Chapter 8

TW: Mentions of eating disorders

Brittany's POV

While cleaning the apartment one day while Santana was at school, I found a notebook between our mattress and the bed. I set it down on top of our bed and didn't open it. I wanted to give Santana her privacy. But, as I continued cleaning the house, I kept going back to the notebook, extremely curious.

After some mental arguments, I decided to open it and immediately gasped. Every page in the notebook was filled with meals Santana had eaten, tiny meals, with their calories written next to each food. That was the moment where it really hit me just how bad Santana's eating disorder had been. Still, something felt off, and I wondered how Santana was really doing.

So, while she was showering the next morning, I went on her phone (guessing her PIN was surprisingly really easy) and checked her calendar, seeing that she no longer had any appointments with her therapist planned. I also saw that she had a calorie counting app on her phone, but couldn't look for anything more when Santana came back into our bedroom.

Eventually, I couldn't keep the secret any longer.

"Santana," I said, "I found something yesterday." I showed her the notebook I'd found.

"Oh, that," she said, nonchalant. "It's old; I haven't used it for a long time."

"Why do you still have it?"

"I don't know. It's just something I don't want to get rid of."

"How's your therapy going?" I asked, forgetting to be calm, and starting to sound accusatory.

"I stopped going."

"Why?"

"Ever since you moved in, I've felt a lot better, so I stopped going."

"And how are you doing with your eating?"

"I asked you not to be my therapist and I'd really like it if you kept that promise."

"Okay, except you are not going to your therapist anymore! I'm sorry for being worried, but I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay!"

"I'm fine!" Santana yelled.

I felt myself start to tear up, blaming my pregnancy hormones, but knowing that the situation had just as much to do with it. I stood up and left the apartment, needing some air.

When I returned later that evening, I found Santana crying in our bedroom. She turned over and acted as though she was fine, but I'd seen the tears on her face.

"Santana," I said gently, "I'm sorry for getting so accusatory."

"No, you're right," she replied, sitting up, allowing me to see her tears. "I'm not fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I guess. I'd thought I was fine, I really did. You moving in with me made me feel a lot better for a while, but I guess I can't trust my mind yet. I want to get better, but sometimes, I would just miss my eating disorder. I was gaining weight, and I couldn't handle it. The only time a weight gain made me happy was when I got my boob job, and even then, I lost that weight from other places soon after. I hate that I feel this way, but I don't feel happy when I gain weight."

I paused to see if she would say anything more. When she didn't, I said, "I think you're incredibly brave for saying that and for getting help in the first place. I'm proud of you, and I love you no matter what you look like. Would you like to go back to therapy?"

"In some ways, I just want to stay like this, but I know I need help. So, yeah, I would," she said.

"That's good. Thank you for being so honest with me. Now, would you like a hug?"

"Okay."

I hugged her as tight as I could, feeling how skinny she actually was, but looking past that and just loving her. I felt awful for not trying to help her sooner, but I was so grateful we'd had that conversation and that she was comfortable enough to talk to me about it.

I finally started to look pregnant by the time May rolled around, and I loved to touch my stomach and feel the baby move and kick. It was also an exciting time for Santana who was finishing up her last month training to become a midwife. Her May was filled with exams (both practical and written) and finishing up her internship which would become a permanent job after she graduated.

One Tuesday evening, I found Santana studying at her desk in the second bedroom turned office that I had barely even slept in when we had called it "my bedroom."

"How's it going?" I asked, handing her a cup of water since she always forgot to drink while she was studying.

"Alright," she replied. "I've almost covered everything for my exam tomorrow."

"That's good. Can we talk?"

"Um, sure." She lowered her computer screen and closed her textbook with her note papers inside to show me that I had her full attention.

"Remember when you were talking about natural births?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I want to do. I want this baby to be born at home, and I want you to be my midwife."

"Are you sure, Britt? I don't know if us being... girlfriends would make that more difficult."

I sighed. "Maybe it could, but I trust you more than anyone, and you are almost graduated and completely certified. The way you talked about all the natural birth stuff and mother-directed births... it's what I want for my birth. And, besides, I saw how much it interests you, and you know it isn't going to happen with you working at the hospital- not that I want you to quite at the hospital, I just-"

"If it's really what you want, then I will do it," she replied. "The idea does make me a little nervous, but, I'll do it, for you."

"Thank you!"

"Now, I'll just finish up my studying, then we can watch a movie."

"Or what about something else?"

She looked at me questioningly until she understood what I was implying. With the combination of my pregnancy symptoms, sleeping with Santana every night, and us being in a relationship for a few months, I almost constantly ached to have sex with her. We hadn't yet because I knew that she needed time to get used to being in a relationship with another woman that didn't revolve around sex (like ours had in high school), but I felt ready.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked, her voice shaking and quiet.

"Only if you're ready," I replied, "but I really think we are."

"I just want our first real time to be good, and you're pregnant, so it might be awkward, and-"

"It's okay. We can wait," I said. "I'm willing to wait until you're ready; you'll just need to let me know."

"Okay, I will."

Finally, it was time for Santana's graduation. I sat with her parents and Jessie (as she could only invite four people to come to the actual ceremony) and cheered as loud as I could as she walked across the stage to receive her diploma.

After the ceremony, Santana had decided to skip all the parties and spend the rest of her day with the people she loved most. Her father was becoming more and more open to acceptance and he didn't react negatively to anything about the relationship between Santana and me any longer. He tried his best to get Jessie's pronouns right (despite the occasional error), and I could see how happy Santana was that her family was so accepting, even if it took them a little while to show it.

"Santana tells me you're not finding out if the baby is a boy or girl until it's born," Santana's mother said, starting up a conversation with me.

"We want to be surprised," I responded.

"That's wonderful. I can't wait to meet my grand-baby."

"Me neither."

I loved having Santana's family in our apartment. Knowing Santana often felt disconnected from her family; this felt like just the thing she needed.

After graduating, Santana started working at the hospital where she'd done some of her tests. She would be assisted by another midwife during her work for a few months, but soon she would be able to do all the work on her own.

On her first day working at the hospital, I made breakfast for Santana while she showered, and, when she left, I started cleaning up the apartment to surprise her when she would get home.

A/N:

So, I decided to start adding in content and trigger warnings at the start of each chapter if they apply. I will eventually go back and add them to previous chapters as well.

In other words, thank you so much for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story so far!