Chapter Four

The Confrontation

"Someone offered you, you say?" The Latina's mother had looked over the paperwork her daughter had sent home while the Louisville cheerleader dug into some welcome home just because dinner that was served for her.

Every guideline, every sentence, and every word was stuck into her mind. Half of her brain wanted to shout, this is all a scam; and half of her brain wanted to calm down and say, this would be perfect for Santana.

So many emotions ran through her. Santana was growing up so fast. Had she blinked an eye and missed out on something. She was only nineteen and starting her freshman year of college.

But she felt like she did miss something.

One minute, her beloved daughter is off in Kentucky, using the scholarship her best friend and girlfriend got for her. The next, she comes back to Lima with a contract in her hands, agreeing to any terms and conditions of being a song artist with her two best friends. Teens her age rarely get this opportunity.

And Santana was one lucky puppy.

"Don't worry about a thing," the brunette sitting beside her assured. "They'll take care of school for all three of us, and we'll contact you, Brittany's parents, and Quinn's parents for any medication stuff – or at least, that's in the contract as well –"

"It's clearly stated in the file, Santana. I see that." Her mother replied with a couple of giggles, which faded away as she turned back to the contracts in her hands. "I just…well…"

"Something wrong, mama?"

The folder made a slight thwack sound on the table as her mother placed it down on the surface. The older woman's shoulders inched up a little as she eyed her only daughter. "It's all too much."

"I thought you wanted the best for me."

"I clearly do, Santana. I want everything for you – the house you've always dreamed of; a wonderful lover who will help take care of you; a sweet family who you'll spend time with and treat as kindly as you do with me; an on-task, money-making job so you'll be able to pay everything. But…well, shouldn't you be focused on the important things, and stick to fun for later?"

"This is important. I was offered to work with a manager, her assistant, and two of my best friends in Hollywood, California."

Her mother held her hands up in front of her chest in defense. "I'm not saying that – well, I already did, didn't I?"

"Yes." The brunette teen rolled her eyes as she stuck some chicken fingers into her mouth. She loved her mother, sure; but when will the lectures stop?

"Santana." Her mother struggled to get the words out. "I have priorities set for you. I want you to be successful."

"How is being in the music industry not successful?"

"I don't know much as you or any manager or celebrity about what goes down in the music industry. I need to be certain what risks you'll be taking other than missing out on school and getting your needs taken care of."

"Okay."

"And not that many people make it that far in the business. You understand this, right?"

"Maybe they needed to work harder or something." The younger Latina gulped down the fruit punch in her glass.

"Santana, don't fool around with this. This is real."

"Who said I was fooling around?"

Her mother shot her an authoritarian facial expression, her eyebrow inched on her forehead. This wasn't anything compared to when Santana played with Barbie dolls when she was seven years old, and she could make up all the rules. Rules in life were as serious as getting run over by a city bus.

The fork made a clank sound against Santana's plate. Her hands were folded in front of her, and her eyes studied her mother's for a moment.

"Okay." It took an extra moment to get her thoughts together. "Mom, this will help me and my friends. Think about it. You said you wanted the best for me. Well, this is the best an average American girl – or boy – can get."

"Yes, and then it continues into something out of control or out of your comfort zone."

The only thing Santana could think of was the fight with Paris Hilton back in June. Damn woman and the paparazzi.

"No one's saying I'll end up as this out of control, can't be tamed kind of person. And what could possibly be out of my comfort zone…besides changing in my trusty, two-bedroom apartment and someone watching from the other end?"

"That's what I mean. Your body will be exposed, Santana – eventually." Maribel's elbows kept her hands in midair and facing her daughter's healthy body. "And not to mention that, yes, there will be moments where you end up out of control. I don't tolerate that in anyone."

Santana's head cocked towards her left. "You know I'm giving you my word, right?" the shorter Latina asked.

"I'm just…a little uncomfortable, Santana. You know how hard it is to have and do certain things in this world, right?"

