for his country and all. Besides, Finn was a good boy and Quinn would be safe with him.
Or so I'd thought. I didn't quite anticipate that Quinn would come home pregnant. My little girl, having a little girl of her own. Then Russell threw her out, his own flesh and blood. My flesh and blood. And I stood by and did nothing.
I drank a lot in those months.
I thought that I could fix things. Make everything better. I kicked Russell out, I quit drinking, I got Quinn back. Quinn gave the little girl up, she was doing well in school and seeing nice, gentle boys like Sam and Finn. And I thought, all right, we can do this. The Fabray gals are going to be just fine.
Then Quinn came home and said, "Rachel's coming over tonight."
"Rachel who?"
"Rachel Berry. We're in glee together," Quinn added helpfully, as if forgetting that she had spoken incessantly of tormenting the girl for years.
"Oh," I said. "Why?"
"We're working on a song together," she told me. "She's coming over at eight." I didn't want to ask anymore. And anyway, I suppose that a part of me was hoping that this little project would be the end of it.
I finally had the chance to meet the infamous Rachel Berry. She rang the doorbell promptly at eight o'clock. I answered the door, since Quinn was still upstairs getting dressed. (She'd never changed her outfit for her other friends before. I tried not to think too much of it.)
"Good evening! You must be Mrs. Fabray! My name is Rachel Berry, co-captain of the glee club. I'm so pleased to meet you."
My, she was energetic.
"Hello, Rachel." Her nose was quite large. "Please, come in. Quinn will be down in a minute." And that hideous sweater! This was the Rachel Berry that my little Quinnie couldn't stop obsessing over?
Rachel came in, making her way to the center of the living room. I noticed her glancing surreptitiously around the room, eyeing a photograph of Quinn on the mantle. Her interest unsettled me.
"How is school these days, Rachel?" I asked hastily, hoping to distract her.
"It's going very well, Mrs. Fabray. Glee club is going to nationals in New York City. We're all very excited about it - none more than me, of course. Going to New York City has been my dream since I was two years old, which I fully plan on doing after graduation. I thought that I would visit Juilliard while we were there, and utilize this opportunity to speak with a recruiter. I'm sure that they would be very pleased to meet me."
Well. Quinn had said that the girl was verbose, but I hadn't quite expected this.
"I see," I said politely. "Would you like anything to drink, dear?"
"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Fabray! I don't drink alcohol - you see, it's very bad for your vocal cord and one must take very good care of one's body when one expects to be a star with staying power. But there was that one time - well, two- three? It was part of an overaching educational experience, so I would consider it a solo occasion, one not to be repeated in the near future and certainly not while I'm still underage! I'm very law-abiding and I would never dream of..." she trailed off. "You were offering me a non-alcoholic beverage, weren't you?"
"Yes," I said slowly. What on earth was the matter with this girl?
"Right," she muttered. "Sorry. I'm fine. Thank you, Mrs. Fabray."
She fidgeted and tugged at the edges of her sleeve. I finally realized that she was nervous. It was rather uncomfortable, and Quinn's footsteps upon the stairs were a welcome interruption.
"Hi," Quinn said breathlessly as she rushed into the room.
"Hi," Rachel returned, beaming brightly as the tension slid off her face.
"Hi," Quinn said again.
I had the most awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I cleared my throat lightly, drawing Quinn's attention.
"We're just going to go upstairs and work in my room, okay, mom?"
"All right, Quinnie. You let me know if you need anything."
Quinn nodded at me, then her attention was back on Rachel again.
"It's this way."
Rachel followed Quinn out, smiling at me as she passed.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fabray."
As the two girls went up the stairs, I resisted the urge to tell Quinn to keep her door open.
Fifteen minutes later, I brought them up a tray of cookies. Twenty minutes after that, I realized that one can't possibly have cookies without milk, so I brought them a couple of glasses. Another twenty minutes later, I stopped by with some napkins. Silly me, I kept forgetting things. It was a relief when Rachel finally said goodnight. It was a bit exhausting to traipse up and down the stairs at my age.
But Rachel started coming over more often. Quinn and her were becoming friends. I had no choice but to welcome the girl into my home - what else could I do? Quinn was finally beginning to trust me again; I couldn't very well forbid her to see her friend.
I sat peacefully as Rachel honked her horn outside, and Quinn flew down the stairs and out the door to meet her, tossing behind a hasty, "GoingtothemallwithRachseeyoulatermom!"
