"Tomorrow"
I awoke from my dream to find the curtains pulled and the doctor standing over her, chart in hand. I untucked my legs from the chair and stood. The ache worked its way out of my legs, but remained hidden deep inside me.
"Ms. Berry," he continued looking at the chart as he spoke. "We're going to run a few more tests today. We'll be able to give you an idea of her prognosis tomorrow."
"Tomorrow. Ok." I willed tomorrow not to come. In my childhood, "tomorrow" was always associated with the sun coming out and bright red curly hair. In my adolescence, "tomorrow" was a threat, so often associated with yet another day thrown in the dumpster by the jocks or cheerleaders. In my Brooklyn days - our Brooklyn days - "tomorrow" was enough to soften my heart and send jolts between my thighs. Lately, "tomorrow" meant another day of broken promises. If the doctor's "tomorrow" was the same as our "tomorrows," I should pack up my things and leave tonight. Somewhere inside of me, it seems, hope still lives. I tucked my legs up underneath of me, settled into the chair, and dreamed of "tomorrows" past.
...
While my days were consumed with lines and notes and stage directions, my nights - when I struggled to sleep and stared out of the fire escape window - my nights were filled with her. By Wednesday, I struggled with bursting out of my living room and knocking furiously at her door, but I knew that once I saw her eyes, I wouldn't find anything clever to say. I'd be weird Rachel Berry, arisen from high school, ruining romantic opportunities at every step. Scaring potential love interests away with my emotional static cling and knee socks. So I waited. I didn't wait long.
On Thursday night, a crash erupted from her apartment and jolted me from my fire escape dreams. Clad in short gym shorts and a camisole, I tiptoed to the door. Another crash. Broken glass? I rushed to the bedside table and grabbed my phone, then snuck back to the door and quietly twisted at the deadbolt. Another crash. Santana's hoarse voice.
Immediately, I thought of break-ins and robberies. But it was past midnight, past Sargeant Lopez's workshift. And she was a freaking cop, she wouldn't be throwing glasses at a criminal. I'd told her that I could never save her the way that she saved me. Now, I wasn't sure.
I quietly pulled the door open and tiptoed into the hall, phone still in hand. My knock echoed in the hallway. "Santana?" It was less the sound of a whisper and more the sound of fear personified.
Loud footsteps crashed toward the door. I shuffled back to my door, ready to jump inside and turn the deadbolt.
A crack in the threshold. Brown eyes. Weary, glistening brown eyes. Her chest heaved. Her face flushed.
"Sorry, I'm sorry. Everything's ok." A whisper. "Just go to sleep. I'm ok."
I stepped closer, hoping to be invited inside, or offered a hand. She pushed the door so that I could only see one eye. "I'm sorry, Rach. Just go to sleep ok? I'll talk to you tomorrow. Promise." The door closed.
I should have known. At that moment, I should have run for my life. I should have begged Kurt to let me stay at the loft just until I could break my lease and find a new place. Instead, I was even more intrigued. And worse, for some reason I thought maybe I could save her. I wasn't sure of what, but maybe I'd finally be able to repay her.
When I pulled my door shut on Friday morning, a note was taped just beneath the peephole.
Rachel,
I apologize for the noise last night. I'd really like to see you again under better circumstances. I have a regatta tomorrow, if you're around. (Believe it or not, I occasionally present myself to the public in that ridiculous spandex outfit.)
Harlem River at 10th Ave. 10am.
Santana
My heart jumped and pulled and frayed, not only because of the opportunity to see her again (and in that spandex), but because this was weird, right? Loud noises the night before. She had clearly been upset about something. And now, she wanted me to come up to the Bronx, more than an hour's train ride away, to see her play in her boat?
But, I was able to reason myself out of the oddity of it all - we had barely become friends, I couldn't expect her to bare her soul to me just because I came knocking. And, deep down, it was very clear to me that I wanted to see her again. When my thoughts every night turned to her, why not?
In all my years living in and idolizing New York City, I never thought I'd travel that far up on the 1 line. Almost to the end. The seasons were beginning to change. All along the river reds, oranges and browns clouded my eyes. An early autumn morning.
As the cool breeze whipped along the river, I pulled a sweater on over my tank top, and pushed my rolled-up jeans back down. I laid a blanket on the riverbank and pulled out my latest script notes.
"You made it." Santana stood over me in a navy blue warm up suit, hiding her spandex for the time being. I stood to greet her.
