I sigh. I took a week and half off to spend time with my daughters over Christmas break and it's rapidly coming to a close. Yesterday was New Years' Day and we all go back to work and school in two days. I try and calculate how much longer until I retire. I've enjoyed my time with my kids, and they've seemed to enjoy it too. Of course, that's excluding Brittany and the trip to Santa Fe to visit my in-laws. She was constantly talking to Santana the entire time she was there, mostly video chatting with her on her phone. I swear I saw Santana more than my mother-in-law. Not that I'm complaining of course. She's loads more pleasant, especially considering how she could turn Brittany from mopey to happy in a quarter of a second.
I hear the shower finally turn off. Brittany has a terrible habit of drowning herself in hot water for a good half an hour.
The doorbell rings and seconds later Brittany scampers down the staircase, clad only in a towel. She flings open the door, not even checking the side window to see who it is, to reveal a shivering Santana.
Santana hates the cold; I have never seen her wear less than three blankets when she lounges around here. From my spot in the kitchen I see Santana's jaw drop, her eyes looking everywhere but her face. Brittany turns her head partially and glances at the living room, making sure no one is there. She doesn't think of checking the kitchen, where I am still half-hidden behind the pantry door. Brittany leans forward, does a little wiggle, and whispers something in Santana's ear. Santana grins and blushes.
Brittany grabs Santana's hand with the hand that's not clutching at her towel and leads her into the kitchen, where I hurry to make myself look busy and not at all like I was just spying on them.
"Hey Mom, we're gonna have a Disney movie marathon tonight. Keep San company for a minute while I go put on some clothes?"
I nod and say under my breath, "Why? It's not like they'll be on very long anyway."
Judging from Brittany's indignant "Mom!" and Santana toeing the tile floor, I didn't say that quite as quietly as I thought I did.
After my daughter scurries back up the stairs, I take a second to glance at her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. It feels good to say that. I had waited months, years, to be able to say that, and I was beyond happy when they finally told me it was official.
That November day I was busily clacking away on my laptop when Brittany entered the family room, Santana a step behind her, their hands linked together. That was the first thing I noticed. They only ever held hands when one was pulling the other somewhere; when they were stationary they would link pinkies. But then their fingers were intertwined, melting into each other.
Brittany drew in a deep breath then said, "Mom? Can we talk to you? It's important."
I nodded, closed my laptop, and moved from the little desk in the corner to the oversized armchair in front of the TV and motioned for the girls to sit down on the couch next to me. They sat down at the same time, perfectly synchronized. Brittany looked like she was collecting her thoughts. Santana ran her thumb along the side of Brittany's hand and she seemed to draw courage from this.
She took another deep breath.
"Mom… you know how you used to tell me that story about the princess who fell in love with the wizard, but it turned out the wizard wasn't really a wizard at all and it was really just the wizard's love for the princess that was special, because love is magical?"
She started out slow, but gained confidence with each word.
"Well I feel that magic love, but not with a wizard. I feel it with another…"
She abandoned whatever analogy she was going for and blurted out the rest of her speech, as though holding onto the words for too long would physically hurt her.
"Me and Santana are in love. We're a couple."
She ground her teeth together once, bracing herself for the impact of whatever I said next, while grasping Santana's hand so hard their skin tones lightened a few shades.
I said the first thing that came into my mind. "Well of course you are!" I mentally slapped myself on the forehead for my lack of tact.
Two sets of eyes widened. After several long seconds, my daughter finally choked out an eloquent, "What?"
Despite my best efforts to not laugh, I let out a little chuckle and played it off as a cough. It was believable. It was getting to be winter and they might have been able to buy that I had a cold. Might.
"Sweetie, you two aren't exactly quiet when you're together."
Santana blushes and moves her free hand to cover Brittany's. Britt turns her hand over so she can grasp both of Santana's hands.
"But I thought we…" Brittany stuttered and trailed off.
"Brittany, you could wake up the living dead." Brittany blushes spectacularly at that. I felt a pang of guilt at making them squirm, but I pushed it away. I thought that after hearing their activities for so long I deserved to have a little fun with them.
