Blaine, intimidated by the imminent infant, had fled. So. So that left Santana and Brittany and Her Sweetness, Whitney and Pierce, Maribel and Alma, Santana's dad and his new wife and Lil Mateo, Hummelfaberry and their daughter, and yes, Puck and Pam (y'know, Blaine's mom?) and their daughter, so dinner for 15. They decided to meet in Lima, so the old folks would have an easier time of it, and prepare dinner at Big Mateo's, since he had the room, and the ridiculously large table.
Her Sweetness and Elizabeth (not Libby, thank you, and never Barbra) created a corral of sorts with arm chairs and pillows and blankets and entertained the babies.
Santana's back ached just watching them. It didn't help that she'd been cooking for two days straight. Alma kept coming into the kitchen just in time to interrupt Brittany sneaking a kiss behind her ear (a sixth sense that one had), but Santana chased her off.
Brittany's fingers were so chapped from washing dishes and from cleaning in general— her nose had become so sensitive recently that she could detect the slightest funkiness— that her fingerprint no longer registered on her phone. Yet she persevered. Brittany knew that her mere being there made it possible for Santana to weather the most awkward situations.
Nevertheless, Santana's anxiety continued to rise. Brittany placed her hand at the base of Santana's spine and softly sang in her ear, "You'll never guess what I overheard…"
She'd been making her way to their room, past the bathroom, when she distinctly heard Puck.
"I just really want to thank you again…"
And then Quinn's voice, "There's no need, Puck. I was happy to. I'd just rather nobody else knew— except for Lucy— and not until later, okay?"
Santana wrinkled her forehead until she worked it out. Then her eyes got big. Then it was all she could do to keep from squealing.
"Omigod, omigod, omigod," she breathed, "What do we do?"
"Don't. Say. Anything." Brittany looked around. "We'll make sure to serve him a little extra wine then corner him and confront him. Watch his face. If we had a hidden camera it would make the best Vine."
Santana tipped her head, then, "Help me lift this thing out of the pan, would ya?"
Santana had spent vast amounts of time making lists and otherwise preparing for this event. She'd made sure to have enough on hand for the meat-intolerant, the gluten-intolerant, the dairy-intolerant, and yes, Quinn, the veggie-intolerant. And although it was not a tradition in any of their families, Christmas Crackers had become one in theirs— hard to find in Lima, Ohio. The timing was working out well so far, but Brittany reminded her that something or someone always managed to throw the timing off at the end. So Santana was doing her best to make it work and accept that it wouldn't all at the same time.
The bird was beautiful. Brittany snapped a few pictures before she cut into it with the sharpest knife in the block— because, of course, she was.
Brittany recruited Kurt, Quinn, and Rachel to take Brussels sprouts, green beans, broccoli, that godforsaken Tofurkey, hockey pucks, and little hot rolls to the buffet. Mashed potatoes followed. Dressing, all three kinds, wine, champagne, water, and juice set the scene, and then, in triumph, the sliced turkey. Everyone contributed the requisite Ohhhs and Ahhhs, and started filling plates.
It had all come off without a hitch.
When everyone was seated, they pulled their Christmas Crackers, and both babies cried, as you might expect. Alma said a relatively ecumenical grace, and everyone tucked in.
Everyone except Brittany, who gasped and grasped her wife's arm.
"How could I, a math genius, have miscounted? There's an extra place set!"
"I thought you did it on purpose," said her wife.
"What, for Blaine? He would never show his face at our table again."
"Um, I thought it was for Finn."
Brittany made a face and snorted, maybe a little too loudly.
Her Sweetness looked up, but Brittany shook her head.
"Omigod Mom, this is incredible!"
"Thanks, Shug, I'm glad you're enjoying it," said Santana, amid a chorus of agreement.
"Maybe… Maybe it's for someone who hasn't quite joined us yet," Santana said softly.
Brittany blushed, and began to eat, when the doorbell chimed— and it was one of those portentous doorbells as you might expect from Big Mateo— so Brittany jumped up to answer it.
Santana grasped her elbow. "I'll get it," she said.
The stooped creature's face was partly obscured by her Santa Claus hat. Chilly wind blew past her into the house, fanning the coals to flame in the fireplace.
"Do you think I could come in, just for a minute, just to get warm?"
Santana hesitated.
From across the room, Brittany called, "Would you please join us for Christmas dinner?"
The woman straightened and removed her hat. "I thought you'd never ask."