A/N: A monthly glimpse at Brittany's pregnancy from the trains verse.
Nine Months – Month One
Brittany's late and they're trying to not get too excited. In fact, they're trying to not get excited at all. It's the third time they've tried, and the grand total of their expenses from trying will come out to just around $2,000.
Santana's not sure she's ever spent this kind of money just to try something.
"It's just not fair," Santana says, sorting bags of groceries into separate piles on the counter. It's one of the many little things that Brittany loves about Santana. Instead of just putting the groceries away, she organizes them first. A pile of frozen goods, a section of things to put into the refrigerator, dry goods - boxed, and dry goods - canned.
"I mean, it's really just pennies when you think about how expensive it's going to be once we have baby, Santana," Brittany says, snacking on a carrot and some hummus. "We'll probably spend $2,000 before the baby is even born on medical bills, furniture, and new clothes. Remember that car your parents got you when you were sixteen? Flying you back and forth from LA? Need I remind you of my best friends, the chest twins?" Santana rolls her eyes.
"I know, I just feel like my brothers are all having babies and they're expenses start once they're expecting and it's just—" Santana sighs and stops putting the groceries away. "It's just unfair. I love you and I want to have a baby and I want to do it for free while having fun like all the straights." Santana kisses Brittany lightly on the lips and returns to the groceries.
"Well, I guess you just have to remember that everything else about our big gay life is more fun since we get to be not like the straights."
Brittany's been going through a Joan Armatrading phase ever since she bought one of her records for $1.00 at a garage sale down the street, so the sound of Joan is the only sound in the house.
"I'm lucky, I'm lucky, I'm lucky," Brittany sings. "I can walk under ladders." She dances with just her shoulders, the way she does when she thinks no one is looking and Santana can't help but grin.
Santana's having trouble grinning lately. The thing is, she and Brittany have always talked about everything. That's the beauty of being in a relationship with your best friend.
Obviously things weren't always like that. Like during her horrible trapped in the closet days. Sometimes when they were in college. But for the most part, especially since they've been married, they've been pretty amazing on the communication—even when Santana sometimes wishes that some things could stay private.
"My stomach hurts," Santana says, pulling out of their driveway on their way to Quinn and Justin's.
"Maybe you have to poop," Brittany says, wrapping her gum in an old receipt.
"Britt, can you just not, please. That's gross."
"Please, Santana. Everyone poops. It's probably why your stomach hurts."
"I really just don't want to talk about that, okay?"
"Fine. I'm just saying, everyone does it. It'd be weirder if you didn't. Like you were a crazy alien who just fueled your body on the rays of the sun or something. Or sugar."
"Enough, Britt, okay?" Santana turns up the radio and they almost finish a whole song.
"You're just grumpy because you have to poop." Brittany says.
She just wants to talk about it. She wants to talk about Brittany's late period and talk about the fact that the last item in her shopping bag is a pregnancy test, but after the last two disappointments, she's afraid to bring it up.
So they don't bring it up. They make a big salad for dinner with lentils and grilled chicken and avocado and slices of mango. They both drink orange juice with a lot of bubbly water instead of wine, because even though they're not talking about it, it's on both of their minds. They talk about the crazy people they work with and President Rice and the rising cost of gas. They talk about Quinn and Justin without bringing up how precious baby Harper is and how Maria has called three days in a row to find out what their holiday travel plans are going to be like.
"So, should we do this?" Brittany asks.
"Should we do what?"
"I know you got a pregnancy test, Santana. I'm late and you never put that last bag away."
"Only if you want to, Britt."
"I want to."
Santana can tell Brittany is just as anxious as she is because they don't wash the dishes, opting instead to pile them in the sink to save for later.
It's one of the many things Brittany loves about Santana. She can be so messy about some things and so strangely compulsive about others.
Santana stands awkwardly in the bathroom as Brittany squats over the toilet, holding the self-test stick out underneath her.
"I'm done," Brittany says, pulling up her pants and laying the stick next to on the counter top.
"We should find something to distract us," Brittany says after about twenty-five seconds of watching the timer on Santana's phone. "Like a game!"
"Scattergories," Santana says. "Let's play Scattergories."
Santana sets the game up at the kitchen table, and Brittany requests a glass of water because she can't play Scattergories without a drink, but she may or may not be pregnant right now so water will have to do. Brittany picks card 11 and Santana rolls a B. With the battery operated timer of the game, neither are really sure how long they have to fill out the answers before the timer goes off.
"Should we go check the test?" Santana asks.
"Not before we check our score!" Brittany says.
"Okay. Baby foods."
"Breast milk," Brittany says.
"I got nothing."
"Famous duos and trios."
"Ben & Jerry's"
"Bonnie & Clyde" Santana says.
"Things found in a desk," Santana says.
"Binders."
"Nothing," Santana says.
"Vacation spots."
"Bora Bora," says Brittany.
"Bali."
"I get double points." Brittany says, taking a sip of her water. Santana raises her eyebrows at her wife, but continues with the game.
In the end, Brittany gets a whopping 17 points—Bad Boys, Bubonic Plague, Banking, Butterfinger, Babe, Boggle, Bonnet, Boddingtons, and Barnum & Bailey and Santana gets six with a lot of nothing and sympathy double points from Brittany for "Things at a Circus" being "Brittany" and "Bound" as a movie title since it is a lesbian movie.
(House rules in the Pierce-Lopez house: double-points for all things gay).
"I told you I'm better when I drink," Brittany says with a wink. There's silence again in the room, minus Joan Armatrading's "Eating the Bear". The records been flipped at least four times by now.
"You ready?" Santana finally asks.
"I guess." Brittany replies.
They clasp hands as they walk into the bathroom.
"You look first," Brittany says.
"Are you sure?" Santana asks. Brittany nods, somberly. Santana picks up the test, her fingers ginger, nervous.
She can't describe the feeling she has when she sees Brittany's face looking up at her. Her eyes are wide and glassy, nervous and hopeful. They remind her of the way Brittany used to look when they were in high school and she never knew if Santana would be loving and flirtatious or angry and repressed.
"Next time, Britt. I'm sure it will happen next time."
"It's fine," Brittany says. "Don't worry, Santana. It will happen."
They spend the rest of the evening quietly. Brittany talks on the phone to her sister, asking when she'll have time to visit her. Santana looks over some briefs and responds to an email from her mom.
"I love you so much, Britt," Santana says, once they're in bed and the lights are out and everything around them seems to have stilled. It's strange how their house now seems to big for the both of them, and how little they are, curled into one another in their own private corner of it.
"I love you more, Santana," Brittany says. She pushes herself closer into her wife, wanting to feel enveloped by their love.
"Impossible," Santana says, placing feathery kisses on Brittany's neck and shoulders until they both drift off into sleep.