200- Sunday Roast (Pezberry)

"Good morning, Santana!"

"Hey Rach," Santana said, barely raising her head from the pillow.

"Come on, we need to get ready if we're going to be on time."

"On time where?"

"Oh! Right, I hadn't informed you. Well, you may not know this, but my Daddy—Greg—"

"The blonde one?"

"Yes. He's British."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. His family moved over when he was sixteen, so he's lost his accent. But we do a Sunday roast every week. It's his one British tradition that we haven't been able to American out of him."

"A…roast? Like…one of those things on Comedy Central?"

"No, an actual roast. He's making roast pork with carrots and potatoes this week."

Santana's stomach rumbled. "Wait, are you actually going to eat meat then?"

"No. He makes extra veggies for me."

"Oh, right."

"Anyway, after learning of our newfound amorous arrangement, they made me promise to bring you over for one of the many Berry family traditions."

"You couldn't just say 'Santana, you're coming lunch with my dads,' could you?"

"You're so good at decoding Rachel!speak, it seems a shame to deprive you of practice."

"Right…I'm getting up now," Santana mumbled into her pillow.

"Santana! Get up!"