"Hi. Of course I made it. I wouldn't miss the opportunity to make fun of you in that outfit again." I smiled and felt her arms wrap around me and pull me into a hug.
"After my race, I'll join you. There's a social, too, if you're interested."
"Ok, I'll think about it." She started to back away. "Good luck on your race!"
"Thanks! I'll see you in a bit." As she walked away, she pulled off the warm-up jacket, revealing a racerback spandex top and the tanned, toned muscles of her back. Then, she disappeared for the next 45 minutes.
I lost myself in my script and notes. With the show set to open within a few weeks, most of my spare moments were consumed either with the nuances of my character or with thoughts of Sergeant Lopez. Gunshots brought me back to reality. I jumped to my feet, scrambling to grab my notes until I heard cheering and shouts of encouragement. The races had started. The boats in front of me were long and powered by eight women. Not Santana. I collected the scattered sheets of the script and went back to reading.
Almost an hour later, Santana was lined up, oars grazing the water as she waited for the start. I stood on my tip-toes to get a better view. I walked farther away and up a hilly part of the bank until I could distantly see both the start and finish line. She seemed all grace and fluid movement as the oars danced and the boat glided across the water. Once she passed my spot on the hill, it became more difficult to see the lengths between boats, so I just clapped my hands and shouted her name as though she was racing toward first place. I stood atop the hill for about fifteen minutes as they cleared the boats. I looked for Santana docking, or making her way back to the start. After fifteen minutes elapsed with no sign of her, I was back to my blanket and script.
"Hey." I felt the blanket pull as she took a seat next to me. Sweaty hair, in the drying phases, matted to her forehead. A sweaty sheen glistened on her bare arms. She pulled her sweat-pant clad legs to her chest and looked over at me. "Thanks for coming. Sorry you had to see me lose."
"Oh did you lose? It's so hard to see." I smiled and nudged her with my shoulder.
She held my gaze for a moment, then looked out over the water. "There's a reason that short people don't row, but I just can't get enough of it."
"Losing shouldn't stop you from doing something that you love." Our eyes met again. Her brown irises fit perfectly with the reds, oranges, and yellows of the autumn afternoon.
"Yeah. You're right. So the social is down the 1 about fifteen minutes or so. They'll have free drinks and food. Will you come?"
"I'd love to."
"Ok, I'm gonna grab a shower at the boathouse and change. I'll be back in thirty minutes. Wait right here."
When she returned from the boathouse, she was the epitome of rower chic. She wore boat shoes, tight sky blue chinos, and a black polo that popped against her tanned skin. Black-framed glasses set atop her nose and a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder in place of the ruddy sweat-stained gym bag from the first time I'd met her. This look was certainly a surprise. I'd seen her dressed up before, but I didn't think she would be quite so natural in the preppy look.
"Ready?"
I pushed the blanket into my giant tote bag and stood. "Let's go."
The bar was full of people dressed just like her. She easily fell into conversation with middle-aged men in blue blazers, and young women with pearls weighing down their ears.
I snuck off to the bathroom, only to find three people ahead of me. In line, I glanced in her direction. Her head nodded as she acknowledged the older gentleman in conversation but her eyes were on me. I felt a flush in my face. Looking back up, I caught her eyes again. She took a sip from her tumbler. Over the top of her glass, brown eyes connected with my own. I bit my lip and held her gaze. From afar, she appeared to excuse herself from the conversation and make her way toward me.
"You ok?" In the corridor, there was very little room between us. I could feel the warmth of her body.
"Yeah," I took a step up in the bathroom line. "Just needed to freshen up a bit."
"Ok, I was thinking about grabbing one more drink and then taking you somewhere. Is that ok?"
"Like a surprise?" My heart thudded - at the thought of what was next, at her proximity, at her eyes taking me in.
"Sure, like a surprise. You want another drink before we go?" I took another step in the bathroom line.
"No, I've had enough already." I'd had enough, at least, to have me leaning against the wall outside of the bathroom.
"Ok, by the time you get out, I'll be ready to go." She backed away and toward the bar.
When I got out of the bathroom, she was clinking double shotglasses with three younger gentlemen.
"Ok boys, I'll see you next weekend." She walked toward me. "Ready?" Her arm draped over my shoulder. "Let's go."
The sun was waning in the late afternoon. She dropped her arm from my shoulder, but in the next instant, I felt her sweaty palm clasp against mine. A jolt shot through my synapses. I looked down at our intertwined fingers and up at her.
"Did you have fun today?"