"And Santana, you're not exactly quiet either."
She bit her cheek and fidgeted. The two girls looked at each other and seemed to have an entire conversation in a glance. Brittany moved her free hand, which had previously been gripping her thigh, to cover Santana's two hands.
"So you're okay with this?"
At that, I genuinely felt guilty for leading my daughter to believe I would be anything but okay with her relationship.
"Of course, sweetie. You're lucky. Not many people find love so early in their lives." The two girls shared a relieved smile. "But I do have a question: why now? I mean, why did you pick now to tell me?"
The smiles melted off of their faces.
Brittany began to explain to me the commercial that was set to air that would out Santana to the entire state. Thoughts flew through my head at lightning speed, varying from "what kind of sick person would do that to a teenager?" to "that's why there was such a suspicious lack of noise last night and why their faces looked tear-streaked."
Then Santana spoke for the first time and said how she wanted to tell my husband and me separately so she would get more practice before she had to tell her own parents. I had known the Lopezes for over eleven years. They were nice folks, sure, but they were always busy, never really paid Santana a great amount of attention, and were quite religious. I could see why she would be nervous coming out to them.
I finally got up and threw my arms around them in a big bear hug. Brittany melted right into the hug; Santana tensed before relaxing and hugging back. I pulled back after a few long seconds, but still kept my hands on their backs.
"Why don't you two go upstairs? I'll call you down when your father gets home and we can tell him together."
Brittany nodded. I stood up to let them leave.
Once their retreating forms disappeared around the staircase, I went back to sit at my desk, but didn't open the lid of my laptop. I stared at the largest of the many pictures I had adorning my workspace, one of Brittany's class photos from kindergarten. I took in her blazing blue eyes, the same eyes I had looked into and saw nothing but sheer love and adoration just a minute prior.
I didn't tell them, but it was blatantly obvious they were smitten with each other, even at a young age. I knew they had tried to conceal their relationship, but even if I didn't hear those noises that I would never be able to unhear emitting from Britt's bedroom, I still would have been able to see a pair of lovebirds.
Brittany had never been very good at hiding her feelings towards Santana, and Santana was even worse. The way they would look at the other when they thought no one would see, the way they were just as content to sit in silence and watch a movie as they were to play a loud family game of Taboo. That was love. It was nothing like what Brittany had with that poor crippled boy that used to come around, and I had known they wouldn't last. I didn't even bother remembering his name. Oh sure, I would manage to remember it when he was right in front of me, but now, months later? It was totally forgotten. Insignificant details like that had a tendency to leak out of my mind; something I think was inherited by my first-born.
I heard the garage door open and Ashley, still on a high from turning nine the day before, bounded through the door, my husband emerging seconds later. After I greeted them and asked about Ashley's play date, I sent her off to take a bath and called down my two other daughters—one by blood and one by love—to talk to my husband. I pulled him into the living room instead of the family room this time and waited for the two teenagers to come down the stairs.
I saw my husband's eyes flick down to their joined hands as a small smile appeared on his face. The two girls again sat down perfectly in sync. I saw Brittany's lips start to move but I was too much in my own world to listen too carefully to what they said. I jolted myself out of my thoughts once I saw that she was done talking and shot her father a nervous look.
A second passed.
Another second.
Then I heard my husband say, with as much sass as one Santana Lopez, "Is this supposed to be news? Next time you want to keep something like this a secret, at least try to muffle yourselves!"
I saw their eyes widen for the second time that day and grinned. I made sure I paid the utmost attention to the rest of that conversation.
That had been almost three months ago. Now Santana, the third daughter I never had who lives at my house nearly as much as I do, stands in front of me, fidgeting with her nails.
Not that I could really blame her for being nervous, of course. Last week I had caught her in a… compromising position.
