Going to work that night after dropping Quinn at the airport is about the last thing Santana feels like doing. She's kind of hungover and she's all kinds of confused as to what's going on with Quinn. But it's too late to call out and Mondays aren't usually that busy, so it should be an easy shift at least.
Her hair is up in a ponytail and her tank top isn't as low cut as the ones she normally favors for work. Being ogled by drunk, older men just doesn't hold the appeal to her right now, even if it's her way to earn some decent tips.
Leigh, on the other hand, is wearing a new pair of brown cowboy boots, jean shorts that are so tiny they should be illegal, and a shirt cut so low that Santana can hardly pull her eyes away from the expanse of cleavage.
"My eyes are up here, gorgeous," Leigh teases, causing Santana to stiffen with the embarrassment of being caught.
Flirting with Leigh was usually the best part of working, especially when it was slow and they actually had time to talk. Tonight felt different somehow; Leigh's hands didn't find her waist nearly as often and conversations stuck around what the weather looked like and how much Leigh was dreading her parents' visit at the end of the month. The innuendos that usually had Santana biting the inside of her cheek were absent and she finds herself wondering what has caused the shift between them.
"Feel like coming back to my place?" Santana asks, catching up to Leigh as she heads for the door of the bar after their shift is over. Leigh stops, her hand resting on the door. Santana shifts her weight between the balls of her feet, feeling uncomfortable under Leigh's searching glance.
"Your place?" Leigh questions. She understands most of Leigh's confusion; they never go to Santana's due to the presence of her roommates, the lack of actual walls, and the fact that it's a fucking hike to Bushwick.
Santana shrugs, trying to act indifferent.
"Who am I to turn up a chance to rifle through a future Broadway star's underwear drawer?" Leigh replies and pushes the door open, holding it for Santana to pass through.
"You are not going through my roommate's underwear drawer. Plus, she keeps her dirty secrets in a container under her bed."
Leigh gives a hearty laugh as she strolls next to Santana, her hands shoved into the tiny pockets of her shorts.
"I was talking about you, not your almost-famous roommate." Santana stops in her tracks, causing Leigh to pause.
"I don't want to be on Broadway. That lame musical theatre crap isn't for me." She knows she's coming off defensive, but there's only been a tiny instant that she even considered a future on a stage like that. But those dreams died when she realized that the chances of two girls that look different from the conventional famous beauty from the same cow town making it into the same spotlight were pretty much impossible. Broadway has always been calling Rachel. It has been Rachel's dream since she was a toddler and Santana stands no chance in a sea of Rachel clones.
"Sorry, I just figured the big move to New York to live with a couple of NYADA's elite meant you had similar dreams."
Santana ponders this. She never really thought how her situation might look to an outsider. Anybody from Lima would know that she has dreams of fame, but they were not on a Broadway stage. Broadway was one of those things that people were bred for from an early age, not something that someone just decides to do when they realize how much they actually hate cheerleading and don't want to be stuck doing it for another three years just to get a college degree. It makes sense, however; she headed to New York on her search for fame rather than to L.A. with Mercedes.
Leigh follows her onto the train and they sit in silence for most of the ride to Bushwick. It feels more uncomfortable than their usual silences and Santana feels antsy to be behind closed doors where she can fill those silences with her mouth on Leigh's body instead.
She does exactly that once she unlocks the sliding door to the loft. There is no tour of the apartment. She kisses Leigh hard right inside of the door and doesn't stop as they stumble their way across the apartment and onto her bed.
Despite the awkwardness of their interactions all evening, kissing Leigh hasn't changed a bit. There's no hesitation, no murmured words of affection against collarbones as they rip one another's clothes off. It's a physical connection that Santana has never been more grateful for - her mind feels clear while her body reacts to Leigh's every touch.
It doesn't take long before Leigh has her pinned to the bed, her hands held down tightly on either side of her body as the blonde kisses a trail down her breastbone. Santana squirms, but Leigh just smirks against her skin and holds her tighter until Santana finally relinquishes the last shreds of control.
She doesn't regret it when Leigh's mouth starts working against her, driving her crazy with every caress. The stress falls away as the heat courses from her core out to her extremities. Every nerve ending feels alive, from where Leigh's hands are gripping at her wrists to her sweat-soaked skin presses against the sheets. She craves to grip Leigh's head, her fingers tangling in blonde waves that cascade over Leigh's shoulders. The lack of control gives her a fleeting feeling of vulnerability, but there's something undeniably sexy about the whole scene and she makes eye contact with Leigh who is nestled at the apex of her thighs, holding the gaze as long she can before her release washes over her. Her eyes clamp down as the moans escape from her chest. Fingers grip at the sheets, balling them in her fists, knuckles turning white.
