Author's Note: Seriously, a million thank yous again for all of your kind words. And because of that, I apologize...


October 30th-31st 2014

New York, New York—Eastern Standard Time

Fourteen countries in eleven weeks, a hundred and thirty eight rolls of film, and one pair of clean underwear remaining, that was the count when I got on my flight from Heathrow airport. After I'd tucked my cameras and film under my seat—I only had to make the mistake of checking it once to know I'd never do that again—I took two Ambien and resolved to sleep the entire flight. Once I'd told Tina that I was going to a party with Santana, and begged her to make sure my costume was clean, she'd decided that Friday was also the time for me to stop being the world's shittiest maid of honor and go to this cake tasting-slash-lunch-slash-dress fitting with her, her mom, and Mike's mom. The second I agreed to that, I started contemplating missing my flight, before ultimately coming to the conclusion that missing another date with Santana was way too big of a price to pay, and started brushing up on my menu-Chinese, so I wouldn't get stuck eating chicken feet again. I would take mushy peas over that any day of my life, seriously. Anyway, the point of that entire sidebar to the actual story here was that I needed the sleep in the plane. No matter how frequently I traveled, I still couldn't shake jet lag after those long flights, and if I didn't want to look like just one giant eye bag, it was crucial, no matter how much glitter and makeup I planned to pair with my costume.

Luckily, I was actually successful, to the point where my seat mate had to wake me up when we landed, I had drool on my Cheesasaurus Rex shirt, and the dirty looks she kept giving me probably meant that I'd been snoring the entire flight. Relax, lady, no matter how loud my snoring was, I'm sure it doesn't even compare to some of the people I've sat next to on airplanes, trust me. I just smiled at her and told her to have a happy Halloween, while we waited eight-hundred years to disembark. It was fine, I was home, I'd squeeze my cat for an hour and a half, wait for my grocery order to come—I was getting smarter, apparently—and go down to the laundry room and get my life in order. Grouchy airplane lady was definitely not going to take away from my insane excitement about seeing Santana the next day. Nothing would, seriously. I'd been waiting too long, and the stars were finally aligning to make this happen.

When I got home, Lord Tubbington was already on my bed, sneering at me like he always did for the first ten minutes I was back, and my Halloween costume was hanging in a dry cleaning bag on the back of my closet. Okay, so really, as much as I want to punch Tina like eighty-three percent of the time—c'mon, you're lying if you say you don't have a friend like that, everyone does—I love her, like really love her, love her in the I'd totally donate a kidney or an egg or whatever if she needed one kind of way. Really, she's great, and I had to make a promise to myself to do more of my part to participate in all wedding nonsense, and even make an effort to not roll my eyes through the whole thing. That's a huge deal, you don't even understand.

Once I felt like there was some semblance of order in my life, I stripped off the jeans and tank top I'd been wearing to do laundry, pulled the now clean Cheeseasaurus Rex shirt over my head—shut up, I totally wanted it before I even knew Santana—and collapsed on my couch. I checked my phone, in case Tina, or, like, someone else, had called me, and seeing just a picture of Lord Tubbington in sunglasses, I turned on the TV. My DVR had filled up the first week of September, but since everything was new to me, I wrapped myself in a blanket, and willed myself not to fall asleep until nine-thirty, which had nothing to do with that being the time Santana got out of class, c'mon. I was so involved in Bizarre Foods—I mean, obviously I hadn't had enough of world foods after three and a half months in Europe—that I'd so lost track of time and my cellphone that when it started ringing I was scrambling and shoving my cat off the couch to find it beneath the cushions.

"Hello." Yeah, let me just answer Santana's phone call and have her hear my voice for the first time since July all out of breath, and not in a sexy way, it's totally fine.

'Hey, Britt! Are you—uh—in the middle of something?'

"What? No!" How many shades of red are there? Because that's how many I blushed. You'd think I'd shut my mouth after that, right? Yeah? Then you clearly haven't been following along. It's not possible, not when Santana. "That was earlier."

'Good to know.' She started laughing, and I was already crawling under my couch to die. I mean, okay, so I'm open about things, but time and place, Brittany! I probably needed a stapler, or a glue gun, or some industrial strength adhesive. 'So I'm not interrupting anything then?'

"No! Unless you count Bizarre Foods: Malaysia, which, don't. Anyway, jeeze. How was class?"

'Good, I'm really enjoying it. I'm in a cab home now, it's been a long day, and I couldn't deal with taking the train all the way downtown tonight.'

