Yours was the only name I knew. The only name I could ever think of, and I think it was the same for you. I named everything Brittany. Everything. When my mom hid matching stuffed bunnies in matching giant plastic eggs for us, I named mine Brittany, and you named yours Santana. That's just how it was. It's what we always did. God only knows how many stuffed animal Brittanys I have hidden away in forgotten nooks and crannies of my room. And I know it's the same for you, because every single one of my Brittanys had a matching Santana counterpart—we would never dream of having it any other way.
The world would never be so cruel as to have a Santana without a Brittany to love her.
Right?