It's not until she's limp on the mattress that Leigh relinquishes her grip on Santana's wrists. She climbs back up the bed and lays by Santana's side, giving her a little space between their naked bodies.
Santana tries to bridge the gap, anxious for her turn to regain some control. Leigh lets her kiss her, but as she begins to slide her hands down, Leigh's hands cover them and pull them away gently. Confused, Santana breaks the kiss and looks at her.
"I'm fine tonight," Leigh comments, sliding back a few inches towards the edge of the bed. "I was really just here to check out that underwear drawer."
Neither of them laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. Santana knows she should feel lucky that her booty call is perfectly fine with getting her off and then leaving without any reciprocation, but, in reality, it feels kind of shitty.
"Did I do something, or...?" Santana questions, reaching for the blanket to cover up her body. It's hard enough to ignore the fact that Leigh is very naked without feeling exposed too.
"I probably shouldn't have come over in the first place. You have enough shit on your plate with your long distance girlfriend."
"Quinn is not my girlfriend," Santana defends. True, it's not from her lack of trying with Quinn. And maybe Quinn is trying a little harder to figure out whatever the hell is going on between them, but they are most definitely not dating. They're not even hooking up.
"You don't see my friends hanging at the bar while I work. She spent the whole night fending off hot, single men while watching your ass perform on a bar top. That girl is a lot more than a friend or fuck buddy, whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
Santana wants to throw her walls up and tell Leigh that she has it all completely wrong. It's her normal response when someone hits a little too close to the nerve. But Leigh is her closest friend in New York and is someone that doesn't really know Quinn. She's her only person that might actually understand how completely fucked up it all is.
"Can we talk about this some other time when you're not naked and looking incredibly fucking hot in my bed?"
"You can't use sex to avoid your problems forever, Santana," Leigh warns, but she doesn't shrug off Santana's hands this time as they grab her ass and pull her in.
"Save the serious conversations for when there are clothes involved," Santana murmurs against Leigh's collarbone, nipping at it playfully. Leigh giggles and it sounds more lighthearted than she's been all night.
"If you think you're topping me, you're out of your fucking mind, baby lesbian."
Santana doesn't object when she ends up pinned to the bed again for round two.
~!~!~!~
"Oh my god!" Kurt's shriek pierces her ears and she jumps up from her bed where she was sound asleep only moments ago.
"Where's the fire?" she asks, rubbing her tired eyes. Leigh had left at like five in the morning, but it couldn't even be eight yet. "Why are you even back already?"
Kurt is still standing outside of her partition, his hands covering his eyes.
"Can you please put some clothes on, Santana?"
She looks down to see that the sheets are pushed off to the side and Kurt is getting a full, unrestricted display of her assets. She laughs and climbs off the bed in search of some clothes.
"It's not like my lady parts are going to attack you," Santana jokes through a yawn. She pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. "Coast is clear."
He slowly pries his hands away from his eyes and sighs in relief when he sees that she's mostly covered.
"We leave you alone for a few short days and this is what happens? What is going on with you, Santana?"
"You're not supposed to be back for another two weeks, Lady," Santana reminds him. "I gots to take advantage of my uninhibited nudity when you freaks are gone."
Kurt moves into the room and paws at her comforter with caution before folding it over the sheets and sitting primly like he's afraid to catch a disease.
"Something came to my attention while in Lima and I thought you might need me back here."
Santana stops fidgeting enough to focus on him.
"What could be so important that I'd need you running back here to save me from it?" Santana inquires.
Kurt takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he begins.
"Quinn told Rachel all about your torrid love affair at the wedding and the subsequent encounters, including how you snubbed her at the airport on Monday. Apparently there were a lot of tears and Rachel is gearing up to interfere like she always does. Try to not kill her, Santana. Her heart is in the right place and she cares about you just as much as she cares about Quinn, even if she doesn't do well at showing that sometimes."
Santana tries to process this. Quinn, who told Santana quite clearly that this all meant nothing, had a break down to Santana's roommate. It was one thing for Santana to talk to Kurt because he wasn't all that close with Quinn. But Rachel lives with her and she talks to Quinn every day. She's way too involved with both of them for this to end up well. Quinn could have chosen anybody else: a glee club friend, a friend from Yale, yet she picked Rachel fucking Berry to spill her guts out to.
