I woke up with Sugar mashing my face with her hand. This girl dreams so vividly, I swear. I pushed away her hand gently, so as to avoid disrupting her dreams, which I'm assuming includes boys and chocolate fountains. I turn my back to her, expecting to find Tina. That lady could be small, but her hugs are so warm, especially in the mornings. I could use that. Except that I found the space beside me empty. Where is Tina?

After my phone call with Santana, I did just as she suggested. I talked to Tina and Sugar. I told them they are still surely the first people I will come to in case my feelings end to a point of mix-up. I said that they need not to push me to expressing something I'm not yet ready to let out. Sugar said she understood, and Tina said she was sorry. I said I was, too, for snapping at them. And the remaining of the night went naturally fine, almost like Sam never left me and scarred my faith in love. Part of me just wonders whether Tina took what I said too gravely, so she's not with Sugar and I when waking up. She looked like she really was sorry.

I sat up to look around my room, just to check if Tina was by the fridge or in the bathroom. There were no lights on, and the only sources of luminescence were my windows and the early morning sun passing from the doors leading to the terrace; she wasn't here. I heard, more than felt, my phone vibrate, so I immediately fumbled for it on the nightstand.

I smiled. It was a text from Santana greeting me good morning with a smiling emoji.

I replied, good morning, S! Either we woke up in sync or you were watching me.

In response, Santana sent me a picture of her outlaid legs and PJs. It was black. I imagined her being lazy to tap a coherent reply. She may not be a morning person, I thought. Then came her words: Didn't know you'd be up by 8. Woke up in sync, B.

I appreciated her texts. I sent her the same kind of image; I wanted to brag about my pink, duck-printed PJs. I then informed her I usually wake up earlier, but since Sugar, Tina and I revived our teetering friendship, I slept in a little late.

I placed down my phone back to the nightstand, got out of bed, and suited myself in my loose sweatshirt. This cream-colored sweatshirt once fit me just fine until Sam had to wear it. That guy works out four times a week and his arms are all muscle-y. So when we were being all sorts of silly and he challenged me that he could fit into the sweatshirt, it expanded and became loose. I pinched myself right then because I was thinking about him and the times we had. I pulled the sweatshirt back up and removed myself from it, preventing further associations with my supposedly-groom-also-a-cheater. I don't want to think about him.

What I did next was something that surprised me as well. I pulled the drawer where I kept the stuff Santana let me borrow. I wore her hoodie. Somehow, with her scent enveloping me, I felt better, like I could forget Sam.

I was just about to go to my bathroom to brush my teeth when I heard my door open. Tina walks in with a very weary expression.

"Hey," I say, and hugged her good morning.

"Brittany," she says, and her hug wasn't as tight like usual.

"What's going on?" I asked, scanning her face.

Tina's shoulders were slumped as she walked farther from me and sat on my loveseat at the corner of the room. I felt like she's sending me the message not to come closer, so I didn't. She looked like she needed the distance. I was looking at her reflection at my giant flatscreen TV because she was refusing eye contact.

"Where'd you gone?" I tried again.

"I talked to your mom and dad," she tells me after an exhale. I somehow interpreted it as guilt.

I felt myself getting worried as well but I didn't find anything weird about that. Tina is close to my parents. That's not enough to make her look physically and mentally fatigued. So I urged her, "What for?"

"Sam," she said. Her eyes were now boring into mine, and all I could do was just to stare at her questioningly. "I initiated this feelings-talk, right? Sugar, however immature she may appear, at given instances, truly worries about the big things. When I asked her to team up with me in imploring you to verbalize what you were feeling, all she had in mind was to make you better. I was mostly the same."

"Mostly?"

"I had the same, exact intentions as Sugar, but I had more."

Tina is always so bubbly and sun, so when she speaks so seriously, I know something is serious. It involves Sam, my parents, her, and me. I sat on the edge of the bed, gave Sugar a glance, and turned back my full attention to Tina.

She goes on to speak, "Sam is trying to win you back, Brittany. He's tried so many times, but your dad has kept his intentions blocked. Hasn't it ever crossed your mind that he's going to make attempts of getting you two back again?"

I shook my head no. I hadn't heard from him since Santana and I kicked the life outta him, so I thought he's had enough of me. I mean, when he cheated, I'm sure he had enough of me.

