Adam's Rib
The carpet of her bedroom is scratchy under Brittany's arms but soft and fluffy at the same time, kind of like when she wakes a sleeping Lord Tubbington but she knows he loves her anyways. She moves her fingers through the fibers regardless as she tries to focus on the words in front of her. Her head rests on a pillow she's doubled over for support and her legs stretch out in a small V shape like she's waiting to make a carpet angel. There's an open book resting vertically on her chest which she's supposed to be reading for her English class but something keeps distracting her: Santana.
Santana is standing at her dresser with one leg propped up on the only chair in the room. She's wearing baggy gym shorts and Risky Business Tom Cruise before he went crazy because Katie Holmes was only 5 years old at the time socks. She squeezes lotion onto her palm and starts rubbing it into her calf, white lines marking her dark skin. Brittany wonders why they were sitting on the floor in the first place if Santana knew her knees would get so ashy. Santana hated when her knees were ashy.
Brittany peers over the top of her book trying not to make her staring obvious. She doesn't want her observation of Santana to change the way she does things. The way she does anything. It's magic to watch Santana just be Santana sometimes. Especially when she does the little things. Like sometimes when she's about to turn in her school work, she has to rush to write her name in the corner of the papers because she always saves that part for last even though it means she forgets it a lot. Then her finger smudges on the San because she's a lefty and so not careful when she's rushing, so she licks the thumb of her other hand and tries to rub the ink out of her pinky knuckle. But she only does it when she thinks no one is watching because it really is sort of unhygienic.
Santana switches the position of her legs, raising the right one up to the chair and Brittany, brought out of her reverie, quickly brings her eyes back down to the page. She counts to ten to pace herself before looking back up but 2 merges with 3 and half of the other numbers get lost on the way.
Brittany pouts. Santana's using her lotion, the one with the pink top. It's not that she isn't totally thrilled that Santana grabs leftovers from the fridge without asking or sometimes does her little sister's math homework for her, always leaving the fourth answer wrong so the teacher doesn't get suspicious. Brittany loves that Santana can feel so at home in her home. But she doesn't want Santana to smell like her. She wants Santana to smell like Santana. Because sometimes when they cuddle or when they kiss or when they're anywhere near each other at all, Brittany likes to close her eyes and let her other senses really take her in for how beautiful she is, until her eyes get too jealous that is.
And besides it's Brittany's special Santana smell. The one she sprays on Santana's pencils and pillows sometimes when she isn't looking so Santana thinks about her all day and dreams about her all night. The one that makes Santana smile. And Brittany gets it then. She's known all along but also she finally gets it. Because as much as she wants to smell Santana, Santana wants to smell Brittany just the same and that thought makes her happier than she imagined any ten dollar mall lotion and body spray set could. And maybe this is why they were sitting on the floor in the first place.
Santana finishes too fast for Brittany's likes and Brittany, afraid of being caught, quickly tries to hide her prying eyes behind the cover of that book again. Santana grabs an identical book from the dresser where she left it and sits beside Brittany on the floor. For a split second Brittany considers offering Santana the pillow under her own head but that's ridiculous because Santana has never needed another pillow when her girlfriend was right there and so much more comfortable. Santana leans back and Brittany can feel her settle into her stomach just beyond the edges of her book, her long dark hair draping over Brittany's side and spilling onto her carpet. They lay perpendicular to each other and Brittany thinks about what great cheerleaders they make that even when they study it's in letter formation. It's too bad there aren't any Ts in Cheerios, because they make a damn fine one. William McKinley's middle name should have been Tate or Titus or Triton.
Without realizing it, Brittany puts her open book down on her chest and studies the profile of Santana's face. The point of her nose, the curl of her eyelashes, the pout of her lips. But not for long because Santana moves her head to look at her and it rolls smoothly on Brittany's stomach like it's been there all along. "Why aren't you reading?" she asks.
"Because then I can't look at you," Brittany states simply, truthfully. Santana tries to roll her eyes but she can't because they get caught kind of halfway there and she just turns away flustered instead. Brittany smiles because she thinks it's the cutest thing that Santana still gets embarrassed when it's just the two of them. That somehow hearing nice things still surprises her and Brittany is sure that when she finally finishes telling Santana every nice thing that ever existed, Santana will still smile like that and that smile will create a million more nice things for Brittany to find.