I nodded complacently when Quinn asked me to learn some vegan recipes so that she could invite Rachel over for dinner.
I smiled tranquilly as Quinn chattered excitedly and giggled with her on the phone late into the night.
I pretended not to notice when Quinn kept a tight grip on her cellphone during our movie nights on the couch. Everytime that phone vibrated and she glanced down at the screen, an ear-to-ear grin came across her face.
I ignored that twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach as I gave Quinn permission to sleep over Rachel's house.
I could ignore a lot of things. I've had a lot of practice.
***
I found a small store 50 miles outside of Lima. To be safe, I wore dark sunglasses and a red wig. I was the only customer in there - these things are dying out quicker than America's sad loss of faith in the Lord, you know - but I still spoke in a low whisper when I asked the clerk for a recommendation.
He looked at me blankly. Then said:
"Well, ma'am, we don't carry those types of films in here, but personally, I can recommend to you this great flick called Lesbian Spank Inferno. You can find it on-"
"No no no no no no no no," I hissed angrily. "I'm not talking about those kinds of movies, I'm talking-" I cut myself off. I wasn't behaving in a very ladylike fashion, but honestly, could you blame me? The nerve of him! Nevertheless, I was brought up with good manners. I steadied myself and tried again, calmer this time:
"I am simply trying to understand their culture, and I thought I could do that with movies about them. I am looking for classy films, you see. Proper movies with proper stories about..." The word was lodged in my throat.
"Lesbians?"
"Yes." I nodded grudgingly.
"Curious?"
"In a manner of speaking," I said through gritted teeth.
"Because I've got a cousin in Illinois who's like that, and I can give you her number if-"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake- nevermind!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down, lady." He left the counter, ambled along the shelves of the store and came back with a DVD. "Will this one do?
"Yes, yes, that's fine," I said hastily, grabbing it out of his hands.
Quinn was sleeping over at Rachel's that night, and I would be able to watch the movie, this - what was it? I glanced at the title. I frowned.
I thought it was awfully funny that a movie about these sorts of women would be called Boys Don't Cry. Hmm. I suppose it's all about how devastated their poor fellows are after their wives and girlfriends leave them for each other or some such silly nonsense.
***
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
I watched the clock until I heard Quinn's key turning in the door. I immediately dashed out of bed, rushing and rushing until I had my baby girl in my arms.
"M- mom?" she asked hesitantly, her voice thickly muffled by my hug. "Are you okay?"
"Y- yes, fine," I said, pulling away and discretely wiping at my eyes. "I've missed you, that's all."
"Uh." Clearly, she didn't believe me. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, Quinnie." I smiled. And I was very good at smiling when I felt sad. "I heard a frightful noise in the middle of the night - it turned out to be the neighbor's cat prowling in the garden, but I was unnerved all the same. I called you." Several times. I was on the verge of calling the police before she walked in the door.
"I'm sorry. I forgot to charge my phone."
"That's all right, dear." I reminded myself to get my hands on her phone and erase the 27 messages that I left her. No need to make her worried. "Now, how about I make you some Mickey Mouse pancakes?"
She hesitated. Sometimes she told me not to bother with the Mickey Mouse. Apparently she was a proper adult now and could eat her pancakes in their proper form. But this morning, she nodded and said,
"Sure."
And that made me happy.
***
"Mom?" she asked timidly one day at the breakfast table.
"Yes, Quinnie?" I was drinking my coffee, reading my newspaper intently.
"What do you think of Rachel?"
I froze. The words before me faded away. I took a sip of my coffee and slowly set it down. So was it now? Has the time come?
"I think she's a lovely young girl, Quinnie," I lied.
"So you like her?"
"I like all of your friends."
My answer seemed to be satisfactory, because Quinn became quiet. She looked down at her plate, pushing the eggs around with her fork. I went back to my newspaper. No sooner had I read the first word did she speak up again, in a soft, meek tone:
"I like her."
Here we are then. I had two choices. Fight or flee. Either take on the elephant in the room ("Yes, dear. I've noticed. Does she know?") or turn tail and run ("Of course you do, darling, she's your friend.").
I opted for middle ground.
"Yes, she seems lovely."
"Mom..."