"Well, he is, Britt. When he learned that he can't go past your dad, Sam learned to find other ways. He found me."

I started to look around the room, afraid Sam may come barging in or something.

" Relax, Brittany. My thoughts about him haven't changed. He's still a dick, and will always be. I'm not going to give you up for that." Her face shifts to incredulous, "Besides, do you really think I will?"

"No," I say, "no, I was just carried away." I exhaled relieved as I hugged Santana's hoodie closer to my body. "Sorry."

"Now, as much as I care about you, Britt, Sam was, is, my friend, too. I swear nothing is more taxing than being a friend of a couple, who ends up not being a couple," she notes with an eye-roll. Then, "So we met one time, and he begged me to set you up so he could explain."

"You haven't," I stated.

"Why would I? He doesn't deserve you," she replies with a wave of her hand. "But, again, you two are both my dear friends, and to see you two so devastated without the other devastates me, too. And that is why I encouraged you to talk about what's going on with you. I thought I could find a slip about Sam that will hint me that you want him back and end all of our devastations; luckily, I didn't find that slip. I don't want you back with him." She smiles at me apologetically. "I just want you to know that I'm really sorry if you ever felt like you were pushed to do something while you weren't ready, Britt. I was worrying about you, and it just got too far."

"Why didn't you tell this last night?"

"Oh, you were so distracted by your phone, and Sugar was being distracting, too. I decided that morning would be a great timing to drop a news like this."

Right then, my phone lit up and vibrated. I just had to smile impishly at Tina, and made no move to collect the device.

"Sorry," I mumble coyly.

"It's okay," Tina says with a knowing grin. "But please, don't pick it up, Britt – we're having a moment here. I don't want to see you struggle fighting off a goofy grin with a serious face."

"I do that?"

"Totally," she nods. "While we were watching Titanic last night, Sugar and I were so close to tears, but I saw you were covering your hands to hide a laugh. And then you saw me looking at you so you opted for a poker face."

"No," I tried to insist.

"Yes," she says, raising one side of her mouth higher, as if to say I'm not a good liar. "When we were picturing the Sugar Shack, like where the bowl of punch will be placed, you were grinning like a dork. Sugar saw you and nudged me, so I nudged you. Then, you said, 'What? Yes, three microphones shall be placed on the stage.'"

I felt my cheeks getting hotter. "Santana's just really hilarious."

"So I've heard."

We were smiling, and I was just about to say she's completely the same with Mike, when I remembered,

"What did you talk about with mom and dad again?"

"Oh, that," her smile vanished. "I just told them that Sam keeps bugging me with texts saying he's going to see you soon and he's going to make sure it will be happening. I kind of gave Robert a heads up of some sort."

"Don't you think we should talk?"

Tina's eyes widened. "Who, Sam? Do you want to?"

It was a struggle to admit, but I did. "I miss him."

Tina has tenderness in her eyes and she gives me a tight-lipped smile but doesn't offer anything else.

"I don't want him back, though. I miss him is all."

"It's okay to miss someone whom you've lost, Britt."

"Yeah," I say as I reach for my phone and read Santana's text. How'd last night go anyway?

"Aren't you mad, Britt?" Tina prompts cautiously.

"At you? No, I'm not. I guess I should be, at some parts, but I'm not; ultimately, I'm just glad you're always by my side." I smiled genuinely, "Thanks, Tin."

I don't think I have the guts to be mad at anyone at this ungodly hour of the day. Not when my parents practically barricaded part of my life from Sam, not when Sugar and Tina cared so wholly about me, and especially not when Santana sends me a picture of her mug of coffee. It's okay to miss Sam, but I don't need him. He could come back and announce his unwanted presence in my life, and I could face him. I'm okay and I have all that is necessary to me. Right now, all I could do is to appreciate the upside of life rather sulk at the snag of it all.