Brittany reaches over and slowly glides her fingers down Santana's side. With a little pressure she can feel the hills and valleys of the bones there, one valley for every one of her evenly spaced fingers. She wonders what it would sound like if she could play Santana like a piano. Beautiful for sure, but what kind of beautiful? What if it was every kind of beautiful all tied into one? Because Santana herself is every kind of beautiful, even the kinds that haven't been discovered yet. But if they were all displayed at once, the world would surely collapse in on itself and maybe it's a good thing that Santana is just Santana and not a piano at all.
"San," she says softly not really wanting to distract her from her homework but also wanting it more than anything. "Tell me a story. Tell me the story of Adam's ribs."
"Oh, that was a good one," Santana says as she rests her own book face down on her stomach because she probably wants to study even less than Brittany does. "Remember?" She turns her head just slightly to look at Brittany. "Katherine Hepburn totally owns Spencer Tracy through most of it. They're lawyers and they're married but they're fighting two different sides of the same case."
"No," Brittany says though she hates to interrupt when Santana starts to get excited about things. "Not that one," she giggles and she watches as Santana's head bobs up and down with her light laughs which makes her laugh even harder. She holds her breath and tries to swallow down the amusement because it must be uncomfortable for Santana's head to bounce like that even though she's smiling and doesn't move away. That was a good movie though. Especially the part with the licorice gun and why don't they make cool candy like that anymore? Brittany lets out her breath and deflates with a smile before continuing. "The one about Adam and how he gave up a rib for Eve."
"Oh," Santana says a little sadly and Brittany quickly regrets saying anything at all.
Santana knows like a million Bible stories of course. When she was little, she used to go to church every Sunday with her abuela and catechism every Friday. But back then she used to call it cataclysm because with her soccer practices and Brittany's gymnastics lessons and karate classes that just meant another day the two of them couldn't play together after school. Of course there was that one day when her mom overheard her joking about it and yelled at her in front of her whole 2nd grade class. That was embarrassing. Even in high school, on a lot of those partied out of her mind about to throw up at the slightest movement and just wants to sleep next to blonde hair for the next 5 days kind of Sunday mornings, she would still sometimes squeeze into one of her nice black dresses, slip into the most stable heels she could find, and pull the brim of her oversized church hat down over her bloodshot eyes, because it was important to her abuela that she was there. But that was then. That was before. Besides, even as a kid she doesn't think she ever believed in God, unless God was the tooth fairy. And she stopped believing in the tooth fairy after her first trip to the dentist. Age 6. Thanks Doctor Jones.
Brittany was kind of the opposite. The Pierce household never concerned themselves with religion of any kind, and the first and only time Brittany went to church was with Santana when they were 8. It was Easter and the sermon was about how Jesus was resurrected after being dead for days. Brittany cried in her parents' bed that night and for the next three nights because she was afraid zombie Jesus would try to eat her brains as she slept. Neither Santana nor her own parents would let her go back. And yet, Brittany had more faith in unseen things than anyone else Santana had ever known.
Brittany moves her hand from Santana's side and finds the hills and valleys of her hand. She pushes the hills apart gently and curls her fingers around Santana's one by one. Santana brings her fingertips down gently over Brittany's unpolished nails. It's not the kind of handhold they usually show in the movies but they've held hands so many times in every possible way that each one always feels like home. Besides, Brittany kind of likes that they're not palm to palm mirror image because sometimes that makes her feel like they're opposites and the way they do it now, right hand over right hand makes her feel a little bit more the same.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"No, I don't mind," Santana says absentmindedly. "God made the Earth I guess," she shrugs and her eyes trace patterns she finds in the stucco ceiling above them. Brittany wonders what Santana sees up there, but she figures some things, like solutions to magic tricks, are better left to the imagination. And besides she's distracted, because for a moment, she can't help but think how cute it will be when their children do the same thing. "Then He created man out of clay. That was Adam. He lived in the Garden of Eden where everything was perfect, except he was lonely. So God offered to make him a mate. All Adam had to do was give up a piece of himself. So God took his rib and made Eve out of it to be Adam's wife." Santana turns her head to Brittany and props herself up on one elbow. "Then they had sex, snuck a healthy midnight snack, and got kicked out of paradise forever. And that's the story people have been using for centuries to say women aren't as good as men and that there's something wrong when boys like other boys and girls like other girls," she rushes through her words as she tries to joke but fails miserably. She leans back again quickly wanting to prevent Brittany from seeing the pain in her eyes but Brittany knows. Brittany always knows.
