Every year, from mid-October right up until Christmas, you're entirely stressed. The fundraising, the holiday party planning, the shopping, all of it, on top of your regular work schedule, it's enough to make you tear your hair out. Except, stressful as it is, it's your favorite thing in the world. Stressful as it is, being able to help these families, kids like you, parents like your mom, people who just can't catch a break, makes you your happiest self. And this year, with Brittany, insisting upon helping you with anything you'd like her to, with Brittany, who reminds you to eat and cuddles you after long days, somehow the holiday season is even brighter.
Thanksgiving comes and goes, quicker than you'd expected. The two of you, you do all the prep the day before, and true to her word, Brittany teaches you to bake pumpkin pie— something she'd learned watching TV, she confesses. But the day of, that's your favorite. You go together to pick up your mom at 30th Street Station, and when you get back to your apartment, your mother entirely ignores Brittany's insistence that she has dinner under control. So the two of them, they end up cooking together. Your mom and your girlfriend, they cook Thanksgiving dinner, and you watch, awed at how effortlessly they move. Like they've been doing it forever. Like they're going to be doing it for the rest of forever. The butterflies, they can barely handle that. You swear, they're just constantly riled up, there's no stopping them.
It's nose to the grindstone, once the holiday weekend is over, once you send your mom back to New York with promises that you'll be back up at Christmastime— though the logistics of which, you've yet you work out. But you will. You'll figure it all out. Because that's what you and Brittany do. Something easier than you've ever expected. And after your weekend, you're back at work. You're urging your callers to donate money for the needy families of Philadelphia. You're still saying hello to Otis every morning, you're still drinking Brittany's coffee while the sun rises over your city, and slipping casual mentions of her into your show. You're busy, so busy, but not too busy for them. Never too busy for them.
A week before the Christmas party, you have to start shopping. It's your favorite part of it. Getting to play Santa, though you want no credit for it. You love reading the simple lists of small kids, kids like you. You love filling shopping carts with new clothes, clothes that no one else will have worn before them. You love slipping things in for the moms, for the dads, for the older siblings who have stepped in to help care for their families. You think of your mom, you always think of your mom while you shop. You think of how the smallest kindness made her day, her month, even. And you think of the smiles you get from the people who'd only expected some new socks for their little ones, but ended up with so much more. Brittany, she helps you shop this year. You'd never expected to include another person in this thing that's so deeply personal for you. But with Brittany, you want to include her in everything. With Brittany, she shares your joy, grinning as she fills shopping carts with baby dolls, with crayons and pencils, with clothing and canned food. Brittany, she wasn't there for the first twenty-seven years of your life, but she understands that they made you you, she understands what doing this every year means.
You wrap, for an entire weekend, you wrap gifts. Your apartment, it looks like Santa's Workshop. Gifts, boxed and stacked and labeled fill your living room. More boxes, filled with all of the food, cover your counter and table. You and Brittany eat Thai food out of takeout containers on the floor. Otis investigates, he's not really sure how he feels about spending time in this strange place. But Brittany, she smiles so much. She kisses you more than ever. She tells you how amazing this is, how thankful she is that you let her help. She helps you check your lists. Her organization is really helpful in this. You feel like you're doing a more thorough job than ever. And you smile, too. You're overwhelmed by it, really. You're overwhelmed by Brittany's love and kindness. You're overwhelmed that you've fallen in love with someone so goodhearted, you're overwhelmed because this time of year is overwhelming enough for you, but with Brittany, everything just multiplies, amplifies, spills over.
The morning of the party, the Thursday before Christmas, you and Brittany decorate the big Christmas tree in the station's multipurpose room. You wrap her in garland and pull her toward you. You kiss her. You kiss her until she's breathless. You kiss her until you see the stars in her universe eyes. You kiss her, because this girl, you have no words for her. You haven't even decorated the tree in her apartment yet, but here she is, still working at your side. She understands that this is what Christmas is for you, and she accepts it without question. It's things like this which make you think of the future. When she's in your arms. When Otis is lying on his belly on the floor close by. It makes you feel this certainty that has never existed for you before. The future, you think of it all the time. It surprises you how much you do. You've only been together half a year, but you have no doubts. Brittany. She's going to be your forever. Brittany, she'll be doing this by your side for years to come. As your girlfriend, maybe some day, as your wife. This is just the first of many Christmases. This is just the start of the gorgeous life you're going to have together.