"Why would I kill Rachel?" Santana asks through gritted teeth.
"You just know how Rachel can get. And you haven't said anything about all of this to her despite living with her for months. She had to find out from Quinn losing her shit over you not kissing her in a crowded airport."
"It's none of Rachel's fucking business anyway! This is only between Quinn and I, despite what all you gossip queens think."
Kurt sighs, knowing that any attempt to dispute it will just make Santana more irate.
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," he tells her, standing up from the bed.
~!~!~!~
Santana is eating Cap'n Crunch on the couch in her pajamas two days later when Rachel approaches her. She doesn't bother to turn her attention away from the marathon of Full House that she's been watching for the past two hours. Rachel coughs in her passive aggressive way of trying to get Santana to focus on her.
When Santana continues to ignore her as she munches loudly on the cereal, Rachel finally gets up and grabs the remote, making the screen go black with the click of a button.
"What the fuck, Rach? I was watching that," Santana complains, slamming her nearly empty bowl down on the coffee table.
"We haven't had an opportunity to speak since I returned from Lima. In all honesty, it feels like you're going out of your way to not be around when I am home."
Santana rolls her eyes and reaches for the remote, but Rachel is too quick for her.
"Are you just here to cry some more about how we're not all besties?"
"I'm concerned about you," Rachel tries. Santana has to admit that she at least sounds sincere, but that could really just be her acting skills in practice.
"I don't need whatever pity you're planning on tossing my way," Santana states, trying to close whatever opening Rachel believes exists. It's none of her damn business as to what is going on between her and Quinn. She keeps telling herself that there's nothing between them, that they're friends that are finally back on the right track. Friends don't kiss goodnight the way they did in her bed, however.
Nonetheless, she doesn't owe Rachel any sort of explanation.
"Well, this isn't just about you. Quinn is hurting and you're sitting here like none of it even matters."
"That's because it doesn't, Berry. Don't pretend like you have any understanding of what's going on between Quinn and I. And why don't you just try to keep your enormous beak out of my business for once?"
She gets up and grabs the half-eaten bowl of soggy cereal. She empties it and slams the bowl into the sink before stalking past where Rachel is standing, mouth still gaping.
She misses the statement that a slammed door makes. There's no way to really show her level of anger with the constant meddling of her roommate through the swing of a curtain.
Rachel hovers all day until Santana finally can't take it. She tries to text Leigh first, but she gets a response that Leigh is busy tonight. Ashten, however, is more than willing to go out. Santana's mood lightens a fraction as she picks out an outfit that she can guarantee will turn heads.
She makes a point to strut through the living room with her clutch tucked under her arm while Kurt and Rachel are watching some cooking show. She can feel their eyes on her and the attention is oddly satisfying, even if it's from a straight girl and a gay man. If she can get their attention in this dress, hopefully the same will go for some single, attractive woman at the bar.
Ashten greets her cheerfully with a kiss to her cheek outside the bar. She has a couple of her other friends with her and they say a pleasant hello before they head inside. It's already pretty crowded considering how early it is and Santana follows Ashten through the crowd to the bar.
Her eyes scan the two bartenders, both busty blondes wearing low cut shirts and flirtatious smiles. She watches as the one closest to her pours a mixed drink with way too much mixer. Obviously this bar is going more for the easy cash than the incredibly intoxicated patrons.
She orders a beer and a shot of tequila to get the night started. She watches the bartender's ass as she walks away and wonders how many people have done the same to her while she works. She turns instead to survey the crowd. Ashten's little group of friends are already on the dance floor, beer bottles and pink concoctions clutched in their hands. Ashten pays for her own drink and waits for Santana.
They push through the crowd together and Ashten grabs her hand to lead her over to dance. They're dancing pretty closely together, a little bit of space between them and Ashten's other friends. Ashten moves fluidly with a decent amount of rhythm, but she's nowhere near Brittany's level of grace. Santana scans the room over Ashten's shoulder, picking out the pretty girls that look like they might be single.
"What's the deal with you and Leigh anyway?" Ashten shouts in her ear over the pounding of the music.
"There is no deal. We're just friends," Santana yells back, shrugging her shoulders.
"You two would make a cute couple," Ashten comments casually.
Santana chooses to not respond. She's really had enough of everybody being concerned with her romantic entanglements. Her eyes move right over the blondes and onto the darker haired women. She's had her share of blondes lately and tonight is about forgetting about all the other crap on her plate. So somebody that looks nothing like any of the girls she's slept with would be ideal.