Santana is both sad and mad now and that's not what Brittany wanted at all. She takes the hand she had been holding, brings it gently to her face, and kisses the lotiony palm. Brittany can't see it, but she feels the way Santana eases back into her stomach. "Is that what you did for me, San?" she asks softly. "Did you give up part of yourself to make me?"
"What?" Santana gets up suddenly, her book falling to the wayside, current page unmarked. She leans back on her hands and looks seriously at Brittany.
"Because I think I was lonely before and sometimes I think that maybe I was made specially for you," Brittany explains as she reaches her right hand to brush up and down Santana's soft arm. "Like when you call me because you want to watch those cheesy lifetime movies but you only remember the channel numbers for cable even though you've had satellite for a whole year now." Brittany looks to the ceiling herself because she's not remembering these moments, she's replaying them. "Or when you put gas in your car and I know you forgot to open the tank so I do it for you when you're inside paying because I'm still in the car." She looks back to Santana. "Why do I know these things if I wasn't made from you? How do I know them?"
Santana rolls over onto her stomach, her face that much closer to Brittany's, and keeps herself propped up on two elbows. Those elbows will need lotioning later. "Brittany, I have never sacrificed anything for you and I never will, because I don't have anything that means nearly as much to me as you do. If I ever had to give something up for you, trust me, it wasn't a sacrifice." Santana takes Brittany's right hand in both of hers and kisses her middle knuckle with her soft, soft lips. "You care about all the things everyone else has ever asked me to give away." Brittany looks at Santana's warm brown eyes, so soft and sincere with just a hint of sadness that have always whispered all the things Brittany didn't even know she ever needed to hear. She realizes in that moment how wrong she was about her piano theory, because they're still laying there hand in hand. And no, she doesn't think the world imploded and that they're in heaven now because that book is still on her chest, muffling the beats of her heart, and they still have homework.
She takes her left hand and brushes some of the hair from Santana's face. "What about Abuelita?"
Santana frowns. Sometimes she forgets how much they actually share with each other. Sharing beyond clothes, friends, and love. They share family too. Ever since that one night 9 years ago when Brittany burst into Santana's room repeating, "We have a little sister! We have a little sister!" And for the past 9 years they've both had a mom and a mami, uncles and tios, cousins and primos, and one unbelievably wonderful abuelita.
"Abuela makes her own choices," Santana says unaffectedly as she averts her eyes from Brittany, still trying to hide what can't be hid. She scoots forward and rests her head on Brittany's shoulder. Her body fits perfectly in the little space between Brittany's side and her arm. She pushes the forgotten book gently off of Brittany's chest to make room for the arm she drapes over her and she bends her right leg so her knee nudges softly against the other girl's leg. Brittany instinctively glides her right hand over Santana's back until she reaches her upper arm. She squeezes lightly there and brushes her thumb back and forth soothingly.
"I don't think I gave up a part of myself for you because you are the best part of me." Brittany feels her say it before she hears it. Soft wisps of air tickling under her jaw and vibrations pulsing feelings of fuzziness through her chest. "Maybe, I don't know," Santana starts fidgeting nervously with the fabric covering Brittany's stomach. "Maybe I was made from you," she says both hesitantly and hopefully as though even the thought of it is too much to bear. That maybe thoughts like this should be kept secret to protect them and keep them from flying away like children do with wishes made on shooting stars. "How else would I know the names of each of your freckles or what every one your smiles is saying?"