Something in her voice compelled my attention. I looked up, and steadily held her gaze with mine. I could see the pain - the flickering doubt, the fearful hesitance. In that moment, there was nothing more I wanted to do than to take my baby girl into my arms and tell her that everything would be all right. She would tell me how she felt about this girl, and I would still love her (and I would). We would figure things out together, like how to tell Rachel how she felt. Rachel would love her back (because how could anyone not?) and the two of them would be happy together. For a little while.
Then when the neighbors and friends started talking, we would brush off their idle chitchat and gossip. I would protect her from every little nasty thing they said. I would make her blind to the sideway glances they received as they walked down the street. I would be there in school hallways when the boys called her filthy names and the girls ostracized her. And when the words turned into violence, I would be there to protect her.
But of course, those were all lies.
"How is Finn these days?" I asked. "I haven't seen him in ages! Why don't you invite him over for dinner, dear?"
The corners of her mouth turned slightly downward and her brows furrowed as she tried to suppress the hurt. My heart seized with pain. No mother ever wants to see her child like this. But what choice did I have?
"He's busy," she replied curtly. "Football, you know."
"Hmm. That's too bad," I remarked idly, then turned back to my newspaper.
***
I went back to the store for another movie. After all, I'm not a woman who rushes to judgment.
"This is a good one," the clerk at the store promised me. "It's by a really famous director. I've seen his other movies - they're fantastic."
To be honest, I didn't quite understand the movie. To this day, I still can't say what the plot of Mulholland Drive is, but I can tell you that I don't like it.
***
Then there was the night she asked me:
"Mom?" She looked so shy, sitting on the edge of the couch, playing with the corner of her dress. "Have you ever liked someone but didn't tell know how to tell them?"
I thought about this carefully.
"Not really, honey." And that was true. Russell and I had been high school sweethearts. We were together before I even knew what romance was.
"Well, what would you do if you were friends with somebody that you really liked but you weren't sure how they felt?"
I suddenly regretted my sobriety. A strong bourbon would have really helped.
"I suppose that I would let things be," I replied cautiously. "There's no use in rocking that boat, is there? What if he didn't feel the same way? That would be a waste of a perfectly good friendship, wouldn't it?"
"Oh," she said softly. She looked down at her hands, now neatly folded in her lap. "Y- yeah, I guess."
She looked so small and defeated. Now that wasn't the Quinn that I raised. My daughter was captain of the Cheerios! She was an honors student! And the most beautiful girl in school to boot! How could she ever be anything less than sure of herself?
So I told her as much.
"...and if he doesn't like you back, then that's just crazy," I said. "If he has any sense at all, he should consider himself the luckiest boy in the world."
She had a wide smile on her face. It was the kind of smile I want her to have for the rest of her life. She rose from her position and crossed the room quickly, embracing me.
"Thanks, mom," she whispered by my ear. "I love you."
She hummed happily to herself as she went upstairs to her room.
Maybe I shouldn't have done that - Lord knows it'll just encourage her - but somehow, in that moment, I didn't mind too much.
***
"I suppose David Lynch movies are a little weird," the clerk said apologetically. "I should've warned you. But here, try this one. Peter Jackson. He made Lord of the Rings."
"Yes, I suppose that was entertaining," I said. Besides, this movie was called Heavenly Creatures. It sounded like it was about angels. How bad could that be?
After watching that movie, for the next two weeks, I was very, very polite to Rachel whenever she came around.
***
But Rachel was always there. She was in my kitchen, eating my food. She was in my living room, watching my television. She was in my house, corrupting my daughter.
Or so I would like to believe.
I came home one day to an unsightly scene.
The movie was still playing on screen. They didn't hear me come in. I stopped dead in the entrance to the living room. There was Quinn, my perfect little angel, kissing that girl, her body nearly on top of the petite brunette's. I quickly backtracked into the hallway, closed my eyes, and wished that I was dreaming.
Not even a second later, I heard a scuffle - an indignant cry, the sound of a body hitting the floor, and a pained oomph. I resisted the urge to look in.
"Why did you do that?!" I heard Rachel shriek shrilly.
"I- I'm sorry!"
"Is this some kind of a joke?" My ears ached slightly at the decibel. That little girl sure carried a big voice.
"No! Rachel, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. I- I- I was only- it- it was the movie! Satine and Christian were being all romantic and-"
"And you just thought that you'd kiss me?!"
