These strange steps

25

Day 23

There's a minor tremor in her hand all throughout breakfast, which might be neurological or maybe she's just actually suffering long-term effects of caffeine addiction.

It's strange, really; any sort of conception of rehab she had consisted of endless vomiting, scratching at her own arms, and screaming for drugs, but there's been very little of that and just a hell of a lot of staring into space and crying.

Not too different from the last five years, then.

Of course, the last five years involved switch-flicking for exactly the kind of scenario she's about to walk into today, with her honesty sheet full of scribbled, insecure notes about the things that she wishes her parents had and hadn't done for her.

At the bottom, it just says you should have known I wasn't okay.

It's not one she's planning to voice, out loud, because as soon as she'd written it down she'd felt ridiculous, but-now it's there, staring back at her while she's having juice and a vegan muffin that Kevin drops on her plate with a wink, and-

She can't say she doesn't mean it.

Just because it makes her feel like shit, and will make them feel worse, doesn't mean that she doesn't mean it.

...

Joel has rearranged the setup of the room, and has pushed his desk back against the wall, and so she finds herself sitting in a much more traditional counseling setup, for the first time since she started seeing him.

It's a surprise when he turns to her dads, and then to Puck, and starts them off with, "What's your favorite Rachel performance?"

Her daddy stares at Joel, not comprehending the point of the question any more than Rachel does, but Joel just placidly stares back, with that guppy-eyed expression he sometimes puts on when he knows Rachel is just being obtuse, and she almost smiles.

Puck clears his throat first and says, "Don't Rain on my Parade. Sectionals, sophomore year. I thought we were screwed and then she just busted out with that and it was like... woah. I mean, we knew you were good, but-that was ..." He trails off, and then just shrugs. "I'll never forget it."

"Were you at that performance?" Joel asks, neutrally.

"No," her dad almost sighs. "I was preparing a last minute court briefing and you-"

"State-wide audit; I don't think I was home," her daddy says.

Joel looks at them for a long moment. "Sounds like you missed something big."

"We were there at every single one of her performances if it was possible for us to be," her dad says, tersely. "Our obligation to provide for her didn't always make that happen, but we tried."

"I know that," Rachel says, as quietly as she can.

Joel presses his fingers together and then tilts his head. "What about your favorite performance?"

"I don't know," her daddy says, after another long silence. "There have been so many-sometimes I think that nothing will ever be as special as seeing her sing the national anthem when she was eight, just because-that voice, coming out of so little a body-"

"Yeah," her dad agrees, after a moment, and Rachel watches as they hold each other's hands.

Joel leans back in his seat and looks at all of them for a moment. "So-not the performance that won her a Tony. That's not the one?"

They all look surprised. Like they forget she has one. She does, too, sometimes, because-well.

"What's your favorite performance?" Joel finally asks.