Brittany pouts, "I don't even have freckles anymore."
"I know. But I still remember them." Brittany looks to Santana with a crooked smile and true to her words, Santana knows exactly what it means. She blushes slightly before reaching up to kiss the corner of Brittany's lips. "Thanks for saying I was cute."
Santana settles back into Brittany's shoulder and Brittany twirls the ends of Santana's silky hair around her fingers. "San? Do you think there could have been a giant somewhere that just had too many ribs? And maybe she gave one to her friend who was an angel because angels don't have any bones at all. And then to thank her the angel created two beautiful cheerios from the same bone?"
"I don't know," Santana says as she starts tracing shapes into Brittany's stomach and Brittany again wonders what she sees. Thoughts that can't be described with words. Emotions that can't be labeled. "I hope so though. I like that story."
"Even the part where we come from Sasquatch?" Brittany chuckles and Santana's hand rises and falls with the movement. She loves to feel Brittany laugh.
"Especially the part where we come from Sasquatch," she repeats with her own giggle. "It totally explains how we learned to handle Sylvester's three hour Ironman workouts and the frustration of Schuester's idiotic word of the day lessons."
"You love both those things," Brittany almost chides.
"Maybe," Santana shrugs as best she can sidled up so snug with Brittany. "But from now on we'll blame the squatch for it."
Brittany stretches out one of her legs, slides it under one of Santana's and nudges it against the other. She wishes she weren't wearing jeans because she can't feel the warmth of Santana's skin over hers, but she takes the big toe of her barefoot and playfully picks at the elastic band of Santana's sock. She reaches over with her left arm and clasps her fingers together behind Santana's back, slowly tangling them together as if they were two big Sasquatch hands holding each other. "Tell me another story, San," she says, cheek pressed against dark hair. "Something cute. Like the Walls of Jericho."
"The Walls of Jericho? Cute? Really?" Santana laughs and Brittany simply nods. "Okay," she resigns quickly, always regarding Brittany's judgment higher than her own. "Joshua was leading the Israelites around for 40 years with the Ark of the Covenant like they had in that Indiana Jones movie. You know, the good one back when Harrison Ford still looked a little like Han Solo."
"Joshua? Is that the name of the reporter?"
Santana raises her head and rests her chin on Brittany's shoulder to get a better look at her girlfriend. "What reporter?" she says through her clenched teeth. She shifts her body and Brittany has to break her grasp from around her. She rolls over some more until half her body is supported by Brittany's the way that Santana herself is always supported by Brittany.
"You remember," Brittany says as she looks down at Santana's waiting face. "The reporter that falls in love with the rich girl because she used her leg to hitchhike a ride. Then they get married and live in a blanket fort until the trumpet plays and the walls of Jericho fall. That's how you know they're totally having sex."
Santana quirks an eyebrow, "You mean It Happened One Night?"
"No, it happened over lots of nights. Like a couple of weeks at least. You can't fall in love with someone in only one night," Brittany states like it is the most obvious thing in the world with an eye roll that looks so out of place on her face yet completely right because they both know she picked it up from Santana. Then she adds with no hesitation at all, "Unless that person is you of course."
"Oh, of course," Santana repeats jokingly. She raises her chin off of Brittany's shoulder slightly so her next few words come out completely clear. "Or, you know, you," she says just a little bashfully.
Brittany smirks. "Never mind telling the story, San. We should act it out," she suggests mischievously. Before Santana can respond, Brittany grabs her firmly around the waist and rolls them both over.
"But I didn't bring a trumpet," Santana protests in between giggles and if Brittany ever thought her heart had softened enough, that it couldn't possibly melt anymore for the girl, then she could not have been more wrong, because in this moment, knowing that Santana was smiling that smile for her, Brittany falls in love all over again.
"It's okay, Santana," she says as she flashes something Santana instantly recognizes as her I feel complete smile. "We don't need a trumpet. Didn't I tell you you're my piano?"
Thanks for reading!
(True story, I was deathly afraid of Ghost Jesus as a child. I used to have nightmares that he would come for me through a skylight we had in the kitchen and either possess me or take me away to some sort of ghost land.)