One week has passed since I saw Brittany at Cup-A-Cabana. One week has passed and we've been texting for most of the day. It would be inaccurate to say 'nonstop texting' because Brittany and I do stop texting, like when I take a shower or when she attends to a customer at their bookshop or when we sleep. It's not nonstop, but we talk as much as it's possible. We FaceTime and do voice calls at some point – when I'm too lazy to text or when she's too sleepy. One time, while in a session of a video call, I left for a second or so to collect my dearest cup of coffee. When I came back, I caught her eyelids surrendering to rest and I was sure it was the cutest thing I have ever seen. I wished right then that we were in person so I could nudge her or something, but we weren't. I watched her until she lost the loose hold to her phone and until the angle of the camera doesn't offer much of her angelic face. I started a blog entry about the innocence and vulnerability sleeping entails, and I finished even before Brittany woke up. I saw her slept once, or twice, and I swear she's just as beautiful. Still like a masterpiece of art.

"Crap," she had said, whilst fumbling for her forgotten phone. "Santana?"

"Hi," I had greeted her, feeling myself smile to a flushed Brittany. "I'm still here."

"You are," she had observed. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. Oh, you're wearing glasses."

"Not anymore," I'd told her as I removed the said black-rimmed glasses.

"What were you doing?"

"Work," I simply stated. "Go back to sleep, Britt."

"You could've ended this call, you know?"

I still remember the sheepish smile she had then. She's really, really adorable.

"I could've, but I couldn't."

The response I got from that was an intense and flustered look all at once.

"Sleep, Brittany," I had told her lightly. "It's good for the rest-deprived."

She nodded. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"You didn't; I told you I worked." And if I was being frank, watching her sleep is not wasted time at the very least. "Good night, Brittany."

She was chewing on her lip as if she wanted to say something really important and packed. I was just waiting.

"Dolphins," she finally declared. She seemed pretty proud of herself after saying it.

I raised a brow in recognition. "Good night, Brittany," I had told her again, more firmly. I didn't want to fall into that. I remember that time when I thought this was our version of the okay?-okay.

"No," she whined, prolonging the o. She was also pouting. "Santana."

"What?" I didn't know pouts had power over me – or at least Brittany's.

"Say it," she pleaded. "I won't sleep until you say it back. I can't go back to sleep until I hear that word from you."

I just had a funny expression on my face, hoping it would conceal how I was admiring hers.

"Dolphins," she tried once more.

I shook my head at her silliness. "Dolphins," I echoed.

And thank God I did, because she smiled so prettily after hearing it. I was the one who caused that smile. Me. (And, okay, the dolphins, too – but still.) I had a weird feeling overcome me that I wanted to make her smile like that as much as I can.

"Good night, 'Tana," she yawned.

"Sleep tight, Britt."

In the course of our texts, voice and video calls, I got to learn little details about Brittany. One week has passed and I still can't get enough of our almost nonstop communication, of her. One week it was, and I'm finally seeing her again! I have never been so eager to see someone as I am now.

But that's after I talk to Yvette. Yup, my fierce, pierced, pink-haired, stunning-bodied ex.

I did promise I was going to sort things out with them. The visits to my apartment lessened, though didn't completely stop. I guess the genuine promise I had made about talking to them assured their sentiments. I can't talk to them all at once, of course. Each one of us has a history with the other, and for me to utterly dedicate my attention to our past, I thought that needed space and individuality.

Brittany didn't know about this; I was just going to tell her later when we meet. No, I'm not excited, you doofus.

"Santana!" Yvette says happily when she spotted me. I asked her to meet me in a small café just down the block. She stood up from where she's sat, and opened her arms for a hug. She even had her face angled like I'd kiss her.

I leaned into the hug, a friendly one, and patted her cheek with the back of my hand. "Not so easy," I told her with a laugh as I sat down.

"I actually thought you'd stood me up," she says, but she has a playful grin on her face. Yvette seems to be lighter. Not just in the physical aspect, but also in her spirits. She had a light brown coat on, and I saw a black crop top underneath, showing off her abs. Her legs, too, were perfectly lined by her leather pants.

"You look nice," I commented then.

"Nice? I thought I heard hot," she smirks. I smiled along with her.

Her pixie cut hair has grown a little, and I can see some roots of her black hair joining the pink ones. She didn't wear her lip-piercing, but her ears were on full show.

"Still feisty, Yvette, but somehow a little tamed," I said lightly.

"You're one to talk," she scoffs. "Like you're not tamed by whomever it is you're constantly texting. Sometimes you'd open your door for us all googly-eyed, and, of course, you're clutching to your phone."

