There was cornflower etched glassware in the china cabinet, and Santana was certain the ceramic plates somehow matched that rural sort of elegance. There was wine on the dark marble kitchen counter, a pair of glasses her cousin would have brought over had she not left the room for a moment. There were a few pictures on the goldenrod yellow walls, brass star ornaments resting here and there. There was a small red ball shuffled off in the corner of the room where her nephew had kicked it earlier, its hue contrasting with the dark, rich hardwood beneath it. Nothing really matched, there were so many different things happening that really should have clashed, but it felt like a home nonetheless. It felt like two people who decided they were it, and took the next fork in the road together. Nothing matched, most of it didn't make sense, but that was life, wasn't it? Santana thought as much, but she honestly wasn't sure what she was seeing was what she wanted.
Sure, she knew she was supposed to want it; her relatives had all told her as much before shutting the door on her, frustrated at her for not settling down at the spinster age of twenty six. It was admittedly absurd, but normal was different for everyone, and that made everything rather complex. And when she'd asserted to her family for the one hundred and seventy third time that she was a lesbian, and yet again requested her family stop trying to set her up with men, her new normal was mostly radio silence from her previous support system. Her cousin was the only one left who'd even speak with her, and even she was starting to get on her case. As she heard the woman's footsteps near the kitchen, she fully predicted Eva would continue where she'd left off.
"I'm sorry for that, I had to put my boy to bed. Which of course led to a story, you know how it is." Eva noted, sounding breathlessly happy. Santana actually didn't know, because outside of Eva, the rest of her cousins were much older than her, and she'd had no siblings, so she hadn't had much opportunity to take care of kids. Her parents hadn't been the type to tell a story before bed either. Not that she didn't think it would have been a good idea in retrospect, and she thought her cousin was doing an awesome job, but she just didn't know. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to know at her age.
"Yeah, no worries Eva. You get Joel all up in Dr. Seuss for me, alright?" Santana said, trying her best to recall a children's book that would be appropriate to reference. Dr. Seuss seemed safe enough.
"I promise I'll get him back to those after the holidays, but for now it's all Christmas books until the play's over." Eva stated with a calm smile. "He's going to be such a cute shepherd, Santana."
Eva had changed since she'd given birth; she used to be even harder than Santana had been, even thornier. They used to always raise hell at family gatherings, and if they didn't make Uncle Lorenzo storm off at least once, it was an utter failure and a great shame on their dynamic partnership. So when she witnessed her cousin transform into this sappy, loving person that literally sighed from happiness all the time, it was a big shock. Not that she loved her cousin any less, it just wasn't something she understood entirely. It made her feel like all their years together, that she'd missed a big part of her favourite relative. Honestly, she was feeling like she'd probably been missing out on a lot in her life as of late.
"Well, I'm sure he will, but I don't think your attempts at stringing him into method acting will stick. Sorry." Santana joked, her cousin giving her an amused smirk as she brought the wine glasses over to the table and sat down. Santana was certain Joel would look adorable for sure, the kid was already a little heart-breaker. She knew the play would be kind of hilarious. They always were, but she could just imagine Joel lazily reciting the words. Not that he wasn't excited to perform, but he was definitely more excited about the cake his mother promised him for after it was all over. He had already confessed to her a few hours earlier that he didn't really care about his eight words. He cared more about chocolate than words. Smart kid. "Just record it for me, will you? I can't always make it out for every play, living in New York and all, even if I wish I could."
"Of course I will, you know I'll be front row with my video camera." Eva noted happily, taking a long sip of her wine.
"So what plans do you have for New…" she started, the opening door behind her interrupting her speech as Eva quickly placed her glass down, running over to embrace her husband.
Love. It was kind of surreal to even witness up close; the house was already filled with it, and the two people holding each other by the door made it all nearly overwhelming. She smiled, because it's not like she was some cold-hearted bitch, she just didn't understand a lot of shit. Like how two people get from point A, where she was, to point B, where Eva and Marc were. It wasn't something she'd ever been taught outside of in Disney movies and rom-coms, and even she knew those tactics never worked. Especially the ones relying on magic.
She felt a little guilty holding those mildly bitter thoughts in the proximity of one of her favourite people in the world, who was simply expressing her happiness. She knew Eva didn't deserve her bitterness just because she had something Santana didn't know how to get. Not that she hadn't felt some shreds of it in the past.
Brittany had been fresh, new and exciting, but looking back it was mostly lust mixed with a strong friendship that allowed moments of intimacy. It was wonderful but not that kind of love. She'd felt something a while later on with her former roommate, but she'd been straight, so Santana generally just fought those thoughts and didn't try for anything major. Even she knew love had to be reciprocated for it to be special or whatever. Or, well, for it to not be incredibly heartbreaking and shit, and she didn't want to feel that.