She looks beautiful in her red sweater and jeans. She always looks beautiful, but, watching her as she finishes getting ready for your favorite night of the year, she's somehow even more stunning. You don't know how she manages it, but she does. She manages to awe you. She manages to wake the butterflies. She manages to make you want to kiss her over and over again, just by being her.
"Hi, beautiful." She turns from the mirror toward you, and you, you just melt a little. You know she caught you staring, but she doesn't tease. Not tonight. She just returns the compliment, making a small sigh escape your lips. "Am I taking too long?"
"No, no. Not at all." You shake your head. "I just— thank you for this, Brittany. For helping me."
"You've thanked me a lot of times, Santana," she reminds you. Her eyes, they sparkle, the flecks of glitter in her sweater making them shine brighter. You reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. You need to touch her sometimes. It's like some sort of gravitational pull.
"I know. But I mean it, I really do. I haven't had much time left for just us, and it's our first Christmas together."
"You've had plenty of time for us. I'm not some girl you need to woo with wine and nice dinners, you know that. This, this. This, making other people have a merry Christmas, and you. Sharing this with me, the things you do with your big giant heart. That's a million times better. So thank you, for letting me participate."
"I absolutely adore you, Brittany Pierce. I hope you know that."
"I think maybe you told me once or twice." She raises her eyebrows, and you just, you lean in to kiss her, putting your hand on her lower back, pulling her close. Just taking a moment.
"Well I'll tell you again. I love you. I love you a lot."
"I love you a lot too, Santana.
She puts her hand on your knee while you drive back over to the station. You still have one more load of gifts in your car. The money you've raised this year, it's more than ever. You wonder if it's because you've become more popular, you wonder if people have become more generous. You wonder, but it doesn't really matter all that much why. All that really matters is that seventy-three families, they'll have a merry Christmas. Seventy-three families will get a little extra assistance throughout the year. Seventy-three families, they'll maybe believe a little more in miracles. Your mom, she made you believe in big things. She encouraged you to dream and hope, when it seemed like there was nothing to hope for. And it was that, those dreams, more than anything, that got you where you are. You want these other families to dream, too. You want those other little girls in too-big clothes to know that they matter too. You know it's overly optimistic, but you want them to know, somewhere in their hearts, that happy endings are real.
Lights twinkle all over the city, and the bells you'd put on Otis' collar jingle as he shifts a little in the backseat. It feels like Christmas, it feels like magic. It's in Brittany's universe eyes. It's everywhere, like that cheesy song in Love, Actually. You feel it, this unmatched happiness, rushing through your veins. You hold Brittany's hand as you walk inside. You keep holding it while you talk to Jonas, since he always DJs the party for you. The volunteers, they begin to arrive, and Brittany, she's left her shell at home, mostly. She helps you greet them, she smiles, she even uses her voice a little, because she's growing less embarrassed of how she thinks she sounds. You love the way she talks, you tell her every day, just so she knows. She knows, and it helps her find confidence, because you assure her, you're an expert, they let you talk on the radio. She knows, and she believes a little more, even after the Marcus disaster, that there are people out there, people who appreciate her for the wonderful woman she is. No matter what.
You become frenzied. Completely frenzied, as your invited guests get closer to arriving. You've begun triple checking the lists that both you and Brittany have gone over. You're running around. You find yourself snapping at volunteers. It's just, this temporary beast you become, each and every year. It's Brittany, of course, who finds you. It's Brittany, who strokes your arms and kisses your head. It's Brittany who promises everything is perfect and reminds you that even if it's not, it's still the most wonderful thing she's ever seen. It's Brittany who calms you, and who hands you a buttered roll, because you haven't eaten, and she knows that makes you lose your mind a little. It's Brittany, whose hand you take, and who accepts your offer to come say hello to families as they come in. It's Brittany, who puts aside any of her last reservations, and stands strong at your side.