I ignored that. I challenged her instead, "So you're admitting you're really tamed."

"Maybe," she shrugs, and takes a sip of her drink. "Aren't you ordering?"

"No. No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"So," she begins, "We're not awkward."

"We're not," I grinned. "You haven't been bugging me as much."

"That's because I'm not trying to win you back anymore."

"Thank you, Jesus," I exclaimed good-humoredly.

"No, really, Santana. I'm only there at your doorstep whenever Victoria is."

I felt myself being shocked. Victoria is one of my exes. "You're hooking up?"

"I want to, but we're not. God knows I want to, but, you know, I'm doing it right."

"Oh?"

"In the time the three of us – Vic, Ash and I – were crazily chasing you, haven't you thought that maybe we'd be bonded? I mean, Santana, we spent a lot of hours at your door, waiting to be showered by your divine attention. And often times you don't, so we're left with ourselves."

"What, you built a support group of some sort?"

She lifted one side of her shoulder, "Meh, kinda. At first we were mad at each other because we're like competitors, right? And then that just got too old, so we talked. It was mostly to entertain ourselves while we were waiting for you."

"Really, now?"

"Yeah, and then I just kind of fell for Vic…and stuff."

"What about Ashton?"

"Oh, that girl is quiet as a wall. She only speaks when we talk about you."

"You talk about me?"

"What do you expect? You're our commonality." She had her face as if to say I was dumb for asking that. "There's the good and there's the bad to talk about. We do both."

I licked my lips, "Do I want to know?"

"The good is the sex and the bad is your mood."

I laughed.

"No, seriously, Lopez, Vic told us you made her come four times. In one night. Why hadn't we done that before?"

I immediately grimaced. "Can we please not mention stuff like that?"

Yvette was dubious. "Why not? We're practically fuck buddies before all this."

"I'm just…uncomfortable."

"Oh," I heard her say.

And then we were silent.

I don't know which makes me uncomfortable the most: a) realizing my exes talking about our past experiences, including sexual ones. How do I know they didn't make it so detailed? I felt like I was a sexual object of some sort. Yeah, I'm all for sex and whatnot, but that doesn't mean I gave them the consent to openly discuss our lady macks; or b) two of my exes are apparently having a budding relationship, rooting from their time together wanting to win me back. It's not like I'm against it or something – I just feel odd.

I speak again, "If you didn't want me back, what else are we here for, then?"

Yvette smiles, "I'd like to thank you for bringing Vic and I closer. If not for you, I would have never met her sooner."

I have my face scrunched in a 'what the fuck' expression.

"Yeah, I thought I could annoy you," she chuckles. "But no, I'd just like to talk to you. Is that bad? If I remember correctly, we were fuck buddies and friends."

"Yes, we were," I say, getting a flash of the times Yvette and I had. We'd always go together to a gay bar, with the goal of getting laid, and because we're so full of ourselves – we wouldn't find anyone that lives up to our standards, and so we always end up fucking each other. It's funny. Those were good times. "You can answer, you can't, but I'd appreciate it if you do - Why did you have to, you know, like me like that?"

"You know, the drama of calling someone your own," she offers. "It crept up to me like a freaking disease. I guess I had enough of the get-drunk-fuck-anyone kind of lifestyle; I wanted to be loved. And I think the only way to get that is to love."

My discomfort in this conversation reached a new high. Why the hell is love included? It must have transcended to my face, because Yvette was quick to explain.

"No, Santana, I didn't love you like that – not romantically. Wait, I don't think I have loved you in a friendly way, either," she shrugs. "I care about you, though. I don't really know how to define the parameters of love and the gist of it all. I think love is bullshit, but is very nice if you found a real one. Or so they say.

"But the point here is – I wanted to be loved, and you were there. You're funny, a good kisser, and you laugh at my rants, so somehow I felt connected to you. I didn't love you, Santana, but I saw you as a person I could stress with the love I want to share."

Now I felt myself be more at ease.

"I still see you as my friend, Santana Lopez. And although I don't want you back anymore, I still wanted to meet and talk because I wanted to ask if you still see me as your friend, too."

I smiled warmly. "You're being gross right now."