"Could've taken your class at NYU, close to home!"

'Back on the Columbia-NYU thing, huh?' She was totally doing that playful eye roll thing, I just knew it.

"America's dream school." While I shrugged, I wondered if she pictured my gestures, or if that was just a weird me thing. Probably a weird me thing.

'Ivy League.'

"Those are fighting words."

'And who fired the first shot?' She was teasing and cute and ugh. How was she even real? Could she possibly even like me at all? I mean, okay, so I talked to get every day, and she'd sent me that cute care package but—

"I'm wearing my Cheesasaurus Rex shirt." Blurt. Is that an actual name? Probably somewhere in the world. I'd have to do some research. I mean, even if it wasn't, I could probably change my name to it anyway. It seemed fitting, at least for like, a middle name or something. Brittany Blurt Pierce. Better than Brittany foot-in-mouth Pierce. Less diseasy.

'You weren't kidding about not taking it off, then.'

"I mean, I've washed it and stuff. I don't smell or anything,"

'I believe you on that one, don't worry. You seem pretty clean to me.'

"Totally. In all the ways. I had a full STD panel done last time I was home, and definitely haven't contracted any or anything." Okay, so maybe foot-in-mouth was a better one. It was like I had some kind of freaking syndrome or something. It wasn't even funny anymore.

'Well—' She took a deep breath, she was probably trying to piece together why I was such a nutcase, or maybe checking her medical books to see if I really did have a syndrome. 'Considering I'm coming from an infectious diseases class, I'll tell you an extra good job on that.'

"So tomorrow." Terrible, terrible segue.

'Tomorrow. Finally!'

"You're telling me! So...I've got this wedding stuff all day, and I'm going to be in Brooklyn anyway, so is it cool if I meet you at the party?"

'Yeah, of course. I'm coming right from work, so that totally works.' She was totally smiling, I could feel it, and it made my stomach twist up in all these knots, worse than the time I'd eaten sushi that I'd left in the bottom of my carry on bag. Or, something that doesn't relate too good poisoning. 'Are you actually going to wear your costume, or should I dress as a giant bowl of macaroni to go along with your shirt?'

"Whoa, that would be a great cou—coordinating costume, no? I mean, I guess presumably Cheesasaurus Rex eats the macaroni and cheese though, so it could get kinda weird. Or...maybe it's a good thing, depending on—" Head smack number five thousand. "Yes, I'm wearing my costume. You still haven't told me what you're going to be."

'I know. You're just going to have to wait until tomorrow, aren't you?'

"Psht, rude!" I laughed, she laughed. It takes less than that to be considered married in some cultures. Maybe sometime after we finally got to go on a first date... "Well I can't wait."

'Neither can I. I'm just getting out if the cab, and I'm toast, but I'll text you Mercedes' address?'

"Yeah, definitely. Wish me luck in wedding prep hell."

'Oh, God, if Tina's future mother-in-law is as tough as you say, you're really going to need it.'

"There's alcohol at this party right?"

'It wouldn't be a Halloween party without it. But lightweight, I know what liquor does to you.'

"Don't worry, I won't invite you to Spain or anything."

'Hmm.' Ugh, I didn't know how to read her noises yet—not like that...but, that too, hopefully soon-ish?—so I just laughed super awkwardly. Whatever, it would probably be awkward if I wasn't, no? 'Alright, well I'll see you at seven. Enjoy sleeping in your own bed tonight!'

"Trust me, I will! Bye, Santana." Mental (totally actual) fist pump that I didn't say what I was thinking. You know it, don't you, what I thought? I'd rather be sleeping in yours.

The whole next day was ridiculous. The wedding venue was really, like, really nice, I've gotta give Tina that. If Global Warming cooled it's jets for like a day or two, they could totally end up with this gorgeous snowy scene out the giant window, and considering I was pretty sure they were having a low key Frozen themed wedding—I mean, it has to be, right, if everything is ice blue and white?—that was probably what Tina was banking on. Of course, it only took about fourteen minutes before Mrs. Chang and Mrs. Cohen-Chang were arguing about flowers. Tina wanted orchids. Obviously, the argument was about whether they would have roses or peonies. They're really good at listening. I mostly stared at walls and/or my phone to keep from rolling my eyes at it. I was keeping my promise to myself, even when I accidentally ate a pig intestine, so ten points for Ravenclaw.