So she just sat there, listening to the nearly silent murmurs between the two people still standing by the door, smiling and staring googly-eyed at each other. It was disgustingly endearing in the best way, even if it made her feel like a total reject.
Eva was a systems analyst for some big company in Toronto, and generally got to work from home, letting her take care of Joel and avoid the whole nanny or daycare mess. Marc was a teacher, she was pretty sure it was just a bunch of math courses at a high school, and he'd just come back from a conference out of town. Both always knew what they were doing on Saturdays, it was their designated adventure/outing day. Santana had those, like, every day, but she supposed it wasn't the same since she wasn't exactly in the most stable life situation, and she generally lacked a set schedule. Her activities were much more mundane, usually involving handing out resumes or putting up posters or whatever. Eva and Marc would camp, skydive, go antique hunting, all the craziness and tame shit that didn't seem to go together, but it apparently worked for them. They had met in front of some claw machine at a carnival, and Eva had won Marc, who had apparently been struggling with it, the stuffed animal his girlfriend at the time had wanted. Because THAT was such a romantic, love-at-first-sight moment. Not that it had to be, and not that they ever said it had been. It turned out that love changed its game up from person to person, which Santana thought was bullshit.
"Santana?" her head shot up from her glass to Eva, who was giving her a curiously concerned look that she'd mastered back when she was fifteen. "Are you alright or do I get to finally perform a lobotomy on you?"
Santana shook her head, rolling her eyes at her cousin and her rather dark desire to lobotomize her that the girl had held since she was twelve. Twelve. Freaky shit. "It's nothing, I was just thinking."
And it was then that she knew she fell into the trap. She would have cursed out loud if she was sure Joel and Marc wouldn't hear. The kid for obvious reasons, and Marc because while he was always polite, he was never her biggest fan. Not that she was ever a troublemaker around him, but she carried a rep, and apparently that was enough. "You're twenty six, Santana. You should get back out there, start looking again." Her cousin started with a knowing smile, obviously trying to be reassuring, but Santana couldn't help but feel like it was a little smug. "Most girls your age have or are looking to get partners, kids…we're all made different, but we all want someone to come home to. Or someone to come home to us."
"I'm always out there and always looking, Eva, but it's not like that stuff just happens out of the blue. You don't just collect a freaking person, you have to fall in love and all that crap, and it's not exactly easy for everyone. I've been on at least a few hundred dates, and not one has ever made me feel like something could be there. So I'm sorry if I don't feel like trying anymore…it's frustrating, alright?" Santana ranted in a hushed tone; she knew her cousin probably didn't understand that maybe six percent of the women she encountered could ever have romantic feelings for her, be attracted to her, but she'd needed to say something.
"I know, but I just want you to be happy, San. You can't keep running away from every girl you meet just in case they end up like Brittany or don't live up to that other girl, or…they end badly. You're braver than that, San." Eva stated firmly, trying to give her tough love, it seemed.
Santana sighed, leaning back in her chair as she swirled her wine in her glass. "My parents separated when I was eight. My dad vanished, my mom was barely around, and my abuela disowned me when I came out. I don't exactly have the best role models when it comes to knowing how stable relationships work out, Eva." She retorted, downing the rest of her glass in one go.
"You don't learn it…you just, you know it already. You just need to find the right person, someone your heart feels deserving of one." Eva stated, and Santana could only shrug, because honestly, that was as far as the conversation could go. Eva could talk about what she experienced, and Santana would write it off because she'd never experienced it, and couldn't apply it to herself. They'd tried it in the past for hours, and it hadn't worked then, so it wouldn't at that kitchen table either. "Look, I have to get to bed, I have a lot of things to handle tomorrow morning."
"No, it's totally cool, Eva. I should probably get some sleep too, I have the early flight anyway." Santana noted with a shrug, Eva moving over to kiss her on the cheek, a wordless 'goodnight' as the woman left the room and ventured upstairs.
Santana knew that she was supposed to stay the night. That she was supposed to hold to their tradition and have breakfast together before she left, but she wasn't sure she'd be up for that. Santana wasn't sure she could live through another moon-eyed pep talk, no matter how short lived. And she knew Eva, it would likely be the last words out of her mouth as she left out the front door to drive to the airport.
She slept until it was safe to leave. Then she ran, like she always did.