I didn't want to hear anymore. I was starting to feel a little sick. I quietly went out the door. I stood in the front yard, feeling lost and slightly nauseated. I got into my car and drove halfway down the block. I parked and watched the house, waiting. It didn't take long. Ten minutes later, Rachel stormed out. She got in her car, pulled out of the driveway and took off down the street like a maniac. That was completely unlike her. She was ordinarily such a cautious driver too, one of the few qualities I actually admired in her.
I made my way back toward the house, dreading every second of it. I was afraid of what I might find. I wish that I could say that my fears were completely unfounded, but when I walked in the door, I found what no parent ever wants to see: there, on the couch, was my child, sobbing violently. Her body was shaking, her sweet face crumpled with abject misery and pain. I noticed that her leg was red from when she fell to the floor after Rachel pushed her off.
Right then, I had quite a horrifying thought. I considered getting back into my car, finding that horrid Rachel Berry and running her over repeatedly.
But Quinnie certainly wouldn't benefit from that course of action, so I did the next best thing. I went to her side, and wrapped my arms around her. She collapsed against me, like she used to do when she was little and still needed me.
"Oh, honey," I murmured softly. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"
She just shook her head and cried into my shoulder. I didn't push her. I wasn't ready to hear the truth anyway. I cradled her in my arms, and waited for it to pass.
***
A week later, I was still waiting.
Quinn walked around in a perpetual state of gloom. Rachel hadn't called. She hadn't stopped by. And if I had to guess, the girls probably weren't speaking at school either.
I only tried to talk to her once about it, but she brushed me off rather brusquely. But that was fine by me. Yes, she was hurting now, but it would only be for a little while. Quinn was going to get over her silly schoolgirl infatuation - or whatever this little phase was - and she could go on to have a healthy, normal, life. A happy life, the one that she was meant for.
But on the eighth day, Rachel came back.
When I came home, they were sitting on the couch watching television. It was like nothing had ever happened. Well, no, that wasn't quite true - I couldn't help but notice that they were sitting closer together than usual.
"Hello, Rachel," I greeted politely.
"Hi, Mrs. Fabray," she returned with a bright smile. The nerve of her! Pretending like she hadn't left Quinn wallowing in anguish for the past week! I am a Christian woman, but I wanted to thrash her.
"We haven't seen you around here lately," I said icily.
"Y- yes, w- well-" she stamered.
"She's been sick, mom," Quinn piped up. Rachel nodded, shooting her a grateful glance.
"Right. I've been sick."
"Hmm. That's funny. Quinn hasn't mentioned that."
"I don't have to tell you everything, mom," Quinn replied defensively.
Clearly, I thought to myself. It was also clear whose side my daughter was on.
"Well, I hope that you're feeling better these days," I said to Rachel. "I would hate for you to infect Quinn with your... sickness." It was cruel, I know. Me, a grown woman, picking on a teenage girl.
"She's fine now, mother," Quinn told me sharply. There was fire in her eyes. She never used to look at me like that, you know. She was always the good, obedient daughter.
***
"Something without violence?" The clerk crinkled his eyebrows at me, like that was something he couldn't fathom. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize how violent some of this stuff is. Here, why don't you try this one? It's the got the word 'art' in it. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"
I agreed, and went home with a copy of High Art.
In the end, I concluded that lesbians could not possibly have a happy ending. Obviously, it was my duty to save my daughter from the same fate.
***
She certainly wasn't happy with me.
"What is he doing here?" she hissed at me in an undertone.
"Why, you said that he was too busy with football to come over for dinner, but I thought that he would change his mind if I called him myself - and I was right!"
"I can't believe that you did this." She looked past me, over my shoulders, to Finn who was sitting at the dinner table, enthusiastically digging into a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. He always did like my cooking.
"Oh - are you two on the outs again? I thought that the break-up was amicable this time." As far as I knew, they had been seeing each other earlier in the year, but that had stopped. Around the same time she started hanging around Rachel, I might add. I was under the impression that my daughter and Finn were friends now. If things had ended badly between them, I certainly wouldn't have invited him over. I would have tried Sam instead.
"It was, we're friends - don't try to change the subject! I know what you're doing, mother!"
"It's only dinner, Quinn," I said gently. "What's wrong with having dinner with your mother and your friend? We had Rachel over last week, didn't we?"