By the time we were finally freaking finished, I realized that I had a massive knot in my stomach. I wanted to blame it on those damn intestines—seriously gagging just thinking about it—but I knew it was because of Santana. Ten months we'd been waiting for this, and I'd probably get to finally kiss her. Mostly, I was worrying that I might accidentally break her nose, or burp intestine, or something worse, and then I'd have to resign myself to the idea that fate wasn't actually in favor of this pairing, so I kind of psyched myself out while getting ready in the bathroom at Tina's parents' house. When I came out of the bathroom, her mom told me I was dressed too sexified, so at least I was feeling good about my outfit. No pajamas, no sheet over my head, sexified was like forty-seven hundred steps up, so I just shrugged my shoulders and got in Tina's car so she could drop me off before going to take Mike's nephew trick-or treating.

So I almost passed out ringing the buzzer to Mercedes' apartment. I'd gotten a text from Santana saying that she'd forgotten her charger and that her phone was about to die—same, phone, same—but that she was on her way. When the door opened, I smiled, I tried to be normal and not some creepo Santana picked up on the street, but...obviously, I'm me, so my smile probably looked more like the Joker than some sexy half-lady-half-cat when the door opened and revealed Santana's best friend on the other side.

"Uh, hey Mercedes. I'm not sure if you know who I am, but Santana—"

"Oh, girlfriend, I know exactly who you are." It was totally a nice tone, even though it sounded kind of sassy, and I let myself take a breath. "But I'm not Mercedes."

"Oh." Cancel that breath. My body doesn't deserve to consume air. In fairness to me, I'd only seen Mercedes in person once all the way on the other side of REI, and this girl was also currently dressed as Beyoncé so... "I'm sorry, I—uh—um—I've never actually met Mercedes before and...sorry."

"Trust me, I could be mistaken for worse things than Miss Mercedes Jones, come on in, what can I get you?"

"Your name?" It was the first thing I could think of to say, even though that's not what she meant. I knew I probably shouldn't start drinking until Santana got there anyway. That could spell disaster.

"Sorry! I'm sure Santana told you about me. Unique, Unique Adams."

"Oh! You're Unique! She's told me so much about you! I mean, only really good things, swear."

"The fact that you know my real name is a good indicator." She laughed, and I relaxed a little. I looked around and there were just a lot of people, people that really made me anxious for Santana to arrive. "Let me go introduce you to actual Mercedes and get you a drink."

"I'm good on the drink. I say dumb enough stuff without that influence."

"Trust me, honey, I've heard. How was Spain, anyway?"

"She told you?" Remember those fifty shades of red? Now add about ninety-eight thousand more and you've got my face.

"Told me? She practically packed her bags."

Unique just sucked her teeth, but I was stopped from asking any more questions by Mercedes cutting into the conversation with Guppy Face. I'm pretty sure they noticed me trying to size up his lips versus her head, to see if he could actually swallow it whole—Santana was not kidding about the size of them—since he kept looking at me kind of weird, but I just kind of plays it off like I was really into their Rocky Horror Picture Show costumes. True story, I've never actually seen it. Don't tell anyone though, it makes me totally culturally inept.

Way, way too much time passed, and I kept checking my phone, really anxious about when Santana would get there already. Her friends were really nice, but I was just so conscious about everything that came out of my mouth, and I felt sort of crawly in my costume. Forty-five minutes after Santana was supposed to arrive, I finally conceded to have a drink, and I took it with me to the bathroom—gross, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures—so I could call Santana.

"Hey." It went right to voicemail, and she probably wouldn't hear it until after she got to the party, and maybe while she was in my bed, or I was in her bed, or...some sort of thing that wasn't making crazy assumptions about her actually being into me, or the night not turning into a total disaster. "So, um, I know your phone's dead, but it's Brittany. I don't even know why I'm calling, I've only had two sips of this weird punch thing that Unique poured me, so it's not that. But anyway, I hope you get here soon, I accidentally called Unique Mercedes, and I think Sam knows I know about the Trouty Mouth thing. Just feeling kind of weird. Okay, see you soon."

I took two big gulps of the drink before I tucked my phone back into the side of my leather boot. It tasted like a liquid PixieStick, so I figured it wouldn't have too much alcohol—clearly I never went to college parties—and when I came out of the bathroom again, I was cornered immediately by Peter Pan and his sidekick, an especially burly Captain Hook. It took me a second, especially given that I'd only seen him that one time, and in the occasional selfies he snapped of himself and sent from Santana's phone, to realize it was Kurt.