Rachel knew she shouldn't have been up at four in the morning, but there she was, in a café, skyping with Kurt, who was in Paris at the moment. He'd been going on for weeks about whatever meeting he'd had planned, and what restaurants and museums he'd visit while he was there. It was nice to see one of her friends doing really well for themselves. Sure, she was a little bitter, but it was still good to hear. It meant her friend was happy, after all, and she cared about her friends. She just wished her hard work gave her even a fraction of that success.
"And so I got called into the conference room yesterday afternoon and Isabelle told me that I got handpicked to help co-manage BOTH fashion weeks in New York! I just…I can't believe it! Do you know how many parties I'll be able to host and frequent? How many celebrities I'll have access to? I could shop out my own collections to them, maybe!" Kurt exclaimed giddily on her computer screen; he was clearly over the moon about the news, but she felt like taking the out that was offered to her.
"How is your fashion line going anyway? You've been working on it for two years now, any luck?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't just detour back to the fashion week parties and everything. Kurt was a good friend in many ways; he listened well, he kept in contact, and he was generally nice. She just wished that with all the networking opportunities he had, he'd put her name out there even once. She'd seen pictures of him standing and talking with Patti LuPone, Elaine Page, and numerous Broadway producers, but he hadn't even made the attempt to throw her a bone. She understood a level of reluctance, but he'd broken through two and a half years ago, and was a pretty well known entity in the fashion world and around New York City. He had the ability to help, he just didn't. Even though when he asked, she'd helped him get back into NYADA.
Kurt nodded cheerfully, a conspiratorial smile gracing his face as he bit his lip. "I think it'll be ready for the fall show. I've taken some risks in utilizing some more uncommon fabrics and patterns, but I feel it could be both creatively competitive on the runway, and adaptable to department store racks." The man said excitedly, clearly proud of his work. She knew Kurt was diligent and meticulous, so she knew it would likely be a huge success.
"That's wonderful! You'll have to at least show me pictures of your designs when you're done, I'm sure they're all phenomenal." She spoke, wishing she had something to be so excited about. Fashion had always been Kurt's second choice, yet he caught a huge break almost right from the start; Rachel's dreams of Broadway had merely stagnated since her graduation from NYADA. Even though she'd made history by winning the Winter Showcase three straight years, even though she was held in the highest acclaim by her professors, even though she'd starred in eleven off-Broadway plays as a lead. Some would say it was luck, or she simply wasn't the right fit. She felt it was betrayal. It wasn't anything she understood or would consider fair, but it didn't seem life was so accommodating.
"I definitely will. After Blaine, Miguel and Harriet, you'll be the first to know." Kurt spoke reassuringly, before immediately shifting gears. "So how did that thing go in…Toronto, was it?"
Rachel let out a short sigh, nodding. "Toronto was interesting, I suppose. Learned the role in a week, played the lead for two. It was a good enough show, the crowds were alright." She answered, not telling the whole truth. Sure, Toronto was good, but it was al it ever could be. It wasn't Broadway. It wasn't challenging. There were maybe three regular critics in the audience, and while they'd praised her performance, she couldn't imagine which standard she was being held to.
"I'm just happy nothing happened to you. I read in the blogs that a lot of the cast suffered mysterious injuries recently. The understudy especially, I can't believe she got locked away for heroin trafficking! Who does that?!" Kurt yelled out in disbelief, and Rachel could only shake her head. The cast had simply had bad luck. There were broken legs, car accidents that caused whiplash and bruising, pneumonia, among many other things such as trafficking illegal substances. Rachel felt happy to leave unscathed. "I should have believed you when you told me they were cursed."
Rachel laughed, recalling when she'd told him that, and how he immediately had questioned her sanity and her decision to join a cast if she thought it was cursed. She was desperate, was all. "Like I said, it was interesting. But…it was fun being a lead again, and the crowd was at least steady, if a bit unruly at times. It just…"
"It wasn't Broadway." He finished for her, and she nodded sadly. Rachel wasn't sure why she'd had so much trouble getting roles on the big stages, but it was a fact of life she'd been living.
"I just wish someone would take a chance on me. Some people that I've beaten out for off-Broadway plays have gotten leads on broadway…I'm better than them. I sing better, act better, dance better. Crystal Ericsson is sharp for two entire weeks of performance, but because she looks like a model, everyone forgives her and despite critics giving her two stars out of five in general, she's nominated for a Tony?! It's absurd." She ranted, feeling a terrible desire to vent her frustrations. It wasn't anything new, Kurt was likely used to it. She ranted all the time.