There's a girl in the far corner with shiny black hair that frames her face in loose waves. Her skin is a flawless mocha in the dimly lit bar and Santana can feel herself drawn to this complete stranger immediately.
Ashten seems to catch her gaze fixating on a target.
"Good luck," she says into Santana's ear and she squeezes her shoulder before moving to join her friends and leaving Santana to try and formulate a game plan.
Picking up girls is a new territory for her. She's been fortunate that she's never really had to chase after girls. But this is a new leaf to turn over; it's a new experience that was part of the reason for moving to this gigantic city in the first place.
The other girl doesn't seem to notice her approaching and Santana can't decide if this is a blessing or a curse. It gives her a chance to get an up-close glance before she's sidling up to the girl's side.
"Hey, can I buy you a drink?" Santana blurts loudly, leaning in a little bit too close to the stranger's ear. The girl turns and takes a half-step back to assess who is approaching her. Santana tries to not fidget as she feels the girl's eyes rake along her body before meeting her eyes.
"I'm pretty much full," the girl comments, a shy smile playing at her lips. She holds up her beer bottle that looks like it's only missing a couple of sips. Santana feels embarrassed.
"Then maybe a dance until you need a refill?" Santana tries. "You know, only if you want to though." It's a quick follow up. She doesn't want to be that girl at the bar that can't take a hint and ends up making a person feel uncomfortable.
"New to the lesbian scene?" the girl asks, the smile genuine. "Pretty impressive that you picked me out as the sapphic type in a crowded straight bar."
Santana straights her shoulders and looks right into the girl's eyes. "I have really refined gaydar. And not new to the scene, no. Just new to New York."
The girl gives a small nod of acknowledgment before moving a little closer.
"Well, you might need a bigger game to run this scene compared to whatever you did in your little cow town. But you're hot and I'm willing to throw a bone to someone that chooses to flirt with me in a room of exceptionally beautiful women."
Santana's not really sure if she should be insulted, but she lets the girl lead her into the middle of the dance floor anyway. The girl's hips move almost as well as Brittany's and Santana finds herself mildly impressed.
"Are you a dancer?" she asks, trying to make some sort of genuine conversation.
"Only for fun," the girl responds. "I'm Eva, by the way."
"Santana."
The music is too loud to allow for any real conversation, but with the way Eva is moving, Santana is mesmerized anyway. Dancing has always been primarily been Brittany's thing, but Santana enjoys it. Especially here, with the lights turned down really low and a beautiful girl grinding into her, Santana is appreciative for her natural rhythm.
A few songs go by before Eva signals that her drink is empty and holds her hand out to Santana. She takes it and they weave through the tight crowd, pushing their way up to the bar. Santana drains the last few gulps of her own beer and deposits the empty bottle on the bar while they wait for the waitress.
Eva is in front of her and she orders them each a beer while Santana scrambles in her clutch to find her debit card. Eva waves her off and pulls a crumpled bill out of the back pocket of her jeans, which she hands to the bartender with a wink.
As they head back onto the dance floor, Ashten comes over and taps on Santana's shoulder.
"We're going to head to another bar to meet up with some people. Are you okay here or do you want to come?"
Santana glances at Eva, who is already moving to the beat, her eyes sparkling and carefree.
"I'm good," Santana assures her friend and they kiss on the cheek before Ashten disappears again to meet up with her friends.
"You must really think you're getting lucky if you're ditching your friends," Eva teases, pulling Santana close enough that her warm breath tickles Santana's neck.
Santana laughs but doesn't know how to respond because the truth is that leaving with Eva is definitely part of her game plan tonight. And if it's not Eva, then hopefully it'll be another girl that will be a forgotten name in the morning.
"Or maybe I just enjoy dancing with a beautiful woman that can actually move with a beat," Santana retorts with a cheekish grin.
"Who said you can't have both?" Eva points out, turning her face so that they're grinding eye to eye. Even with them both in heels, they're almost exactly the same height.
Santana takes the opening and leans in, letting her eyes close as she feels her lips make contact with Eva's. They barely maintain their rhythm as they start to kiss more furiously, but Santana couldn't care less. This girl is hot and she is amazing with her mouth and hips. All Santana can think about is getting out of this bar and into a more private place to see exactly what Eva can really do.
Her fingers tangle into Eva's dark hair, pulling it needily and causing Eva to moan into her mouth.
