Food for the Soul: Chapter 1
A/N: Hi hello it me. Longstanding reader, first time writer! I've been prowling through all these amazing Brittana stories and I finally got the inspiration to write one. There will be a lot of Spanish speaking in this story (it'll be the italicized quotes) but fret not! I will post translations at the bottom of every chapter. This story is very AU, especially with where the story takes place. I haven't seen a Restaurant!Brittana story so perhaps this does these babes some justice.
Glee isn't mine but maybe one day.
"I've got four carne a la planchas all day! Uno medium, uno medium rare, y dos well done!" the plumpy chef shouted, he then proceed to mutter to himself, "Osea, esos dos no saben que es carne buena ni si la vaca de donde vino se sentaría en su cara." Not that it mattered given that his insult was lost in the commotion occurring behind the kitchen line. On the other side of the kitchen window stood El Mercado's furious general manager.
"Miguel! Coño, donde esta la paella para la 51?"
"Ya viene! Clamita, Santanita!" Miguel says flashing the little Latina's least favorite crooked smile.
Within moments, Santana's signature scowl is wiped away by the placing of beautiful pink shrimp laying on a bed of golden rice. Grabbing the necessary utensils, the manager proceeds to make a beeline towards the couple sitting in silence—both on their phones. With just one glance at the table, Santana knew how her interaction would them would turn out. Clearing her throat—slightly to bring herself to their attention while also to relieve the awkward tension that settle upon the table—Santana flashes the blinding smile that landed her her job in the first place.
"Good evening, I have a two person paella de mariscos for the table." She places the pan in front of the couple along with their spoons and mussel bowl. "Will there be anything else I can get for you guys this evening?"
Looking up, Santana could see Sir Stuffington about to unleash a waterfall of complaints until his girlfriend interjected.
"No thanks, ma'am. We should be just about set. Right, Gerry?" the attractive brunette practically hisses to her date.
He simply nods and begins to dig while the woman sends an apologetic look towards Santana's direction. Leaving word with the couple that their server will be by to check on them, she turns on her heels promptly dismissing herself. Santana basically melts into the nearest service station—seeking only a few moments of undisturbed peace. Of course, in this industry those thoughts are only considered to be wishful thinking. Upon hearing the sound of glasses—there are distinctions between the sound of one glass breaking versus the sounds of multiple glasses breaking—the Latina releases a deep sigh through her plump lips. Checking her watch, she feels her signature scowl spread amongst her face along with the plummeting of her mood.
One hour down, six and half more to go…Fuck.
Sure enough, the following five hours were brutal. Santana was still nursing a head from all the terribly stupid decisions her wait-staff had made that evening. Thankfully, the last hour of the dinner service went smoothly as her closing server, Valentina, had made it her mission to be out of El Mercado as soon as possible. She would never outright admit it but, the sassy waitress was undeniably Santana's favorite. They both shared a wicked sense of humor and had similar experiences with their Latin families growing up. The only difference was that whereas Valentina's family chose to support her, Santana's did not.
"Alright, boss lady. The chairs are up; the PDR has been wiped down three times; and here are two Advil." Looking up from her laptop, Santana reaches over to grab the Advil and immediately spots the mischief in the young girl's black eyes.
"Thanks, Squirt. What would I ever do without you?"
"Hmm, I don't know. I think you may be on trial for several murder charges." she shrugs, letting a confident smirk spread amongst her thin lips.
"Ha. Ha. That was so funny I forgot to laugh. Now scram, kid. I know you have class tomorrow." Santana deadpans before shooing the younger Latina off. "And don't even think about trying that look on me. You know the rules."
Valentina groans, "aw c'mon, Santanita! Solo erés cuatro años mayor que yo. My 21st is next summer but you know age is not a problem for me."
"No," she emphasizes, "Ya lárgate de aquí. Te veo cuando te veo!" she says.
