"Don't stand there, Santana! Come in!" Leroy Berry excitedly said, the crinkles around his soft brown eyes accentuating at the sight of the young girl, his gesture just as inviting as the first time the teenager had seen him. Shuffling her feet slightly awkwardly, Santana smiled timidly at him with her hands deep in her jean pockets and complied, her steps short and a bit unsure, undoubtedly still trying to assimilate and asses her situation.
Well, there was nothing to assimilate really. Her parents had met the Berries almost two months ago when the men had moved from California to Lima – family reasons, she remembered – with their daughter, a girl she had yet to meet.
Her parents had decided that it would be a wonderful idea to plan a couple's night and, of course, why not invite the lovely gay men they had yet to learn the middle name of.
Surveying the cozy entrance with a mix of amazement and shyness so uncharacteristic in her – because, was it normal for a XXI century suburban house to have so much wood? –, the teenager followed the extremely tall man into another room, this one obviously more used and adapted to a normal family's everyday necessities. The perfect living room apart from hers, if you asked Santana. A small pile of worn books sat teasingly at the edge of a small coffee table, just in front of the biggest, most fluffy orange couch the girl had ever seen in her fifteen years of life.
Santana loved that kind of stuff, but like most girls her age she pretended to be too old to do so, or too mature to even stand it. She smiled lightly at the thought of touching the smooth, fuzzy surface with her bare hands, feeling the little hairs tickling her palm until a shiver ran up her arm and to her nose. It was one of the weird and unpronounced things she liked the most.
Lifting her gaze, her mind went into overdrive for a minute when she saw the – Oh my God. Oh my God – family piano. It rested in a corner, seemingly isolated from the life and colorfulness present in the rest of the, still somewhat rustic living room. Its polished surface, black and smooth, looking untouched for the most part shone due to the bright yellow and lime lamp hanging above the girl, casting its silhouette against the opposite wall.
Nearing it and ignoring completely the man standing in the doorway, Santana let her jaw hang open.
It was a Bosendorfer.
A Bosendorfer there, right in front of her young, disbelieving eyes. She hadn't expected to see one of those until she was at least thirty two years old, with a powerful career behind her and enough money to afford the White House.
Her hands itched to touch, but her eyes were content to roam freely over the thick legs of the instrument; admiring its wonderfully shiny cover propelled up by the lid prop; watching and imagining enthralled how pressing one of her fingers against one of the ivory keys would feel, how it would sound.
Wonderfully, no doubt about that.
It was only when she felt a huge hand closing gently against her right shoulder that she came back to her senses, her tan cheeks turning rosy – even when she believed such thing to not be possible, but still – and her bottom lip catching between her pearly teeth.
It was truly embarrassing, to have lost so much control while she was still trying to make a good impression on her new neighbors. She felt like covering her face with her hands, and maybe drying the drool she was sure was pooling at the corner of her mouth.
She had no time to do such thing as Leroy squeezed her shoulder compassionately one last time before he let her go, smiling broadly when he heard tiny footsteps and more heavy ones moving towards the staircase on the floor above them.
"Look who is finally coming! I already thought you had ditched me" scolded playfully the big man, his eyes sparkling with affection when a tiny brunette girl flied down the stairs, only stopping when the man's legs got in her way to the living room. Santana watched curiously as the girl hugged the man's waist, her tiny face smooched against his stomach while one of his big hands messed up her hair. The girl did not seem fazed in the slightest as she pulled her face away from Leroy and turned her whole body – not saying much, really – to Santana.
"Hello! I believe your name is Santana Lopez?" asked the tiny brunette, catching the teenager completely off guard. She didn't think she was that poised – kind of – when meeting somebody. In that moment, her tense entrance in the Berry house downed on her, making her cheeks turn a light red color – again, fairly improbable. The girl's eyes were sparkling in excitement, no doubt expecting the most wonderful things to come out of Santana's hands, but at the same time she held a maturity in her pose, her polite features, that the Hispanic teen didn't think was possible in a ten year old girl.
"Yes, that would be correct. And yours, young lady?" Answered Santana. Of course she knew the girl's name – Rachel was a common name, hardly difficult to keep in mind –, and of course it was unusual for her to humor anyone, let alone a kid; but if she was going to be responsible for that tiny ball of movement, she might as well try to start on good terms. Besides, the child did not look completely wild. It was kind of nice to be on the receiving end of such an interesting little person.
"Rachel. Rachel Berry. My middle name would be Barbra, in case you were wondering." The petite girl smiled cheekily, obviously proud of the dumbstruck expression present in the pretty girl's face, because she had put it there. She nodded a little to herself, and turned swiftly before running towards the living room a couple feet away, making her horrendous skirt float around her tiny waist and putting her Hello Kitty underwear on display.