"That's different!" she shouted at me, completely forgetting or ignoring the fact that Finn was in the next room.
"Keep your voice down, young lady!"
"That's different," she repeated in a harsh undertone. Then, more subdued and a little sadly, she said, "You know it is."
"No, I don't," I said quickly.
"Yes, you do," she said insistently.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
This was a childish game. I wasn't going to do this with my daughter. "Quinn, go to your room!"
She glared at me, but did as she was told. I suspect that she only did so because she didn't want to have dinner with Finn. I returned to the dining room. After all, we still had a guest over.
"Great meatballs, Mrs. Fabray!" Finn enthused, seemingly oblivious to the tense exchange I had with Quinn. I sighed. He didn't seem to notice that either. Not like Rachel, who somehow managed to read my mood from the subtlest of body cues. It was occasionally unnerving, even creepy, but at a time like this, I would have appreciated a little intuition. Poor Finn. The boy just wasn't very bright.
I wondered what Noah was doing these days.
***
All right, yes, I did feel horrible for inviting Finn over without telling her. I knew how she would feel, but I did it anyway. I never wanted to hurt her. And there was a moment there where I wondered whether I was doing the right thing.
But then I rented Gia.
After that, I was convinced that all lesbians ended up as dead drug addicts.
***
I came home just as Rachel was leaving. She had a wide smile on her face. Her hair, usually so carefully brushed and arranged, was slightly mussed.
"Hello, Mrs. Fabray!" she trilled happily.
I greeted her stiffly and went inside. Quinn was in the kitchen, busying at the stove as she hummed happily to herself.
"Quinn," I said cautiously. Her fuse had been very short these last couple of days - ever since Finn was over for dinner.
"Hi, mom! I'm making some tea. Would you like a cup?"
Apparently she wasn't angry with me anymore.
"You're in a very good mood today."
She shrugged lightly. "I feel happy."
I probably shouldn't ask. "Oh? How come?"
"I..." Her joy fading slightly, she nervously bit at her bottom lip. "Mom," she said softly. "I like Rachel."
I knew what was coming. It seemed like a good idea to be seated for this. Quinn took my cue and sat down across from me at the kitchen table.
"I like her... and not just as a friend. I like her like her."
I took a deep breath. "Yes."
"I told her how I felt a few weeks ago," Quinn continued. I remembered this. I had walked in just as she was... 'telling' Rachel how she felt. But Quinn didn't know that. "But she didn't... she didn't feel the same way then." Which was a perfectly obvious indication of a serious mental illness, but I had a feeling that Quinn wouldn't agree. "We had a little fight over it, but then she said that we should still try to be friends. I thought that's all we were going to be, but now..." Quinn let out a small, nervous giggle. "She likes me back.." Well, of course she did. What was there not to like about my daughter?
"Right," I said numbly.
"In a way, I think it's because of you. She found out what you had invited Finn over, and she was upset about it. I guess it helped her figure out what she wanted."
Of course. I tried to do the right thing, and this is what happened? The Lord certainly had an odd sense of humor.
"Are you trying to hurt me?" I asked sharply.
She was silent. She stared back at me with those large, wounded eyes, slowly welling up with tears. God, that broke my heart. It always does when I see her cry.
"I thought that maybe you could be happy for me."
I did too. It would be nice if I could. But that wasn't very realistic.
"Quinnie," I said quietly. "You know better than that."
***
My strategy was to ignore. I didn't throw Quinn out - of course not, never again. I didn't ban Rachel from our house either. What good would that have done? No, I allowed Quinn to have her over, and I allowed Quinn to stay over at Rachel's. All in all, I thought I was being rather gracious about it.
But Quinn didn't think so. And it was true that I wasn't a good hostess to Rachel. I refused to do anything where she was involved. If she was there, I went straight to my room when I walked in the door. I found excuses to leave the house. If she stayed for dinner, I left the food on the table for the girls but ate my food in the living room. As far as I was concerned, Rachel and I could not occupy the same space.
I didn't reject her, but I didn't have to accept her either.
***
"Look, I think I've figured out what the problem is - why you don't like any of these movies," the clerk said. "I've been making all these recommendations to you, but see, I'm not a lesbian."
"How astute of you," I answered. I came back for these movies even as I was ignoring Rachel in my own home. I still wanted to understand.
"So I called up my cousin. This is one of her favorites. So there you have it. Straight from the horse's mouth."