Without looking up from her laptop, she finally hears the younger girl relent. Not looking up, Santana grunts at Valentina's goodbyes and throws herself into her nightly manager journal. Before she even realizes, Santana is saving her work and filing it for the night. Gathering her belongings, she lets her eyes roam her surroundings. Now that the restaurant was finally settled down, she found herself falling in love with her job all over again—just like she does every night. The cool marble countertop that made up the bar glowed in the dim lighting and was perfectly paired with the wooden paneling all around the restaurant. The glows from the yellow lamps created an inviting atmosphere that was capable of soothing even the hangriest of people.
It's been five years since she stumbled upon the service industry. Five years of being able to give people a sensation that she's always desired but was never given: the warmth of a home. Walking through the hallway that cut through the kitchen, Santana let the lights finally shut off after a long day of work. She walks out the backdoor, locks up for the night, and bids her farewells to the establishment.
"Wow, estoy impresionada." Santana's small smile is instantly replaced by sly grin. Hearing a distinct click and inhale, she turns around only to be greeted by the sight of her protégé smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer. " I thought you would've been in there for at least another hour. I'm almost, dare I say it, proud of you."
Hopping the fence that separated the restaurant's back entrance with the patio next door with a practiced ease, the elder Latina practically glides into the chair and swipes the other girl's beer. "Don't pout, You'll give yourself more wrinkles than you already are," she states, while rolling her eyes. "Who is working tonight?"
"Lauren and Sam."
"Brilliant. I'll be back." Rising up, the manager makes her way into the dimly lit bar.
One of the best parts about her job—besides the obvious discount perks—was being apart of the tight knit community that made up the service industry. No matter where Santana would go, she'd always find herself surrounded by friendly faces. These were people who could relate to her and the bullshit that comes with territory. No one would work the typical 9-5 hours; nor would they be stuck behind a stuffy, monochromatic cubicle all day. The downside was that they all worked heinous hours—especially Santana.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Satan herself! To what do we owe this unfortunate pleasure?" asks the imposing woman behind McMaster's bar. Lauren was one bad ass bitch. She ran a tight ship and wasn't afraid of kicking ass—guests and workers alike. She was also one of the first people that Santana met when she first moved to Washington, D.C.
"Got off early, decided to take my frustrations out on y'all as opposed to my incompetent staff," she says shrugging, "I'll take the usual. Well, the new usual given that Holly hasn't gotten off of her lazy ass to fix your draft situation."
"Tell me about it, I'm about to start closing shop earlier if this doesn't change. And we both know how much I love my money," Lauren replies placing a shot of Jameson and a bottle of Stella Artois in front of Santana. "Hopefully it'll get fixed soon. Also, I'm headed out so just close out with Sam."
"Great. Thanks, Lauren. Just put it all on one tab—including Wonder Woman's drinks out there." Santana flashes her a kind smile and grabs the drinks before she makes her way outside.
Valentina was on the phone with whom Santana presumed to be her mother. She reached over and swiped one of her cigarettes all while choosing to ignore the pointed look being thrown in her direction. Lighting the stick, she sits back and allows the sensation of both the nicotine and Jameson to settled within her body. Sitting back, the general manager allows herself to relax for the first time that day. The final weeks of the blistering D.C. summer were finally disappearing paving the way for Santana's favorite season. It was a quiet night in D.C.'s Dupont Circle neighborhood. The only sound that could be heard was the breeze with the occasional car horn—much different than the usual ambulances and shouting homeless folk. It brought about a nice change, for once.
"You know smoking kills, right?" Valentina says with a teasing tone.
Santana snorts before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the Latina's face, "Oh because you're such a saint, Miss 'I'm drinking underage'. Tell me, what would Mother Teresa and Father Alex have to say about if they found out their precious daughter was, dare I say it, a smoker." At the mention of the girl's parents, the younger Latina's face instantly falls. Satan decides to have some pity on the poor girl, she was also reeling after a long day. "How are my favorite parents, anyway?"