It's a success, really. The whole night. You take no credit for it. You never do. It's not about that for you. It's just about the squeals of delight, the smiles, the tears of parents, when their kids tell them see, Santa is real. The whole night, you always try not to cry. Because you remember getting excited about something that most kids wouldn't blink an eye at. You feel Brittany's presence through the evening, even when she's not touching you. You feel her heart, knowing yours. You catch her smile, across the room, and you just, breathe deeply, filling, filling deeper with your love. This is her, on your most important day. This is her, with her radiance, helping you make this something incredible. This is her, doing that thing she does again. Where she makes magic without trying.
You lose her at some point, after dessert. She and Otis, you don't see them anywhere. But, you don't worry about her. There are nearly four hundred people in the room, she could be anywhere. Instead, you continue checking on your guests. You talk to families, and you listen to their stories. You listen to them, and you keep them with you. You remember the smiling faces. Some you'll see again next year, some you won't. But, each and every one of these people, they matter to you. They may not see what you, the face on the billboard has in common with them, but you know. And you hope, so much, that these little kids that run around the room, that laugh, that play with their new toys, you hope that they get chances too. You're lost, so lost in your head, when you stumble, quite literally, upon Brittany again, sitting on the floor across from a little boy, Otis between them, engaged in a conversation that steals the breath from your lungs.
"Santana." Otis perks up, and Brittany smiles when she sees you, then she spells your name out in sign, sign that the boy in front of her mimics, learning your uncommon name. My girlfriend.
Girlfriend? He signs back to her, shrugging his shoulders in question. She's pretty. Good job.
Thanks. You touch your fingertips to your chin and bring them down. You look at Brittany, who is just, very clearly taken with this child, and blushing, because she does that, when someone compliments you. You beam at her, you beam at her like you don't think you ever have before.
"This is Carson." Brittany speaks out loud for you. She knows you're becoming increasingly fluent, but, you're definitely not at the point where you can follow a rapid conversation between two people who are, especially one that involves what seems to be more than a little finger spelling. "He's seven, and he's really enjoying his new Spider-Man sneakers." He signs something else, and both he and Brittany laugh, filling you, filling you again. "And the matching backpack."
"Carson's deaf, too." She tells you, signing along for him. You'd figured, but, you never know. You've never had the opportunity to see her act as a translator for you, and something about it, it makes your every cell feel warm. As if you weren't already warm enough, watching her carry on this enthusiastic conversation with this child, in a language all their own. "He used to wish for ears like his sister from Santa every year, so he could talk to more people, but how he's starting to think his are pretty special on their own."
They are. You tell him yourself, and you tug at Brittany's earlobe playfully. Like Britt's.
"He says not quite." Brittany shakes her head a little, laughing as Carson corrects that for you. "He was born deaf."
"Well then." You let out a little giggle, your cheeks rosy from the heat in the room, your eyes, brimming, brimming as he signs so animatedly, and she winks at him. "I'll leave you two to it. But, I'm going to steal you for a dance before the end of the night, alright?"
"Of course." She leans in to kiss your cheek, and then presses her lips to your ear. It doesn't matter that the room is loud, it doesn't matter that Carson can't hear her. She's really taken to talking in your ear, working on regulating the volume of her words to truly whisper. The intimacy, she loves. Being the only one who gets close enough to you to do that, she loves. You smile, you smile so she feels it against her cheek, and you reach for her hand to squeeze it. "Awesome, right?"
"Very." You nod, and you sneak a quick kiss. Sucking your teeth playfully when you hear Carson gag behind you. You turn back to him once more, and raise your eyebrows. You chuckle at his big, toothy grin, then you brush both hands over your chest. You form the right one into a C and cross it over. Merry Christmas.
