Alone in the glow of her laptop, Santana mumbled under her breath. "Twelve hundred… Fourteen hundred… Twenty two hundred… Vete a la verga culero!"
"Language, Santana!" came a voice from the doorway. Maribel Lopez, halfway through transporting a basket of laundry, paused in her movement through the hall and entered Santana's bedroom.
"What's worth cursing about this late at night, mija?" She put down the basket and took a seat next to Santana at her desk. "Why aren't you asleep, anyway?"
"New York apartments," Santana sighed, "Even a tiny little attic is more than a thousand dollars a month."
"Well, it's definitely not Lima, Ohio," grinned Maribel. "Heaven forbid you'll just have to find a job!"
"Funny, Mami." Santana cracked a smile herself. "I just need enough time to make it big when I get there, without blowing through our savings. I want Britt to be working on her GED, so she won't have all that much time for a job. I need to do this right. I don't want to miss my big break."
"Don't discount all the opportunities," said Maribel gently. "Sometimes you can't plan everything. You're so serious about this, Santana! It's exciting! Maybe things will fall into place better if you just look at it as a happy adventure. You know, relax."
Santana's eyes cast downward again, to her hands which were still resting on the keyboard. Relax. Isn't that what Brittany said, too? She thought.
Monday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings were usually spent by Brittany at Lima Dance, the little storefront studio where she'd been taking lessons since she was a toddler. The front windows were floor to ceiling glass, and if you sat in the Lima Bean, you could see across the street through those windows as the dancers twirled like silent tornadoes.
It was one of Santana's favorite things to do: she'd grab a hot black coffee and sit on one of the stools facing the street, peering into the building across the street at her blonde dancer. After the lesson, one of them crossed the street to wherever the other one was and they walked home together.
"You know, you could come in and watch me, from inside the studio," Brittany sometimes told her, but Santana preferred to watch from the safety of the coffee shop. She liked to watch the dancers without hearing the instructor's stern calls of "One, Two, Three, Four!"; her earphones in, her ipod set to whatever music she felt like hearing. Sometimes she'd grab a magazine, but she'd never read it. From the moment she sat down, she was transfixed, watching her girlfriend dance.
It was Thursday night, which meant advanced ballroom dancing. Santana watched as Brittany demonstrated some step to the rest of the class with Mike Chang, and then with some other tall dancer boy. She could see the instructor's mouth moving, her hands clapping approvingly. Then, the whole group tried it: four sets of partners twirling in time. It was wonderful to watch: the flash of Brittany's blonde hair, the sweep of her limbs. She was regal. She was perfect.
People shuffled in and out of the coffee shop, occasionally getting loud, but Santana remained an island. Her eyes were wide and dilated,
They were beautiful, like graceful plastic bags caught up in a circular gust of wind. The sun was going down and the buttery lights from the ceiling of the dance studio lit their faces and moving bodies.
Suddenly, Santana was hit with the familiarity of it. She'd been watching this girl dance through the same sets of windows like this for years, and while she always knew that Brittany's dancing was perfect, she hadn't realized how perfect these moments had been. There wasn't much longer she'd be able to do this. Their whole life as they knew it was about to change.
She didn't notice she was crying until she felt the teardrops hitting her hands, which were still clutched around the empty paper coffee cup. Time, which had been standing still, started to rush forward again. Santana saw the dancers grabbing their backpacks and slapping each other on the back, mouthing, "See you next time!"
Like pulling herself out of a deep sleep, Santana rose from her stool and wandered over to the door. Tossing her empty cup in the trash, she stepped out onto the sidewalk to see Brittany running across the street towards her.
"Santana!" She wore a big grin. "How was the view from the Lima Bean? Wanna go get a pizza? I'm starved!"
Santana pulled her lips into a smile, but her eyes seemed to defy her control. Tears kept streaming down her face, almost of their own will.
"Hey," Said Brittany, her face falling. "You okay?"
"Yup," Santana gulped. "Let's go get that pizza."
"Wait a minute, Sad Panda," Brittany said, scooping up Santana's hand in hers as they walked. "What's got you upset?"
"I'm not really upset, I guess," Santana said, looking at the ground. "I was just watching you and… and… Britt, you're so beautiful when you dance," She brought her eyes upward. The tears flowed even more freely now. Santana was a little embarrassed.
Brittany beamed and pulled her into a hug. "Santana, that's so sweet! But you've watched me dance a hundred million times and you've never gotten weepy about it before. Usually you just get really grumpy about where Mike Chang puts his hands."
"I don't know," Santana said. "I just… I hope I get to keep seeing you dance in the future."
"Of course you will. We'll be dancing together at our 80th high school reunion."
Santana giggled, and choked a bit.
"Are you going to be sad to leave Lima Dance someday?"
"Sure, I love this place," Said Brittany. "But I can dance anywhere, and I'm sure there's tons of studios in New York. Which, I was going to tell you before you went all sentimental… I'm certain certain, I'm coming with you wherever you're going to go. And if that's New York, well, I'm excited. I even have ten dollars saved up, hidden in my underwear drawer to help us start our new life."
Santana smiled. No matter what happened, they'd be together. And in that moment, she felt every muscle in her body relax, just a little bit.