She giggled and I actually thought her cheeks colored. She looks away and sips again from her drink.

"Yeah, Yvette, I think we could still be friends," I finally said. "I mean, we're both hot, and niche-picking happens, right?"

She laughs. I did, too. Then,

"Just to be clear – friends, yes; fuck buddies, no," I say seriously.

"I will solemnly abide to that." She raises her right hand for emphasis.

I thought this was a good note to end things with her and I. Actually, it's not really end per se, but more like close. I did agree we could be friends, but she's just done with wanting in winning me back. We closed that chapter in our book.

"Thanks?" I offered. "It feels like appropriate to say it."

"Yeah. Thanks."

I felt her earnestness so I say, "Great."

Not everything in my life is put together, but I'm glad I have this part of it placed where I think it should be. The air smells like brewed coffee, I amended things with my ex, I'm seeing Brittany later, and all is chill.

She smirks, "Friends, huh?"

"Just casual," I added, flinging my hands to the air.

"Let's end this tomfoolery and let me walk you back."

"Cool, but I have somewhere else to be."

"Oh, are you talking to Victoria next?"

"What? No, I can't do the three of you in a day."

"I'm sure you can," she winks. I just had to throw pieces of balled tissue paper at her way for that.

"Talk to her, alright?" She asks me with her hand shielding her face, countering my powerful throws. "Won't go out on a date with me, 'cause she thinks she still wants ya. Shit, Santana, stop throwing stuff. You're making a mess."

"'Kay," I say with one last throw and mischievous smirk. "Soon I will."

"Now go away," she shoos me jokingly.

I stood up, flattened my black dress and suited myself in the leather jacket I've been holding. I ran a hand through my dark locks, anxiety crawling up to me. Yvette is just watching me. I meant to walk away coolly, because, really, I was just cool all the while. Now I'm not.

"Are you okay?" She asks, while playing with the straw of her drink. "Seriously, do you want me to drive you to where you're supposed to be?"

"Do I look okay?" I blurted out. "I mean physically. Do I look okay?"

"What? Now I'm sure something's up. When did you ever question your physical prowess?"

I shrug with a crease on my forehead.

"Sit," she motions for the space I just occupied. I complied and sat once more. "Friends talk to each other, Santana. C'mon, spill it."

There was a funny feeling in my stomach, and it seems to intensify as seeing Brittany approaches me.

"Have you…have you ever talked to someone for a great amount of time and haven't found anything to dislike about them at all?"

"I haven't. I like Vic, sure, but I know she knows I don't like how stiff she is sometimes. I think there's always a counterpart to the good. Not everything can always be likeable."

I sighed confused.

"But," she says, "Sometimes we learn to admire those unlikeable antics of a person because we like them all too damn much. Vic being too stiff is a part of her self, I think, so I try to see her as her."

"It scares me," I say, deciding to unravel parts of me I usually don't let out. "To find all the good and bright in one person when, for all my life, I've always seen the bad in the world."

"Maybe that's love," Yvette supplements in off-mindedly. "It alleviates, or for your case – shatters – the view of the world as you see it. Love makes you think you've been full of shit all along."

"I don't think that's what love supposed to do to a person," I tell her. "And, Dios Mio, Yvette, why are we even talking about love? All I asked was if I looked okay."

"You're smokin' hot," she answers me surely.

"Thanks," I gave her a wink. At least I'm still able to do that now. "I'm just fucking anxious, and I don't even know why. It's not like I haven't seen her before, you know? I have."

"You're just excited, Santana. And you're not used to all this. You'll be fine."

I nodded, more to myself. "I'll be fine. I'll be perfectly fine."

Yvette smiles at me mockingly, but I know it also equates to encouragement. I said thanks once more and that I'll see her soon. She says okay and shoos me again.


I'm in my car when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Brittany. It bears a screen capture of my face in one of our FaceTime sessions and I'm sure I look pretty dumb. She even had emoji eyes as a caption to it.

I called her and she was quick to answer. She had no time for greetings.

"Santana, where are you?"

I chuckled, "I'm on my way."

"Okay. Hang up. Drive safely. Just drive and be here."

And I was so happy because I'm not the only one who's excited. So to Brittany's famous bookshop I go.