Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.
Fourteen Months Later
If I told you that one day is today, would you believe me? Would you entertain the idea of me, Santana, and Eddie carrying on semi-normal lives? Would it sound too arbitrary to say that nothing remotely devastating has happened to us in fourteen months?
It's somewhere around midnight. Santana and Eddie are away at her abuela's for the weekend, allowing me the serenity of an empty apartment. Though whenever I get the chance, I like to come out here and sit. Think about our lives fourteen months ago. Try and figure out at what point we became the people that we are.
I never can, though. Especially when you consider every factor; every cause and effect. How we can begin as blocks of the roughest stone, and as each individual circumstance and fraction of time chisel away at that block, we eventually emerge as finished pieces. Works of art.
The towering lights flicker on, one by one. Gradually, handfuls of men, women, and children take the rugged field. For about two hours, they'll play on the unkempt area. Their smiling faces will not once fall victim to the mounds of grass, gravel, and dirt that litter all over. Those who don't participate will not fall short in excitement, but will cheer from outside the surrounding fence.
This only ever happens on the weekends. Never on school nights. For I recognize a few of the children and parents, many of which are in Eddie's class. One of the older men is one of Santana's professors at Lima Community College. A friend of his instructs my dance classes at the community center.
Sometimes, when Santana and I fight, this is where I come. My own little safe corner of the world. If things grow hectic around the apartment—I'm here. If Santana and I get into an argument, and she yells, "Fine!" and slams the bedroom door shut; and if I mutter back "Fine."—I'm here.
Should this ever happen, it only takes us about thirty minutes to cool off. For us to realize that occasional arguments are good for us. They serve as affirmation enough that we aren't floating around in some bubble of perfection. That we aren't untouchable. They remind us that we're human. That we can experience lows and bask in the highs. That we can feel. Most importantly, that we'll just… carry on.
Like children might after a nasty fall, we recognize the pain, wipe the dirt away, and press forward.
It was especially chaotic when we decided to adopt Eddie. Actually, when Santana decided. I was hesitant as absolute hell, imagining every possible way that we would fail. There were so many hows, whats, and whys that terrified me. But there was also this spark in Santana's eye—like that night at the river—that restored my belief in things to come. Eventually, it started sounding like the right thing to do.
So we went through the process, doing everything that needed to be done. Choosing the last name wasn't a lengthy endeavor. In fact, our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Why does it have to be Lopez-Pierce? He's already gotten so used to my last name. No sense in giving the kid an identity complex."
Santana (in your pathetic excuse for an Eddie Murphy voice): "Because I do half the work; I get half the booty."
Needless to say, Eddie now shares part of Santana's last name, but doesn't seem to be complaining.
I should probably be wrapping this up and heading home. There are still so many boxes to pack. We've finally saved up enough money for a bigger apartment and move in tomorrow. A two-bedroom right next to Carey. Eddie's excited about having his own room. Santana's just happy that ours will be bigger.
I'll admit, there are days that I worry. Days that I'll see my mother's ghost floating around Lima. Or when we go to Carey's for Sunday dinner and the sadness kicks in. The idea that Eddie will never get to know Bernadette. Not like we did, at least. Or if our balancing classes at the community college and work leaves proper time for the three of us? Are we not spending enough time together? Will Eddie feel neglected like we did as children?
Santana's always there to comfort me. To reassure me of our okayness with a kiss or a hug or just holding me for a little while. Words can never express how grateful I am for that.
Which is why, when she returns home tomorrow on her birthday, I'll pull out this Crayon box. She'll peek inside and retrieve a piece of jewelry that's suited specifically to her style. A simple ring with the words I'm forever yours, faithfully inscribed on the inside band. Eddie helped me pick it out. I mean, it's not an engagement ring or anything (though I do plan on proposing someday); it's more of a "You're Never Getting Rid of Me" memorandum. Charming, right?
Hopefully, she'll smile. Hopefully, she'll think back to the past fourteen months, and the fourteen before that. Maybe, just maybe, she'll get the feeling I do when I come out here. When I watch these men and their families. Maybe she'll realize that things are enough. That our lives don't have to sing out, and they most certainly don't. Instead, there's something to be said for us whisperers. And if she's lucky, she'll realize the most important thing of all: sometimes, enough is all you need.
Tomorrow, the loves of my life come home. Tomorrow, a new day comes along for us to grow within each other. Fortunately, I feel that after tomorrow, nothing will ever be the same.
All right, guys. Where do I begin? Firstly, I'd like to thank each and every one of you. It's meant the world to me, having this piece. Far more than I ever believed it would.
I know this is a late update. Part of me wanted to wrap this up perfectly; another part didn't want this to end. Both are impossible tasks, and are the reasons for this delayed update. I do apologize.
Truthfully, I won't be able to say much more without bursting into a fit of tears. To those of you who consistently reviewed (I would name you individually, but that wouldn't be fair), I am eternally grateful. In the beginning, I didn't think I'd care about the reviews. But once you begin to realize that something means as much to others as it does to you, then you learn to really appreciate those others and their opinions.
Ernest Hemingway once said, "Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters." You guys stuck around until the end, and I tried my best to not back off. I'd say that's good enough for me.