Her daughter shook her head slowly, still eyeing the older woman, disappointed. "You said you'd support me with any decision I made," the girl spoke. "Seems like a lot of irony here, right?"

"Santana –"

"No, it's alright." The brunette teen stood up from her seat, leaving her uneaten dinner on the table, and headed towards the archway of the dining room. "I have studying to do for when I go back to Louisville anyway."

Maribel hated disappointing her daughter. She wanted her to be happy; but Santana wants something that could lead her towards the right direction.

She had looked over an article that came from ATP Magazine Santana had gotten in the mail a while back. It contained photos of Kim Kardashian with her line of pretty yet somewhat overly sexy attire, posing beside her younger brother, Rob. The article itself discussed a fight with Rob in the show Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

She couldn't help but imagine if that were Santana's life with her best friends. All the fighting, affairs, controversies, people coming to Maribel's home with questions on the latest bar fight.

A photo of an eleven-year-old Santana sat on the lamp stand nearest the archway. She was dressed up in a blue formal blouse with black leggings and white flats. That was the day she had gone to a family reunion.

That was the Santana Lopez she really missed. Young, innocent, small enough to fit through a tunnel in the playground area at the park.

People don't stay the same way, though. Life doesn't, either.

Maribel thought about how different it was in the nineties compared to what was going on now. She knew very well the nineties didn't have pornographic videos, slutty women, and cheating men. She wanted Santana to avoid all of that.

Beep! Beep!

The coffee heating up in the kitchen had been ready. What a stress reliever.

God, it's been a while since the Latina has been in her bedroom. It seemed messier than the last time she saw it.

Posters of Paula Abdul and some other famous artists hung on her wall carelessly, along with some photos of herself and her Cheerio girlfriend. Most of those pictures had Brittany in a white and yellow summer dress, leaning against an oak tree.

She had so many summer dresses hanging up in her closet. No one really taught her about the winter time and when it specifically snowed; so she would slip on some socks onto her arms instead of getting a long-sleeved shirt.

Santana thought she was adorable that way, though.

Speaking of Brittany, the brunette still was disappointed with herself about what happened the other day. That mental image of the creepy staring girl glued to her skull.

Santana didn't want to look at her or keep thinking about her. She had only one girl on her mind, and she wasn't some laser-eyed, alien-esque Goth girl. She was a blonde, beautiful dancer with golden hair flying past her shoulders like Rapunzel's. This was no fairy tale, but Brittany was the only one to give her a happily ever after.

Santana didn't believe in fairy tales anymore, but she did believe in hope.

Hope was out there, shaking her by the shoulders and telling her to take care of Brittany like she's the last thing on earth. Hope was slapping her in the face, furiously asking her why she didn't give her mother the benefit of the doubt about this deal. Hope was dragging her on her feet, persuading her that everything in her life will be just fine.

Santana had sat down at her desk, eyeing the photo of her, Brittany, and Quinn in front of the many girls on the Cheerios squad back in their junior year. That was such a long time ago. On rare occasions, they would act like bitches towards each other, but they were each other's best friend.

Well, at least they were for the time they had together.

Santana thought back to the offer the two women generously gave to her and the girls. How awesome of an opportunity came this often in life? If you were someone like Lady Gaga or Justin Timberlake, then it would probably be almost every day.

She always thought, can there be times when someone is right and wrong at the same time. Sure, her mother was very concerned about her daughter being put out there into a sea of strangers. But Santana's life was beginning. She'll be able to make it out there. She prayed on it. She one hundred percent knew that fact.

For some reason, her mind kept on trailing back from thinking about the job offer to her best friend slash girlfriend. She loved her so much. She loved the many miracles that were given to her. They were prizes, succeeding in life prizes.

Santana wanted all of this. She wanted Brittany to be happy, she wanted to be happy spending the rest of her life with Brittany and Quinn, she wanted to be famous, she wanted to make something of herself –

God, there were so many wants.

But first, if she wanted Brittany to be happy, she had to tell her the truth before things in Louisville get even more crappy.