"Brittany? Mercedes told me you were in the bathroom, and I've just been dying to finally meet you."

"Oh, hey." I had to adjust my ears a little, then wondered if cats felt that same urge when they were cornered. Probably, somewhere right along with hissing and swatting with their tails. "I'm glad to meet you too. Kurt, right? I don't want to mess that up again..."

"Ah, of course. Unique told me about that, not really your fault though. Have you heard from Santana? Shes never late."

"I just left her a message." Sip, sip, sip of my diabetic coma inducing drink. "She said her phone was dying earlier though."

"Hmm, maybe traffic was bad. I usually take a cab, but David here insisted on taking the subway tonight."

"Hey, I'm Brittany Pierce, Santana's—um—friend." I stuck out my hand and it was engulfed by David's giant one. I decided not to even speculate on the top/bottom situation going on there, and I but my tongue three times to remind myself not to say anything out loud. "I actually just got back from England!"

"That's cool, Brittany." So David didn't have a British accent, not all all. He sounded way more like he was from the Midwest than the UK, so that was kind of weird, considering Santana kept calling him Dr. Who... "Was it nice? I've never been there."

"Oh." Shit. Shit. Shit. This wasn't Dr. Who, so then it had to be. "How's your band? Don't tell Santana I told you, but she said you guys were really good."

"I don't have a band, but that's cool that she enjoyed...whatever she it was she saw." Kurt's eyes were totally narrowed at me, like, he could probably shoot daggers out of them and obliterate me if he wanted to. So obviously I managed to stop talking, right? Wrong. If this guy wasn't Dr. Who or sparkly band guy, then—

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you guys had decided to try your eng—"

"Sam!" Kurt pretty much screamed it, and I realized the guy probably wasn't the ex-fiancé either. Ugh. I mean...he was in costume! I couldn't tell about his eyebrows or his hair gel or his bow ties. It was an honest mistake, I swear. But clearly I was now two for thee at screwing up introductions with Santana's closest friends, awesome. And where even was she to save me from myself. Gulp, gulp, one drink done. "How about you show Brittany the outside seating area? I'll let Santana know where she is?"

"Yeah, cool man. Brittany, you look like you need a refill anyway. Lemme go grab you one?"

"Sure, yeah, thanks Sam. I guess I'll catch up with you guys later."

My face was feeling so hot, probably from embarrassment, Kurt pretty much looked like he wanted to throw me from the rooftop, and I still hadn't figured out which one Dave was by the time I found a corner to wait in while Sam poured me another drink. I looked at my phone again, and it had gotten to the point where she was over an hour late, and I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or concerned. I tried not to think of fate, and how a missed third date really didn't sound good, but I felt this awful sinking feeling in my stomach. I didn't know if it was Artie's obnoxious voice in my head, telling me that relationships don't work if half of one never stayed in the country, a general sense of disquiet, or that sugary drink, but I frowned and dialed the phone again. Yeah, I know, it wasn't going to work, but I really wasn't having fun at this party...

"Hi, it's me again. So, I'm not really sure where you are, but it's twenty after eight, and I'm pretty sure your friends all hate me. If you don't get here soon, you might want to look for me on the pavement outside, because Kurt is sending me to the roof, and I kind of forgot how to shut up, and I definitely thought Dave was not who he was...three times. Anyway I'm starting to get worried that you're not here, and I hope you're okay."

The second drink, I drank faster than the first, and I was onto my third by the time nine o'clock rolled around and I was starting to get massively freaked out. Unique came and hung out with me for awhile, but she had other friends to entertain, and I knew literally no one. Trouty Mouth also kept coming to talk to me, and maybe it was just me, or maybe he was just one of those super touchy people, but he was getting way too close to for comfort. I was pretty far past just being tipsy, and I was really trying not to be mad, but this sucked, I was upset, and part of my began considering calling Tina to come get me before my battery died. I'd sort of just resigned myself to sitting on the roof, still in my Catwoman costume, playing Candy Crush for awhile, when Mercedes came up holding out a cordless phone.

"Brittany, it's Santana." She held out the phone, and my heart started pounding really, really fast in my chest. I still couldn't shake that weird feeling in my stomach, and I hated it so much.

"She's not dead?" Why did I even ask that? Ugh, really though, I kept thinking that for the forty-five minutes leading up to it, and I couldn't help it. "Nevermind. Santana?"

'Hey Britt.' She sounded totally frazzled, and my stomach kept sinking.

"Where are you?"