"Your dream role will come along one day, Rachel. You'll nail the audition and they'll have to have you. All the Broadway news writers will be wondering why you weren't America's darling years ago…it'll happen. Just keep believing." He stated, and Rachel could only nod. She had firmly believed that once, but the foundation had been chipped away, and after years of perfect auditions and inconsistent amounts of callbacks, it seemed more like an impossible dream than anything.
"Anyway, enough about me, how's Blaine?" she asked, needing a change of subject. She wondered if eventually they'd run out of things she was comfortable talking about, but she felt she had to make the effort anyway.
Kurt sighed happily, any mention of Blaine always made him do that. "He's working on an off-Broadway rock and roll play about some band I've never heard of. At least it's ninety percent singing, so it'll be bearable. He's running a yoga class in his spare time, too, which seems to be helping him with his stress." Rachel nodded happily at Kurt's words. It was nice to know Blaine was still trying for his dream, like her even if that dream had recently taken a turn toward writing and directing.
"That's good for him, I'm glad he's keeping busy." She stated, though felt a little worried when Kurt gave her an odd look right afterward.
"Why don't you pick up a second job to fill the time between plays? It'd definitely bring you in more money and keep you busy, maybe freshen you up a bit." He asked, but Rachel wasn't sure what to say. She occasionally moonlighted as a lounge singer, but was reluctant to tell the man about it, recalling how he'd once made the remark that they were the perfect mix of a singer and a stripper, void of all the positive qualities. Not that she always sang burlesque or anything; it was more of a rare occasion, but it did happen, and she knew he'd scold her for it. Even though it was productive, keeping her singing active, and the dresses were usually pretty nice, if a bit short at times. The songs weren't always suggestive either.
"I'll consider it, Kurt. That said I should really get to the airport, apparently a snow storm's coming through here soon, so I want to catch the customs check before it gets too crazy in there." Rachel noted hastily, Kurt nodding in understanding.
"Go catch that plane, and don't forget to give me a call…I'll try and fit you in for a visit one weekend." He stated, and she waved before signing off and closing her laptop. She bundled her tired body up and went out to grab the rental car, taking off quickly for the airport.
Rachel was tired a lot of the time, not just physically from the insomnia she'd been suffering off and on, but also just mentally and emotionally. She'd put everything she had into her career, she'd spent her life throwing herself into her passion. Sure, she loved what she did, but the luster was fading; it wasn't difficult to realize that in her pursuit for Broadway, she'd missed out on many other career-unrelated opportunities.
Rachel missed what love felt like. Heck, she missed what lust felt like. Her acting abilities and singing were exceptional, but she couldn't help but think that, after getting turned away from so many Broadway roles, that her appearance was holding her back. That she wasn't pretty enough, beautiful enough, that she didn't look the part. To have that possibly denied to her at birth, before she had a shot, felt preposterously unfair and heartbreaking; the mere idea had been viciously cutting down her ego across the past few years. Rachel wanted to be pretty, and had considered getting a nose job to help, thinking it might put her over the edge. That maybe then, she'd be happier. That maybe then, the hole she'd felt in her life for a long time would be fixed. That her regrets would fade away then. Packing up her things, she left the car park and made her way into the airport.
Santana had left that morning just before five, in the pitch-black pre-dawn hours before anyone in the house had woken up. She wasn't sure she could have faced her cousin after the previous night, feeling a little ashamed over how much of a coward she'd been in her life. Yet there she was, only living up to that title; escaping in the dark, running away from her cousin's words and loving concern.
It was early Wednesday morning, so it wasn't terribly packed, even with it being the day before Christmas Eve. She supposed the snow storm could have something to do with it, but either way, she was glad that she could avoid as much pandemonium as possible, she just wasn't in the mood for it. It was why she'd decided to take the 8AM flight out to JFK, which she was happy about seeing as how the snow was really starting to pile up outside.
The regular procedure wasn't too terrible; she slogged her way through customs mostly annoyed by how the person in front of her couldn't recall how many metal objects they had on them, and seemed to enjoy taking them out and testing themselves one by one. It was just when she was about to get her baggage checked that her flight was announced as delayed.
It wasn't as if she had anywhere to go, but she was pretty miffed about being stuck in one spot, not able to really go anywhere. It didn't help that she knew it would only get worse as Christmas neared, whether or not the storm let up. Breathing out a frustrated sigh, she dragged her luggage across to the waiting area, plopping down onto a seat about as grumpily as one probably could. This morning can't really get much worse… she thought to herself as she looked out at the blizzard outside, tinged a pale yellow from all the lights around. Some days, that sight would cheer her up, but as it was the cause of her issue, it just wasn't enough. Some forecasts had the blizzard set to continue partially through Christmas day, which would be a disaster. Well, not a huge one, but Santana didn't want to spend the yuletide in an airport in Canada, no matter how polite it all was. Besides, she was in the international area with mostly Americans, it certainly wouldn't carry over.