It was the day after Christmas and we had just gotten back from Santa Fe. Santana waited on the wooden swing on our porch. She looked as miserable as ever in the frigid weather, but as soon as Brittany opened her car door, her face lit up and she rushed to her. After she helped us carry our luggage in, exchanged pleasantries with us, and ruffled Ashley's hair, she disappeared with Brittany.
Nearly two hours after that, I carried the presents Brittany had received up to her room. I knocked on the door, but I only heard music blasting so I opened it, only to be confronted with Brittany on top of her girlfriend, leaned forward so they were only inches from each other, their legs tangled together, and Brittany grinding for all she was worth.
I wish I had a time machine. No mother deserves to see their child like that.
Santana yelped and grasped for the covers, cocooning herself in them, while Brittany half-dove, half-fell off the opposite side of the bed. I dropped the stack of boxes I was carrying, one arm flying to cover my eyes while the other desperately searched for the door handle.
I managed to stammer out, "Sorry, I didn't know… I mean…"
Smooth.
"We haven't seen each other in a week, what the hell did you think we were doing?"
I couldn't even correct my daughter to tell her that it had actually only been three days; my sole focus was escaping. Once I was in the safety of the kitchen, far, far away from the upstairs bedrooms, I considered a good, strong drink before I shook the idea from my head and reminded myself that it was barely noon. At least this time they had the common sense to try to cover up the noise.
I didn't have a problem with them sleeping together. I knew I probably should have and been a proper parent and all, but I wasn't going to be the one who told my grandkids I forbade their moms from sleeping together. They obviously loved each other, and it's not like they could get pregnant anyway. Plus Santana was legally an adult; Brittany was a month shy of eighteen. There's not much I could have done about it if I did have a problem with it.
I thought back to the first time Santana slept over after they came out to us.
It was a Saturday morning when they appeared in the kitchen, fingers laced together. They sat down on the counter stools and Brittany scooted hers over so her thigh pressed against Santana's. Brittany looked completely at ease; Santana looked as rigid as a plank. When I turned to face them, she desperately searched my eyes. It took me a second to realize: she was looking for my approval. I quickly smiled at her and nodded, placing a heaping stack of pancakes in front of the girls. Santana visibly relaxed and started eating with Brittany.
They laughed over the comics together like any other Saturday after Santana slept over. It was only when I turned back to put the bottle of maple syrup on the counter that I noticed it: Santana was wearing matching ducky pajamas; Brittany was wearing black sleep shorts and a red tank top. They were wearing each other's clothes. They swapped pajamas. My heart melted; I had to turn around to collect myself.
That became a common thing. Brittany especially loved to wear all of the Cheerios gear that had Lopez – Captain embroidered on it.
A few hours after I had walked in on them, Santana made her way down the stairs. While she struggled to lace her snow boots up she mumbled something to me about having to go visit her aunt. She was quite intent on staring at her boots, her hands, and nothing else, least of all me.
I grinned. I knew I would regret it, but I just couldn't resist.
"I never took you to be a bottom, Santana."
Her face flushed. She mumbled something again, and sped out of the house with only one boot on.
I chuckled. Not too shabby. A fifty year old mother managed to turn the Santana Lopez into a blubbering, blushing mess. I distinctly remembered her saying once that ethnic people don't blush. Boy, has she proved that one wrong.
It took Santana two more visits before she was able to look me in the eye again.
Ten minutes after that, Brittany confronted me.
"Mom, what did you say to San?"
"Why?"
"She texted me saying that if ethnic people blushed, she would've been blushing the whole drive home." There we go.
"I just told her I never took her for a bottom." Britt's jaw dropped. I grinned. "Never took you for a top either."
She blushed furiously. "Mom!"
"Just saying."
"I need to go sleep this off." And with that, she hurried out of the room.
I just want to point out that I held back. I could've used any number of great lines here, like "I can imagine you're exhausted," or "I think you've spent enough time in bed," but I held those gems in. I really had to work on not embarrassing those poor kids anymore.
The soft screeching sound of a kitchen stool being pulled out from the counter jolts me back to the present. Santana perches on it, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. I sigh and hop up on the stool across from her.