I took the movie.
I hated it.
I suppose that I should have guessed that any movie called Lost and Delirious wouldn't end well.
***
The man who sat across from me had a bald head, a pug nose and kind eyes. He spoke like how he looked - like a blue-collar man. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course.
"Look, I get it, all right? You're freaked out. I've been there. When Kurt came out, I was scared too. Scared of what the other kids would say or do to him. Scared that I was losing him because this is just one more thing about him that I wouldn't be able to relate to. But you know what? He's a strong kid. Quinn too. You gotta let these kids go their own way."
Quinn had arranged this meeting. I knew what she was trying to do, but it wouldn't work.
"Mr. Hummel," I said politely. "I appreciate you coming here today. May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"If you had the chance to protect Kurt from harm, grief and heartache by changing this one thing about him, wouldn't you do it?"
"It's not just one thing, it's who he is," he replied. "I love my son for who he is."
"Do you think that your son could pass for normal?"
His face hardened. "Now look-"
"I've offended you, I apologize. What I mean is - you know that Kurt's very... obvious. He's born the way he is. There was never any question about it, is there? People who meet him... well, they all know, don't they?"
"Where you goin' with this?" he asked, not without hostility.
"Quinn's not like Kurt. She still has a chance. Kurt - well, like you said, it's who he is. But that's not true for my daughter." I've displeased him greatly. That was understandable, but it hadn't been my intention. "Please don't misunderstand. I rather admire Kurt. Your son is very brave, Mr. Hummel. He has courage. You ought to be proud of him."
"I am." This man, so warm and cordial moments before, was now cold and disdainful. I suppose I couldn't blame him. "You should be proud of yours too."
"I am. Of course I am. She's very brave as well. Much braver than I am, I'm afraid. The problem is me. I'm weak, you see. I couldn't bear to see her hurt. If I can protect her, I will, and it doesn't matter to me what you or anyone else say."
"But you are hurting her with what you're doin' right now."
"Yes. But in the long-run, I am also keeping her safe. Parents must make difficult decisions. You understand."
"I don't." He looked sad, almost as if he pitied me.
"But of course you do. We live in Lima, Ohio, Mr. Hummel. Are you telling me that when Kurt's late for his curfew, your mind doesn't fly to the worst possible scenario?"
"I-" He hesitated. "I'm his father. I'm gonna worry either way."
"But more so because you know that there are people out there who would hurt him for who he is."
His lips tightened into a thin line. A reluctant acknowledgement. It was much as I was ever going to get out of him.
"You know what you would do if you could fix it so that no one willl ever hurt your child." I sat back in my seat, primly folding my hands across my lap. "And that's what I'm doing. I'm fixing it."
***
"Look, lady, I don't make these movies," the clerk said in response to my complaint. "I haven't even seen any of these. It's not my fault if people die in them!"
"But someone always dies! I'm only asking for one movie where there isn't all this grief," I pleaded. "It's very depressing, you know."
Grumbling under his breath, he moved to his computer and started typing away. Moments later, he went to the shelves and brought me a movie.
"I don't think anyone dies in this one," he said. "But don't quote me on it. Watch it at your own risk."
I did. And he was right, no one died in Loving Annabelle.
But it was still very depressing, and it did make me awfully suspicious of that Ms. Pillsbury that Quinn was always talking about. So far, all I've gleamed is that lesbians are murdered, murderers, drugs addicts or pedophiles. Why on earth would anyone want to be one?
***
I was ambushed.
Rachel and Quinn were waiting for me in the kitchen when I came home. Rachel had made peanut butter cookies. I had to admit, grudgingly, that her cookies were very good, even if they were vegan and consequently completely unnatural.
"I thought that perhaps it was time that the three of us sat down and had a frank discussion," Rachel said. The nerve of that girl, sitting in my own kitchen, telling me what to do.
"Mom, please," Quinn pleaded gently. I couldn't say no to her when she used that tone, so I took a seat.
"Mrs. Fabray, I feel as if you have some misconceptions about the LGBTQIQ community-"
"And what does that mean?" I asked wearily.
"Lesbian gay bisexual transgender queer intersex questioning," she promptly rattled off.
"Do you really need all those letters?"
Rachel stared me as if I was the freak.
"Of course. We must be inclusive. Discrimination has no place in our modern society."