Santana looked down at the guitar case at her feet, thinking that at least if she got heinously bored, she could resort to doing the same thing that's apparently been holding her back for so many years, the same thing that's apparently turned every moment of happiness across the past years into a hollow victory. Not that she didn't love music, it was her passion after all, but she wondered how long she could expect herself to try when she hadn't even seen a glimmer of success.
She shook her head, deciding to just be happy that she had heat and shelter, if temporary, and that the airport did have food available to her. And alcohol…not that I could really afford that luxury… she mused, knowing that she hadn't had much in the way of spending money the past years. Spending two months living in a boiler room had taught her the values of frugality and being cautious with her money.
Santana pulled out her phone, checking the time, to find that it was only seven thirty. I can't believe I'm up so god damn early…I…you know, I kind of just want to go back to sleep. Why don't airports have beds? Beh…I guess it'd be a bad idea. If my flight's green lit anytime soon, I'd probably miss it. She thought to herself, deciding to put her hands to work in order to stay awake and alert.
She pulled out her trusty notepad, and immediately wondered if most songwriters took years to fill out a two hundred fifty sheet pad. She imagined it wasn't likely, but she'd never been the most prolific. Santana grabbed a pen from her carry-on and rested the tip on the blank sheet, wondering if she could legitimately write a Christmas song about how shitty it was to be stuck in a foreign airport, only to realize that she'd be just as lonely there as in the airport. It'd be one of those bitter, sad songs, like 'Blue Christmas' or 'Last Christmas'. When did I get so jaded? Christmas used to be my favourite holiday… she mused, but the answer wasn't so difficult. It was a mix of not having Britt's enthusiasm around anymore, and not having any friends or family to spend it with.
She hummed anyway, trying to figure out some melody to use for a possible song. She'd never been one to start with lyrics, they'd always just happened when she found the right sound. Just as she was feeling out something that sounded good, her humming was drowned out by the distant yet loud ramblings of a woman over by the ticket agents. It was eerily familiar, but she didn't want to lose her train of thought, so she hastily scribbled down her melody on paper, or at least what she'd considered up to that point. As she scribbled away, the voice became clearer and more familiar, and it was then that she heard the rapid pitter-patter of feet heading off in her general direction.
Santana looked up and her suspicions were proven to be eerily correct. Against all odds, she was in the path of a famous diva storm-out, her once-upon-a-time roommate of thirteen months rushing off in her direction, apparently also stuck in godforsaken Toronto, during a blizzard, days before Christmas, probably during Hanukkah. It was amusing, watching the diva weave her way past the growing crowd of people, and when the woman was within about thirty feet she froze, Santana finding herself staring at Rachel Barbra Berry in all her wintery glory.
"Santana?" the diva asked weakly, her voice cracking from confusion and likely remnants of the anger she'd expressed just moments earlier to Pearson Airport's staff. Santana couldn't help but wonder if her day had just gotten worse, or if she'd received a blessing in a crazy, tiny diva-shaped disguise.
A/N: So I got asked by my reader friend Ophalia to fit a blizzard into a story (though looking back, it may have been a joke :P ), and well…I was listening to music while reading their request and I got a little inspired.
I know some of you have been waiting very patiently for the sequel to Province, which I promise is happening. Nearing the final stages of outlining, actually. It's just my muse takes me where it pleases, and I've been very busy. I know it may not look like I have been, seeing as I haven't published anything, but I've done about 90k of writing between finishing Province and now (and that doesn't include all the thousands of words in my outlines), so…I have things in the works. I just appreciate patience while I make sure they're worthy of publishing first. :)
Anywho, I've read a bunch of high-school era Glee fics, and some post-education adulthood fics, but those usually focus on families and a Rachel/singer Santana/exotic dancer kind of thing. Which is totally cool, but I kind of wanted to do something a little less directly sexualized and just show what it could be like for them both if they've taken some hits over the years without a lot of success. Though admittedly, there will obviously be fluff. Because it's me. But yeah, this is one of the six(or, well, more, but six that I've spent time writing more than outlines for) projects that have sprouted up lately that I've worked on. Not sure how regularly this will update, but it's at least fully outlined, and not really that long, so it'll be pretty easy to pump out when I want to. And who doesn't like Christmas in July? :P
Anywho, thanks everyone for your support, you're all awesome :D Have a great weekend!