"Sorry, Santana. I guess I just like to press people's buttons. I guess it entertains me in some sick way."
To my surprise, Santana just laughs. "Brittany inherited that from you. She loves messing with people. Rachel Berry especially."
I nod, recognizing the name. Neither girl seems to care for her very much. "Good to know being tactless runs in the Pierce family."
"That's okay. I wouldn't mind if our k—," she cuts herself off and bashfully looks down at her folded hands. For a second I think she's going to revise what she said, shifting the words around to make it sound less tender and more ambiguous in that fast-thinking Santana way, but she surprises me again, surprises us both really, if the look on her face is anything to go by, when she completes her sentence. "I wouldn't mind if our kids inherited that trait, too."
Her hands fidget between us and I'm about to act on the urge of diving over the counter top and tackling her in a hug when Brittany returns.
"Ready, San?"
Santana's face lights up and any awkwardness of our conversation dissipates. Brittany grabs her waist and when Santana jumps off of the high stool Brittany twirls her twice in the air. Santana giggles and pecks her on the cheek. Brittany's hand takes hers and pulls her down into the basement, happily jabbering about which Disney movie they're going to watch first.
That's another thing that's pretty obvious in their relationship. My daughter has got Santana completely and utterly whipped. She's truly got her wrapped around her finger. I'm almost certain Santana's seen enough Disney movies to last a lifetime, but if Brittany wants to watch The Aristocats or 101 Dalmatians or The Lion King for the umpteenth time, well then that's at the top of Santana's list of things she wants to do.
I turn back to making dinner, Santana's last words to me replaying in my head. And I have no doubt, none whatsoever, that she plans on having kids with Brittany. She plans on spending the rest of her life with Brittany.
They've already become domestic enough already. Just last week when I went into Brittany's bathroom to tidy up, I saw the other toothbrush in the holder, the makeup a darker shade than my daughter's in the cabinet, the shampoo for thick curls in the shower. I was already bursting with happiness for my daughter after seeing this, but I was overjoyed when I saw I didn't even have to clean anything. The bathroom was spotless. The bedroom was ship-shape. It was no doubt Santana's doing; Brittany had always been disorganized with her belongings.
Brittany's room—I should really say Brittany and Santana's room—provided me a glimpse of the future. I could imagine going to their apartment in New York or LA (there was no way either of them would want to stick around here) and seeing the same thing.
When I call my family to dinner an hour later, I see it again, that same adorable domesticity. Santana sits to the left of Brittany since she's left-handed so they can hold hands. They used to do the same thing before they were official and thought they were so slick and no one would notice their joined hands under the table. Now their hands are connected together on top of the table and it's rare they let go of each other once the meal starts. Brittany only passes Santana the food she likes, Santana butters only half of Brittany's baked potato because she knows she likes to draw patterns into the unbuttered half.
And after dinner when Ashley begs Santana, who she absolutely adores, and her big sister Brittany to play Twister with her, Santana complies. After Santana makes a case for the unfair advantage Brittany has on the game since she's so flexible (I don't want to know how and to what extent she knows this), Santana plays alone with Ashley while Britt is in charge of the spinner.
And when Santana crosses over Ashley and leans down to tickle her to the ground, I can see Brittany tenderly looking on and I know she's picturing the same scene ten years in the future, except the little girl would have light brown hair and blue eyes and tan skin, and there would be the addition of a little boy with blonde hair and dark brown eyes.
When Santana and Ashley can't laugh anymore and Ashley goes about smoothing out the game mat, Santana catches Brittany's eye, grins, and leans forward for a chaste kiss. When Ashley makes a gagging noise and tells them they're being gross, Santana just raises an eyebrow before diving back in for a tickle fight. Brittany stares on with that same soppy smile again and when she sees me giving her a knowing look, she blushes and fiddles with the spinner.
I walk back into the kitchen and chat with my husband about his day. While he does the dishes, I can't help thinking that Brittany better get used to washing the dishes or at least get a nice dish washer, because Santana's going to be the one that cooks.