"Is your place cool?" Eva asks, the words hot against Santana's lips. She nods slightly and breaks the kiss to see Eva standing in front of her with her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling with her rapid breathing.
Santana doesn't bother to respond before she's leading Eva towards the exit.
~!~!~!~
Eva is gone by the time Santana wakes up in the morning. She's not really surprised; on the subway ride to Bushwick Santana made it clear that she wasn't looking for any sort of ongoing thing and Eva was more than okay with that response.
The sex was good, satisfying enough, but nothing special. Eva was loud and aggressive and Santana knows she's going to owe Kurt big time for not giving him any warning. On the other hand, she hopes that Rachel heard it all loud and clear so that maybe she'll get the picture.
She only gets to see Leigh a couple of times outside of work over the next few weeks and it trumps the couple of girls that she brings home after shifts. She thinks her game is improving (or her tight clothes and flawless looks are doing it all for her) and there's something rewarding about bringing home women to parade past her roommates.
The thoughts of Quinn's face after she denied her that kiss in the airport start to diminish. She's getting past pining for someone that never was never really available by getting under a growing selection of single New York women. It's working better than she could have hoped; between working late and then being up all night, the days seem to go by quickly.
Rachel has practically done everything in her power to avoid Santana lately and that has just made it all that much better.
She should have known that her luck couldn't last.
It's mid-afternoon on a Thursday, which is usually a time when she rolls out of bed to a serenely empty apartment while Kurt and Rachel are working. But today, Rachel is banging around in the kitchen when Santana wanders through, bleary-eyed and hungover.
Rachel takes one glance at her and scoffs, which does nothing except rile Santana up.
"What's shoved up your ass?" Santana seethes, grabbing the carton of orange juice from the fridge and taking a swig directly from it. This just causes Rachel to display even more disgust on her features.
"Look at you! It's 2 in the afternoon, you smell like stale booze and some random girl's perfume, and you actually have bags under your eyes." She stops to really look at Santana. "What has happened to you, Santana?"
"It's called enjoying my life. You might want to dislodge the massive stick up your ass and try it sometime," she bites back, slamming the juice carton on the counter. "And while you're at it, maybe you can just keep your judgmental, holier-than-thou attitude to yourself."
Rachel's eyes immediately well up with tears. She drops the soapy frying pan back into the sink with a thud as they start pouring down her cheeks. Santana is pretty sure she's just trying to assuage Santana's anger and it just makes her even more furious.
"I really don't care about your ability to cry on demand, Berry," she seethes.
"Are you happy?"
The question catches Santana off guard. Rachel's shoulders are visibly sagging and her wet hands are dripping onto the floor with a carelessness that Rachel typically doesn't possess. She looks vulnerable and pathetic with her mask of makeup and perfectly straightened hair trying to cover up the cracks of the self-conscious little girl lying within.
"What?" Santana chokes out.
"Are you happy just working day to day to pay the bills and falling in bed with anybody that bothers to flirt with you? Because I thought you moved out here to follow your dreams, not to just go through the motions."
The truth to her words sting more than Santana will ever admit. New York was supposed to be this huge fresh start to figure out what she really wanted and that's not what it has been for the six months that she has been living here. She could say that it's Quinn's fault for derailing her so shortly after she got here, but that's unfair. She shouldn't have let Quinn get under her skin. All she's left with is the wound from all of the drama and no focus on why she's here in the first place.
"What does it matter to you anyway?" She'll do anything in her power to keep Rachel from realizing how close to home she's hitting right now. Unfortunately, Rachel isn't easily deflected.
"Yesterday's girl had a lovely conversation with Kurt and I while she so rudely ate our food without asking. She's an aspiring musician. Did you know that about her? She has a weekly gig at a place uptown. Did you happen to get a name or phone number? Is your future even something you're thinking about?"
Rachel has her. She racks her brain to come up with a mental image of the girl. Dark hair (the only kind of girl she's been willing to go after lately), tanned skin with freckles across her shoulders. Her name isn't coming to her and the edges of the visual are fuzzy, like she never really looked hard enough in the first place.
Rachel wipes her hands on the dish towel and strides over to the table. On the back of an envelope is a messily scrawled name and number. She thrusts it at Santana, who takes it in stunned silence.
"Her name is Danielle, by the way. If you decide you want to stop being so scared of actually doing what you love, you might want to make her more than a random blurry memory that was in your bed once."