"It was really nice to see you in your zone, so to speak. I didn't realize how much you love rowing. How long have you been doing it?" She tugged my hand as we crossed the street and ventured into Central Park.
"Since I was a little kid, actually."
"Wow, I didn't even know little kids did crew."
"Yeah. Well, it wasn't my choice initially."
"What do you mean?"
"It was a family thing." Her voice hardened. I wasn't sure what 'a family thing' meant either, but I didn't want to push her. My mind thought back to the crashing noises the other night.
"Where are we going?"
"Are you ok with water? Have you been on a boat before?"
I looked into her eyes and tentatively responded. "Yes."
"I wanted to take you out on a boat ride. Is that ok? I'll do all the work."
I laughed and rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to."
I rolled up my jeans and secured the blanket inside my bag as she paid for the rowboat. With the amount of alcohol I'd seen her consume at the bar, her sea legs baffled me. She stepped right into the boat and held out her hand to help me in.
The leaves glowed as the sun set and reflected off of the lake. For a while, the only sounds were the gentle gliding of the oars and the laughter of a few small children from the banks of the lake.
"You're a fantastic rower, Santana." I chuckled. "I don't know how you lost with these skills."
She smiled and looked back at me. "My mind was consumed with the thought of this beautiful girl sitting on the bank waiting for me."
"Oh really? Who? I would have introduced myself." I haven't seen a more genuine and full smile out of her since that day. She smiled so hard she couldn't speak. Her eyes squinted, lashes coming together to hide her irises.
"She must be really beautiful to have you speechless right now."
The smile finally broke into a shy grin. "Yeah, she's a vision."
She rowed us the rest of the way back to shore in silence. Except for a few nervous glances at one another, we gazed out over the lake, watching as the sun's reflection dimmed and the night took over.
When we got back to Brooklyn, we snuck into a bar around the corner to eat greasy food and loosen our nerves from the boat ride. We threw back a few shots, clinking to friendship, beautiful women, and losing and loving it. Every so often, I'd catch her eyes swallowing me whole again. That heat from our last time together had settled in again for the night. In return for her ogling, I'd run my fingers up her arms, squeeze at her bicep, and push at the veins that popped out along her forearm. On the last shot, she grabbed at my hand, pulled it up to her lips and kissed it. Before I knew what had happened, it was done. The moisture of her lips against the back of my hand dried and the heat was at its highest intensity.
"We should go." I was worried about what I might do. I wanted to wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and pull her lips toward mine. I wanted to dance my fingers up her thigh and squeeze until her muscles wouldn't give. I wanted to slide my fingers under the hem of her shirt and feel heat on heat.
"I'm sorry." Her face flushed a degree more. "I shouldn't have done that."
"No," I jumped in before she could say more. "Please don't apologize. We should go before I do something I regret in public."
I could see the lump in her throat as her face flushed one more degree. She threw some cash on the bar and grabbed my hand, pulling me from the barstool with ease.
In the cool night air, the heat from her hand warmed my entire body. I walked ahead of her up the narrow stairs of our building. I could feel her eyes boring into me from behind. My body felt tense.
Once we both were on the landing, I lost myself in her eyes. It could have been ten seconds, it could have been twenty minutes. The alcohol coursing through my body certainly wasn't helping my sense of time or restraint, for that matter.
"Santana," it was barely a whisper and I didn't even realize it was coming out of my mouth.
"Rachel," her voice was shaky. She took a step closer and I could smell the whiskey of the day on her breath and in her sweat.
"I like you, Santana." My forehead pressed against her nose and mouth as I felt her arms wrap around me.
"I like you, too, beautiful girl." I felt her lips press against my forehead in that moment. "I want to take you out, on a real date."
"Really?" I pulled back just enough to see her face but not enough to lose my sense of her. "I mean, yeah, I'd like that. A lot." My college level vocabulary had failed me. I'd probably used the word 'like' five times in the last minute. And the phrase 'a lot' had been abandoned shortly into my high school career. My hand moved from her shoulders to the back of her neck. Delicately, I pulled her face closer toward mine. I licked my lips in anticipation. In a moment, I felt her pull back and I release a shaky breath.
"I want to kiss you so badly," she whispered with her eyes closed and fingers bruising my skin. "But I want to show you how much I appreciate you first. Tomorrow. We'll go on a date tomorrow."
I closed my eyes, too. "Tomorrow." I pulled her closer to me and inhaled deeply. That smell that was becoming Santana's filled my nostrils - a light musk of sweat, clothes fresh from the dryer, and a slight aroma of whiskey. "Tomorrow."