"It's a little much, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't," she huffed. A little snidely, I thought. "When you consider the hardships and adversity that nontraditional individuals must overcome in order to conform with our heteronormative culture, you would realize that any exclusion is an obvious sign of bigotry."
I felt a headache coming on. Along with the urge to drink. Especially now that I've noticed that Rachel has three very large, very thick binders stuffed with pages and pages of Lord-knows-what.
"Rachel," Quinn said nervously, nudging her in the side.
"Ahem. Maybe we should get started with the presentation," Rachel said, reaching for one of her binders.
"Or maybe we can just talk," Quinn quickly suggested.
"What is there to talk about, girls?" I felt so, so tired.
"The three of us need to find a way to make this work."
"It's working fine."
"No, it's not," Quinn replied sharply. I almost flinched. My little girl could be quite intimidating at times. She really did make me proud. "I can't have my mother walking around pretending like my girlfriend doesn't exist."
Girlfriend. It was very strange to hear her say that, to say the least.
"I've prepared a wealth of literature on the various interpretations of the Biblical language relevant to homosexuality," Rachel said. "A number of scholars and religious figureheads would interpret-"
"Rachel," I interrupted. "You'll forgive me if I'm not prepared to take lessons on my religion from a 16-year-old Jewish girl."
"Mom, why can't you just listen to what she has to say?!" Quinn lashed out at me.
"Because, Quinnie, I'm not interested."
"You're not interested in my happiness?"
"I'm not interested in your destruction."
"It's not a sin! It isn't!" She was half-risen out of her seat, her hands balled up into little fists as angry tears pooled.
"Perhaps not," I said calmly.
"Then what is it? What is it that you're so worried about? The gossip at the country club? The neighbors? Because guess what? They've chatted up a storm when daddy ran off with that tattooed freak." Quinn was like a madwoman. A hurtful madwoman.
"I'm worried about you!" I snapped back. "You, Quinnie. My child. I don't think you realize the life that you're choosing for yourself-"
"It's not a choice-" Rachel started to say.
"Oh, for God's sake, keep quiet!" I barked at her, and she shut up quickly. "Quinn, listen to me. This is a bad world with bad people and I can't keep them away from you. People will burn you for this, do you understand? Don't you see? If you want to be this way - well, all right, I know I can't stop you. But don't ask me to be happy and cheer you on, just don't. It's cruel of you to ask me to."
She looked at me in stunned silence, taking a minute to process my outbrust. I, chest heaving, tears running, tried to collect myself. I really hadn't wanted to do this in front of her. One wants to appear strong for one's child.
"Mom, it isn't like that anymore," she said softly.
"That's a lie," I responded darkly. "People like you get hurt. There are redneck ex-convicts who want to hurt you. That is if you don't become mentally unhinged or start plotting my murder. And you'll almost certainly become addicted to illegal narcotics and overdose."
Quinn stared at me.
"What?! Where are you getting this from?"
"Quinn, as I said, I'm afraid that there isn't much for us to talk about," I told her. "Nothing you say can convince me that you're not making a mistake."
***
That was the end of it, as far as I was concerned. But Quinn had other ideas. I suppose that wasn't surprising.
A few days later, she knocked on my bedroom door and invited me to watch a movie with her and Rachel.
"I'll pass, dear," I said stiffly.
"It's called Imagine Me and You. It's a really cute movie."
"No, thank you."
"Rachel thinks that you would like it."
"I'm sure she does," I muttered.
"She really wants to watch it with you."
"I don't think so."
"Please? Just for a little while? You can come back up if you don't like it," Quinn persisted. I silently cursed the day when I had taught her to never give up.
"I'm a little tired. Maybe next time."
"You know that you don't mean that," Quinn said with exasperation.
"Don't I?" I answered sweetly. She turned away, muttering under her breath - something dreadful, I'm sure, and stomped down the stairs.
***
"Mrs. Fabray," Rachel said politely. "I'm calling to check on your availability this evening. You had said that you would watch that movie with us next time?"
"I'm busy," I said, and hung up on her.
She left me two voicemails a day for the next 10 days, "checking on my availability".
***
She sent me cards. RSVP requests printed on heavy card stock with embossed lettering that smelled faintly of lilacs. There was always a ton of glitter in the envelopes.
"There is something very wrong with that girl," I complained as I swept up the glitter from the table. Quinn smirked as she continued eating her cereal.