"They're doing swell, as per usual. My dad finally got the finally parts for his prototype so he's starting his last phase of testing on Monday. My mom is practically pooping her pants about the fact that this project is finally taking off. She also wants to know when you're gonna come visit." Valentina's parents, Alex and Lola, were some of the most interesting people that Santana had ever met. To most people their relationship seems like something from a cheesy Hallmark movie, but they don't give a fuck about other people's opinions. That's part of the reason why Santana loves them so much. The other (of many reasons) for them being Santana's OTP was because they lived in Miami and never failed to extend an invitation to their home.
"Mm, probably when you shape up and stop working for me."
"Oh fuck off. Do you know how much fun we'd have mackin' on all these South Beach babes?!" Valentina begs with her pout out on full display.
Santana releases what felt like her millionth sigh that day and stubs out her cigarette. "Maybe. I'll consider it. When are they coming?"
"I dunno when my dad is coming but Mami should be here sometime within the next few weeks. Our passports are finally ready and you know she can't resist a trip to visit her favorite child." she says wiggling her eyebrows in an all too familiar manner.
"Aw, how sweet. Tell Lola that we can sign the adoption papers anytime." Santana retorts with a giggle.
"I meant me, loser." Valentina deadpans. It was no secret that the topic of Joe, Valentina's older brother, was a sore subject for the girl. Santana had only met her brother once and within moments she got lost in the extent of his doucheness. How those two came from the same parents of the Hernandez clan, Santana would never know. They spent the better part of their evening switching be comfortable conversation and quick puffs off of their cigarettes. Before they knew it, their giggly selves were being herded inside by Sam, the other bartender. Sitting in the vacant bar, Sam went ahead a poured the tipsy women another round of shots.
"Cheers, Trouty Mouth! May you never hire someone with larger lips than yours!" Vanessa slurs, raising the shot glass to her lips.
"Oh Val, you know that you're the only girl who's allowed to kiss these lips." he responds, adding a wink while flashing a what the Latinas guessed to be a charming smile.
"Maybe when you get a lip reduction and then use that excess to tissue to building yourself some boobs with a matching set of nether lips, we can have a chat."
Santana then proceeds to lose her shit. No matter how many conversations she has with the younger girl, Santana will never come out of one without crying of laughter first. The similarities between the two of them became more and more pronounced everyday.
"Ouch that hurts. Satan, are you sure you didn't give birth to this one?" Sam says with a hurt expression on his boyish face.
"No thank you. I'm not sacrificing this hot body for a pendeja like her—or anyone's for that matter. Besides, you should know by now that she's gayer than me."
Sam just grunts in response and presents the ladies their check. Once again, the bill for the plethora of drinks they had had that evening was next to nothing. Like clockwork, Santana pulled out a fifty dollar bill, left it in the checkbook and made her goodbyes. The trip home went a lot faster than she has ever remembered it being and soon enough she was walking through the foyer of her apartment. She was instantly greeted by the sensation of a warm purring ball of fur around her ankles. She picked up her little grey striped cat—Arya by law, Pookie by preference—and threw them bothonto the couch. The cozy living room atmosphere along with the soft purring of her cat had Santana's eyes beginning to droop. There was no point in waiting up for her roommate, he worked more than she did if that was even possible.
"C'mon lil' binch, let's go to bed." Picking up Pookie and settling the two of them on her queen size bed, Santana feels herself start succumbing to her exhaustion.
Tomorrow, I'm gonna spend my day off in bed. No exceptions.
With that the Latina feel into a deep slumber, for once not waiting to see what the next day would bring.
A/N: so...what did we think? I promise the stories picks up its pace and we shall see more of your favorite characters pop up.
Osea, esos dos no saben que es carne buena ni si la vaca de donde vino se sentaría en su cara. - Really, these two wouldn't know what good meat is if the cow that it came from went and sat on their face.
Miguel! Coño, donde esta la paella para la 51? - Miguel! Fuck, where is the paella for 51?
Ya viene! Clamita, Santanita! - it's coming! Chill, Santanita.
Solo erés cuatro años mayor que yo - you're only four years older than me.
Ya lárgate de aquí. Te veo cuando te veo! - get out of here. I'll see you when I see you!
estoy impresionada- I'm impressed.