'Right now, I'm on the Brooklyn Bridge. I'm using the cop's phone—'

"What? Are you alright? Why are the cops there?"

'I'm fine, just really fucking pissed off. There was a big accident, the cabbie turned the car off while we waited it out, and then it wouldn't start again.' I could hardly hear her over the sound of honking horns, and mostly I didn't know what to say. Date one, destroyed film and a missed flight, date two, third degree sunburn, now date three, she was stuck on a bridge with the police? 'I'm sorry, Britt, I just have no idea when I'm even going to get there.'

"It's okay, it's not your fault. It was a pipe dream to expect it to actually happen this time, right?"

'No, Brittany.' She knew what I was thinking, she knew I believed in fate, even if she didn't, and fate just really seemed to be fucking with everything.

"I know you're borrowing a phone and you can't talk. I think I'm just going to go, I feel really weird here."

'Okay, yeah.' I really, seriously hated that crestfallen voice she got when she was disappointed. It made me want to punch a baby...or, not really, that was a terrible expression, I don't even know who invented it, but anyway, it upset me a lot. Her expression, and the baby punching. 'I get that. I'm really sorry, again.'

"You really don't have to apologize. It's fine."

'I'll call you when I get home?'

"Yeah, please. Be careful okay? Stay in the car?"

'Mmhm, definitely. Bye, Britt.'

I sort of half-ass waved goodbye to everyone, thanking Mercedes for inviting me, and putting my coat on to sort of cover my costume. When I hailed a cab, and the driver told me that the Brooklyn Bridge was closed, and he was going to take the tunnel, I grit my teeth in frustration. We actually managed to close an entire bridge, and I just had to put my head in my hands, smearing glitter everywhere.

My head was kind of foggy from those nasty drinks, and all I wanted to do when I got home was take a shower and cuddle with my one true love Lord Tubbington. Maybe I was being dramatic, and maybe I was overthinking things, but how many signs could I ignore? And more than that, how long could I actually expect Santana to wait around for me? It hurt, like, definitely way harder than breaking up with Artie even did, even thinking about it, but...I couldn't even help it. I just kept stewing in it, until I was in bed watching more Bizarre Foods with my cat snuggled to my chest, and the phone finally rang.

"Hi." I basically just breathed and hoped it came out as a word.

'Hey. I'm home.'

"Good. I'm glad." Holy crap, if I thought the awkward things I said were bad, the awkward silence was a million times worse.

'You sound mad.'

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad at all. God, I'm just sad, and freaking pissed at the universe, and I just think that fate is trying to say something here."

'I think you've seen Serendipity too many times. Shit happens sometimes, Britt, and whole idea of fate keeping us apart is ridiculous.'

"Why is it ridiculous? Because I'm sick of getting my hopes up and then getting crushed? What's next, Santana? We plan a lunch date and I get hit by a city but on the way there?"

''Okay, why would you even say that? It's ridiculous because it's not fate keeping us apart. We're both insanely busy, your job takes you out of the country, it's not like we're next door neighbors who've never passed each other. I like you, and I know you like me too. So what if it's taken us almost a year to go on a date? We've spent ten months talking every single day, no matter where you are in the world…"

"And what about when that's not enough? What about when you meet some girl who's here, and you can have something real with her, then what?"

'How can you say that this isn't real?' She sounded hurt, like really, really hurt, and I kind of wanted to throw up. But I was so afraid I'd fall harder for her, I was so afraid she'd realize that long distance fucking sucks, I was so afraid, and I just couldn't. 'What I feel for you, that's real.'

"So what? We're never going to have dinner? We're never going to touch, kiss, do more than kiss? That's enough for you? Knowing I'm just a name in your phone?"

'Of course it's not enough, but if it's that or nothing right now, I'd rather have that with you.'

"Why? You barely even know me."

'Really, Brittany? After everything we've talked about, after the things I've told you that I've never told anyone, I barely know you? Wow."

"Santana, I didn't mean—"

'Whatever. I guess I meant less to you than I thought. We'll just end this now, before I fall even harder for you, since apparently this is fate saying so, not you sabotaging something.'

"Santana, I—"

'Forget it, Brittany. Goodbye. Happy Halloween.'

I was sputtering, I needed to say something. I needed to untie my tongue. I needed to get my foot out of my mouth. It wasn't cute or quirky anymore. It sucked. It really fucking sucked, but before I could say another word, the line went dead, and I threw myself back on my pillow, in my bed, very much alone, and groaned.