"If you accept her invitation, she'll leave you alone," she said. "Eventually."
"This is coercion," I huffed.
"She prefers to call it Rachel Berry-style tough love."
"And how is this supposed to make me less concerned about the time you spend with this girl?"
Quinn shrugged lightly. "You'll get used to it."
***
She was waiting for me by my car when I left the house.
"Young lady," I told her sternly. "This type of behavior is unacceptable! I have half a mind to call the police on you."
"No, you won't," Rachel replied. "Because that would make Quinn very upset." Sometimes I really disliked her.
"What do you want?"
"You know. I want you to watch a movie."
"Well, that isn't going to happen," I nearly growled.
"I'll make you a deal," Rachel quickly said. "If you watch it, I won't call or see Quinn for an entire weekend."
I eyed her suspiciously. Surely this was a trick.
"It's not a trick," Rachel said. Lord, this girl was creepy. "I promise. You can have Quinn all to yourself for a weekend if you watch this movie with us."
It didn't seem like a bad idea.
"You're a very annoying girl," I told her.
"Yes, I know," she answered. "But I love your daughter very much."
***
So I watched the darn movie.
It was all right.
I rather felt sorry for the jilted husband, but I didn't hate the women couple. Blame it on the charm of the Brits.
At the end of it, I turned to Rachel and said,
"All right, I've done my part. Now if you'll please keep your end of the bargain and leave our house."
"Mom-"
"It's okay, Quinn, we had a deal," Rachel assured her. Quinn didn't look happy at all. I was sure that we were going to fight about this later.
"Did you really think that everything would change just because you made me watch a movie?"
"No," Rachel said. "Not yet anyway."
***
She called me and invited me to watch some movie called But I'm A Cheerleader. It sounded silly, and I still dreaded spending time with her, so of course I declined.
It took me twelve more phone calls before I gave in.
***
"Fingersmith, despite being set in the Victorian era, is quite an inventive and modern tale of strong, independent women seeking to break out of their societally-imposed roles. It's more than a story about women who love other women, it's a social commentary on the restrictive-"
"I'll agree to watch it," I interrupted. "If you just please be quiet."
***
I knew what she was doing. I knew it because she told me. Frankly, there weren't a lot of things that Rachel didn't want to explain in great detail.
"I concede that movies about lesbians tend to end tragically, but you can't base your opinions off of them. For one, they're based on fiction and it's absurd to build your worldview on fiction. Nevertheless, I acknowledge their persuasive value, so I'm going to show you films with positive portrayals until you see that lesbians are just like anybody else."
"I really wonder what my daughter sees in you," I sighed. Rachel and Quinn both just smiled at me. I suppose that I hadn't said that with as much menace as I could muster.
"This is Show Me Love," Rachel announced, pressing play on the remote.
***
Rachel was right.
It was absurd to build your worldview on fiction.
The movies that she made me watch didn't warm me to her or their relationship. Stories like D.E.B.S. about a lesbian superspy falling in love with a super villain didn't convince me that my daughter's relationship with Rachel wasn't a complete disaster. Saving Face is a nice enough story about an Asian doctor in New York, but it didn't help me see how I could get through the night without worrying about my daughter's safety.
It was the hours on the couch.
It was listening to the girls bicker over pizza toppings until they reached a compromise. Quinn never compromised on her pizza toppings.
It was having Rachel make batches after batches of cookies and brownies, which were infuriatingly delicious.
It was watching my daughter grin like a silly fool everytime Rachel smiled or grazed her hand along Quinn's hand.
It was seeing Rachel tirelessly running from the kitchen to the couch while anticipating every little thing that Quinn could need or want so that Quinn wouldn't have to lift a finger.
It was seeing my daughter happy.
It is really, really difficult to be indifferent to something - someone - that made my daughter so full of joy.
I could ignore a lot of things. But not this.
So then there was the day when, after an afternoon viewing of I Can't Think Straight, I asked,
"Rachel, would you like to stay for dinner?"
Quinn gasped. Rachel squealed, started crying and threw her arms around me.
It was rather awkward.
But I suppose that it was better than nothing.
Frankly, I'm just happy that no one died.
Endnote: some people would not consider Boys Don't Cry to be a lesbian movie. I agree, but that movie worked well for the purposes of this story. I also want to emphasize that the opinions in this story are meant to be Judy Fabray's and not mine.