A/N: Don't own Glee. (If I did, IKAG would have happened very differently). Also, title from Princess of China by Coldplay. I should probably mention I wrote the first part of this very mindlessly. I don't really like how it turned out, but, oh well. Writing is writing.
Once upon a time we fell apart.
"Santana, you're all bones. Like Jesus on the cross. Eat."
That could have been her first warning. She could have dropped the whole thing and backed away, retreating back behind her carefully constructed façade, never to re-emerge again. She could have smiled and obeyed her Abuelita. After all, she always had; from that first moment when her parents dropped her off in this tiny little house because they had no time to look after her themselves.
She could have. But something in her didn't want to.
I have something that I want to talk to you about.
"Okay, who cares? Talk with your mouth full."
She smiled, how could she help it? Memories of her childhood resurfaced from the deep ocean of her mind, bursting free of the waves like dolphins arching into the night. In a span of a few seconds, she remembered all those moments spent with this woman attempting to teach her the proper ways of the table. ("Santana, don't talk with your mouth full. Chew properly. No, no, no, don't do that – what did I say about talking with your mouth full?")
Their relationship was rocky, to say the least, but Santana relied on her Abuela in ways she never could with her parents. After all, through thick and thin, and when push came to shove, her Abuela was the one constant in her life – long before Brittany had even come into the picture.
Maybe that would be enough, Santana wished fervently to herself as she stood and coaxed her Abuela back to the kitchen table. As she gently laid her arms around the tiny woman, she thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, they had both been through so much together that it could cancel out the secret she was about to reveal. She mustered all her courage to look away from the tablecloth and into the eyes of the woman who raised her as her own.
I have to tell you a secret. A secret I've kept hidden for a long time.
"You need salsa?"
That could have been warning number two. For a split second, Santana wondered to herself if her grandmother was interrupting her on purpose – if she was cutting her off because some part of her didn't actually want to have this conversation.
Please.
There were very few times Santana said that word without being sarcastic. ("Please say you love me back, please.") It was one of those words that sounded so harmless – but almost always carried so much more meaning than it seemed. And tonight, it meant the world. Please listen to me. Please don't push me away. Please still love me the way I know you do, because you're the only real family that I've got.
You're so special to me.
"Santana, are you pregnant? Because I will beat you up with this chair."
It was literally the farthest thing from her mind. Santana couldn't fight the shocked and amused laugh that bubbled out of her mouth, as her eyes drifted back to the tablecloth while she tried to re-gather her wits.
Not, it's not – it's not that.
Her grandmother's face softened. It could never be that, Santana almost said, but she held the words back. She furrowed her brow slightly, trying to find the words to let her Abuela hear what she was going to say. And why she was going to say it now. Raising her eyes back to the other woman, Santana tried again.
It's just that I've watched you my whole life. And you've always been so strong. Done exactly what you believed, and never cared about what anyone else thought about you.
And it was true. Santana couldn't count with her fingers the number of times she had seen her grandmother be strong and uncompromising. Santana had always secretly admired her for her firm resolve, and since a young age had vowed to be just like her.
"Tell me about your life. I know mine."
Abuelita…
Santana found herself staring at the tablecloth yet again. She willed her eyes to look back into the other woman's. What she couldn't find in herself she found there: silent encouragement.
I love girls... The way I'm supposed to love boys.
It was like watching a light go out. Outwardly, her Abuela was still, calm and quiet, but Santana knew her grandmother very well, and she could distinctly see something shift in the older woman's eyes. Panic began to settle into Santana's system, and she was filled with an inexplicable urge to explain.
It's-it's just something that always been inside of me, and I really want to share it with you because I love you so much. I want you to know me – who I really am.
Her hand was over her heart, and she could feel it pounding heavily. This was one of the most difficult things she had ever done in her life – but she wasn't going to back out now. She felt herself leaning closer to the other woman across the table.
When I'm with Brittany, I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love.
Santana felt a warm rush of courage when she thought of the blonde, courage to continue on. She watched as the older woman blinked and moved her gaze to the side, inhaling deeply.
And I've tried so hard to push this feeling away and keep it locked inside… but everyday just feels like a war.
Her Abuela blinked, looking from one side to another, her head bowed.
And I walk around so mad at the world. But I'm really just fighting with myself.
The other woman lifted her head again, but her gaze still avoided Santana's.
I don't want to fight anymore. I'm just too tired. I have to just be me.
Santana watched as her Abuela's flickered to her once, before dropping again. She was uncharacteristically silent, and Santana narrowed her eyes nervously.
Say something, please.
When the older woman looked back at her, Santana felt a tinge of fear in her heart.
"Everyone has secrets, Santana. They're called secrets for a reason."
Santana held her breath while her heart sped up as the fear burst full force. Her grandmother just stared at her with a cold expression, her voice firm. Santana realized then that her grandmother had constructed walls around her heart. It would be close to impossible to get through.
"I want you to leave this house. I don't ever want to see you again."
Santana couldn't believe her ears. She was prepared for an onslaught of anger, certainly. Disappointment, maybe. But rejection? The way it was washing over her in overwhelming waves? She didn't think she could take it.
Abuela, you don –
"Go."
You don –
"Now."
Santana felt like someone had grabbed the heart in her chest, holding it still and keeping it from beating. She fought against the feeling, trying to get across one last time.
I'm the same person I was a minute ago.
"You made your choice. Now I have made mine."
Santana stared disbelievingly across the table at her Abuela.
But – why?
Her Abuela looked away, hands clasped tightly together.
"It's selfish of you to make me uncomfortable."
The hold on her heart turned icy and tight, and Santana felt her composure slipping as she fought back tears.
"The sin isn't in the thing, it's in the scandal when people talk about it aloud."
So you're saying it would have been better if I would have kept this a secret?
Her Abuela looked at her. Throughout her entire life, Santana had grown accustomed to the different faces of her grandmother: her glares of anger and frustration, her nods of pride and happiness. Her grandmother was nothing but expressive. And tonight, she was especially so.
Tonight, she was wearing a look Santana could identify instantly, though she had never seen it before. It broke over her like cold water trickling on her flesh, sweeping over her and seeping into her skin. It left a deep ache in her chest, crushing her spirit and crumbling down her resolve.
I don't know who you are, her Abuela's eyes said. It was infinitely worse than if she had actually said the words out loud.
Her Abuela rose to her feet and began to walk away. Out of the kitchen, out of Santana's life.
Abuela.