You can't help but let your eyes return to them, over and over again. No matter where you are, you keep finding her. You find her coloring with him. You find her talking to his parents, her lips moving, and her hands going at the same time. You find her hugging them all goodbye, and you're pretty positive, of all the amazing things you've seen during your three Christmases doing this, and in all you'll see for as long as you'll continue, nothing will ever compare. Nothingwill ever compare to watching the woman you love light up around a small child. Nothingwill ever compare to watching the way she gives him the opportunity to communicate, when there are few other people in the room he would have been able to otherwise. Nothing, nothing, ever will compare to the way his mom cries happy tears as her husband carries two big boxes of new things for their children and she kisses Brittany's cheeks, thanking her, thanking her, for stopping to spend time with him. She gave them something too. Something you couldn't. Something that's so wonderfully special, that you have to catch your breath.
Brittany is still teary when she finds you again. The room is nearly empty, Jonas has already started returning the DJ equipment to the audio supply room. But it doesn't matter. None of that matters. You want to dance with your wonderful girl. You want to take her in her arms and sway with her. Just because you never have. Just because it's Christmastime. Just because there's garland and tinsel and mistletoe. Just because seventy-three families went home with a joy and happiness, one in particular. Just because you've spent two months putting this together, and now, now that it's over, your private Christmas with Brittany is just beginning. And mostly, mostly just because you love her so entirely, that you want to end your favorite night of the year, dancing with her.
"May I have this dance?" You ask her, dancing your right index and middle finger upon your flat left palm and gesturing between the two of you.
"You may." She smiles, and she steps toward you. It takes her a moment. She's not sure where to put her hands. You forget. You forget sometimes, that you might be the first one who's ever asked her to dance. And where you'd usually follow someone else's lead, you guide one hand to the back of your neck, and the other, you let it rest on your throat. She sucks in a breath, a deep one, because she knows, she knows, and you snake your arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "The music isn't playing anymore, is it?"
"It's not. But, Jonas already makes fun of me for my terrible taste in music, so it's probably much better that he's done for the night. Because the song I want to dance with you to, it'll just fuel his fire. I'm just—" You purse your lips and scrunch up your face a little. "I'm hoping you know the song. I mean, it's mega cheesy, and I didn't even see the movie until rainy day recess like two years after it came out. But, did you see Aladdin?"
"I did." You think she knows. No, with the way her eyes shine, you're sure she knows. You'd thought about this, really, you'd thought about this long and hard, and maybe, maybe googled some love songs from the early nineties, since she always jokes about her super old school musical taste. And there were a few that worked, but, you saw that title, and, it just, resonated with you. Carpet or not, the two of you are opening each other up to brand new worlds. Carpet or not, you feel the magic.
"I can show you the world, shining, shimmering splendid." You sing a little, as you start to sway. You sing a little, and she feels the vibrations, the expansion and contraction, the music right in your vocal cords. You sing, and she watches your lips, your eyes, your whole face. She's feeling the music in you, she's feeling it, and then, then, she pauses, just for a second. And even more than two decades after she'd last heard the song, she parts her lips, and she joins quietly, but so, so clearly, that you think the butterflies burst out of your own throat.
"A whole new world. A dazzling place I never knew." She looks at you, she looks at you with those eyes, those eyes that are so much bigger that the world. Those universe eyes. And you just, you want to kiss her, but you want to keep hearing her beautiful, beautiful music. Music that sounds like nothing else you've ever heard. Music that's absolute perfection in your ears.
"Brittany." You know she sees you're melting inside when you finish the song together. You watch her get shy, you watch her duck her head a little. But gently, you put your fingers under her chin, gently you bring her eyes back to yours, gently, you kiss her, and when you pull back, you feel her fingers wipe a tiny fallen tear from your cheek. "That was really beautiful."
"So were you." She's earnest. She's so earnest. And you have to steal another kiss. "Thank you for singing to me, thank you for asking me to dance. And thank you, most of all, for letting me be a part of this night. This was. It was one of the best things ever, Santana. You do something, so. So, great. And, I just. Wow."
"Thank you." It's your turn to duck your head shyly. It's your turn to feel the tips of your ears burn. "I'm glad you liked it. It's my favorite night of the whole year."
"I think. I think it could end up being mine, too."