Santana's most recurrent thought in that moment was one clearly repeated "What the fuck" over and over inside her head. Obviously they fed that kid with rainbows and cocaine. She had no time to prepare mentally for what awaited for her that surely eventful night – Oh, she couldn't wait to tell Brittany and Quinn about the crazy gay family that lived two houses away – when she was tackled by a short, bald man who had just descended the stairs.
"Santana! Oh sweetie, your hair is so beautiful and shiny! You'll have to tell Rachel what shampoo you use, I'm sure that by the end of the night she will have asked at least twice" babbled the tiny man, his pronounced nose and tendency to speak in a special way making it clear which one of the two men the little brunette resembled the most.
Realizing that she had been standing awkwardly in the hallway for almost a straight minute, Santana looked nervously around, trying to find a way to escape the suffocating aura that had settled mysteriously around her while the two men talked about 'etiquette' and 'too much grey' a few feet away. Sighing inwardly at the mental image of Quinn laughing at her for the ridiculous situation she had been thrust into by her parents, the girl decided to risk it and actually try to do something productive for the first time since she arrived at the house.
"Eh, Mr. and… Mr. Berry?" She asked somewhat timidly, her feet moving until she was standing by the living room door and she could hear the soft sounds of humming coming from inside. Santana smiled when the couple's eyes fell on her, her mind reeling to find the right thing to say to the parents of the little girl she was about to take care of for an indefinite amount of time. "You should leave know, it's almost" she looked at her watch for a moment and turned her arm away almost instantly, frowning when she realized that she hadn't assimilated the hour she had seen in her nervous state,"…time for you to leave."
She silently thanked whoever was watching her when the Berry men shared a small smile and she felt Hiram pat her shoulder softly, before he ushered her into the kitchen for a cell numbers' revision.
"Here," he pointed to the fridge, where a number of post-its and random papers supported by extravagant magnets contrasted strangely with the silver color of the fridge door, "are mine and Leroy's numbers. Do not hesitate to call us if something happens." He seemed completely serious, and Santana didn't know if she should contain her laughter for a bit longer until she couldn't be judged and frowned upon, or if she could just start doubling over in laughter right then and there, because she would be damned if an emergency happened and she didn't call her parents before she looked for Hiram's phone number in the mess of pink papers stuck to the fridge.
A few formalities and hugs later and both men were gone, leaving Santana sitting in the orange couch with tense knees and an attentive pair of brown eyes looking at her. Quinn made an appearance in her head again, this time laughing about how she let herself be intimidated by a ten year old hyperactive ball of hair and skin who didn't reach Santana's boob.
Where were TVs when they were really needed.
"Santana?" the small girl's tentative voice came from the other side of the couch, and the Latina felt strange enough to actually try to be nice to the brunette.
"Yes?" She asked in a high voice, not trying to coax the girl into a faux sense of familiarity they were not even close to yet, but letting a childish inflection tint the word. Rachel actually stared at her as if the one talking to a freaking ten year old were herself and not Santana. After a few seconds, Rachel's face brightened considerably as she shot up from her position at the sofa, instead moving towards Santana until she was standing in front of her.
"My dads always say that, for a situation to be relaxed and nice between two people, one should always be acquaintance with the other person."
What.
What.
"So, is it okay if I hug you now?"
Seriously. What. The. Hell.
That kid was more articulate than most of the people her age - and older -she knew.
What could she say to that, anyway? So, instead of paying attention to Quinn's laughter inside her head, Santana reluctantly opened her legs until there was enough space for the tiny body in front of hers to fit, and managing a sincere smile, she tugged on little arms covered in argyle until Rachel's head was squished against Santana's neck. Her tiny arms had encircled that same neck, relishing on the feeling of someone being so close to her. Someone other than her dearest fathers. She wasn't stupid, she knew what the problem was, why everyone at school and on the street made fun of her; avoided her; why this was the first time in over three months that someone other than her fathers hugged her, let her feel them this way, intimately and respectful all the same. Why couldn't everyone be like Santana, pretty and nice?
Finally pulling back from the embrace, the small girl smiled timidly for what seemed like the first time to Santana – and it probably was –, and took the older girl by the hand, gently tugging at it until Santana got up from the couch and trailed behind the little girl and to the- oh no.
The piano.
In that moment, Santana swore that she could feel her future – her heart – in that child's hands.
A/N: So, I'm sorry for not updating my other stories, I'm sure you must hate me right now, but I felt like this needed to be done. They will be updated, inspiration strucks when I less expect it.
I hope you like it, K. Now it's you turn ;)