With that, Rachel executes a perfect storm out. Santana is left standing there clutching the envelope. She stares at the sloppy handwriting and hates herself that she immediately thinks about Quinn's loopy script that is messy and elegant all at once. This Danielle girl might be a small step into the industry, but Santana knows from the depths of her heart that she's not going to suck up her pride and call this girl.
But the conversation with Rachel changes something in her. She likes the bar fine enough, but everybody else there has larger ambitions. It's just a job to pay the bills while they pursue other things. Leigh is swamped in graduate school applications, Ashten is applying for internships all over the world. And Santana, well she's working and fucking her way through the lesbian population of New York City.
It's not a long term fix to get over all the crap that is going on in her head. She's falling into the same routine as she did while at Louisville, but instead of running home to Brittany at every opportunity to solve her problems, she's doing it with girls she doesn't remember a week later.
She promises herself that she'll start figuring her shit out. But first, she needs to shower off the scent of Danielle and find a way to not have the urge to murder her invasive roommate.
~!~!~!~
"Mija, it's good to finally get you on the phone," Mr. Lopez says, his tone businesslike despite talking to his only child.
Santana is still buried under the blankets, exhausted after a long Saturday night at the bar. It's early on Sunday morning, earlier than she would choose to wake up on her own. But when the phone rang for the third time, she accepted the call without even bothering to check the Caller ID.
"Good morning to you too," she grumbles, forcing herself to sit up against the pillows. "What can I do for you so very early in the morning?"
"You haven't been returning my phone calls," he states simply. "You're only nineteen and you're living halfway across the country. The least you can do is let your parents know that you're alive. I believe you agreed to call your mother once a week and she says she hasn't heard from you in weeks. This is unacceptable, Santana Maria."
Even over the phone she can picture her dad sitting at the big desk in his home office, tie already knotted around his neck. They will probably be leaving for church as soon as he is done torturing her.
"Things have just been busy here, Dad," she lies.
"Have you found a respectable job yet?" he asks sternly. She knows that he disapproves of her working as a bartender. It's not like she's a cocktail waitress at a high end hotel and he knows it.
"Dad, I like my job," she defends. "And I have been putting money away. I've replaced all of the savings from the money Mamà gave me."
Her dad likes financial stability and teaching her responsibility. She figures he hadn't whisked her back to Ohio just for the fact that he knows that she's actually pretty good at taking care of herself. Plus, it helps that her mom was on her side about her making this move.
"Serving rowdy, young men cheap beer is hardly a career," he scoffs. "I am enrolling you in two classes at the City College of New York. You may continue to work at that bar and live in New York as long as you maintain your studies. It's time for you to grow up, Santana."
"Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore! You can't just decide what I'm going to do with my life! I don't want to take classes and I'm sure as hell not going to leave New York."
"Respetarme, mija."
It's a line she's heard a million times. He's demanding her respect. Any time she would begin to lose her temper, which was often in her younger years, he would firmly remind her of her duty to respect him.
But she's not a little girl anymore and she's sick of her father trying to force her into his life plan for her. It was his fault in the first place that she took the scholarship to University of Louisville. Plans outside of a college degree just did not fall into what he expected from her.
"You know I have plenty of respect. Maybe you need to realize that I'm not a child anymore. I don't want to go to college. I tried it and I'm just not cut out to be a doctor like you. Sorry to disappoint." The words taste bitter in her mouth. As an only child, her parents had always put all of their expectations solely on her. For her father that meant making sure his child maintained his legacy of earning a higher degree.
"Your mother and I have agreed that you may take music classes if you wish. But you will go back to school, Santana. I will be paying for your school in full as long as you maintain your side of the agreement. If you do not, you are completely on your own."
"Is that all you called for?" she says angrily, knowing that as much as she wants to flip out, it's pointless. Her mom is behind this plan of her father's and they are willing to pay for her to study music. While she would fight her dad until the very end, the idea of letting down her mom after how accepting and supportive she has been stops her.
"I will send you the list of courses. Please let me know what you have selected by Wednesday. Call your mother soon, please."
The line goes dead before they can say a formal goodbye.
As angry she is at the situation, part of her feels like a giant weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She has a future. It might not be NYADA or Tisch, but it's still a chance to study music. She searches for the course catalog before her father even has a chance to send her the link and she spends the rest of the morning reading through the course descriptions. She wouldn't admit it to him, but for the first time in months, Santana feels excited about what's waiting down the road.
Author's Note: quasi-suspect continues to be an awesome beta. She also wants to take credit for all of the angst that's in this chapter (just kidding, I'm pretty sure she's on her way to hunt me down right now).