The Latina grabbed the black laptop that sat on her next adjacent to the lamp, entering the password and logging onto Skype for a quick chat with her Cheerio girlfriend. She didn't seem much tired at all, for she was dressing up her cat, Lord Tubbington, into some casual sweaters for another segment of Fondue for Two.

"Santana, hey. So, what did your mother say?"

Every nanosecond that passed, Santana begged herself not to let all of this out the wrong way.

"I can't really…well…"

"She said no, didn't she?"

"Well…not exactly."

"So that's a yes then?"

"Britt – no. She doesn't know her decision yet. We may know later on."

The blonde softly rubbing the cat's furry belly. "If I were your mother, I would've said yes under the condition that I'd get a phone call or email message every three hours."

The brunette scoffed. "Stop trying to be clingy like my mother. If she ever did say that I had to commit that type of order, then I would be stuck in some type of overprotective balloon for the rest of my life. Look at us, Britt. We're, like, nineteen. I thought adults don't hang onto their kids when –"

"Hey, I said if I were your mother. Me."

The Latina couldn't fight off the bashful smirk. "Fine. Besides, you're the cutest thing life can bring, right?"

"Except for unicorns…and kittens."

Santana giggled, as the blonde did the same.

"Listen, Brittany, I need to tell you something."

The porcelain girl leaned back in her chair, and took a bite of what seemed to be a ham and cheese square. "Go ahead." Her words were muffled as she chomped down on the small sandwich.

Sweet fucking baby Jesus. Santana eyed the girl having her evening snack. She looked so innocent…and Santana felt so guilty. It had been a day or two – well, whichever; Santana's brain never took much memory when she was focused on something serious – since she spotted that other Goth-looking chick. Her conniving smirk was caught in her vision through her brain.

The brunette's eyes closed shut for a moment. Crazy Goth chick, get the fuck out of my head for a minute! Please!

"Santana."

Had she been silent for that long?

"Oh, sorry Britt. I was just thinking about something."

Brittany grew more concerned. "Did something happen, Santana. 'Cause I'm here for you. Did your grandmother die?"

"Abuela? No, she's…living large."

"I suspected that every time you mentioned your sexuality, your grandmother gets weaker and then dies. You know, like how the lady's gray hair grew black every time she sang a song and made Rapunzel's hair grow; but the other way around."

Santana's eyebrows furrowed.

"You know, from Tangled."

"Please tell me you didn't see that." The brunette replied, annoyed.

"My cousin was in the neighborhood, and she waited to see it since the trailer."

"Well, yeah, but did you have to see it?"

"Santana, it was a sweet movie. It made me think of you a little."

"Fine. Which part?"

"The one where the girl and the guy were in the boat singing, and the old lady was looking for her claimed to be daughter."

Santana smirked and scrunched up her nose. "And is the old lady supposed to be my abuela?"

Brittany smiled at her, showing off her soft cheeks and her small dimples. "It can be anyone you want it to be."

The Latina's brow inched up on her head at how intimate Brittany's voice had sounded at the moment. She cherished the beautiful laughter coming out of the Cheerio's mouth.

"Well, in that case, I guess that movie and my life can relate."

"So…you do regret not seeing it with me?" Her voice was so singsongy-like and innocent as a five-year-old's.

"Don't get any ideas. I still draw a line at any movie under Rated PG-13."

Brittany made a face at her girlfriend, concluding that Santana's thoughts on her last statement were truly wrong.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"You still watch The Perfect Holiday around Christmas time. Of course, I don't believe you."

Damn it, she got me.

Brittany giggled at Santana's response to continuity fail.

"So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about again?"

Santana's smile dropped. She had forgotten that was the reason she called up Brittany on Skype. All of this glory and bittersweet moments would be gone in a matter of seconds if she told her now.

The Latina looked dead into the blonde's face. She grew curious as to what Santana was going to say.

"Brittany…"

The Cheerio's face started to look more concerned than curious now.

Santana moistened her lips and then bit down on them. Her fingers clawed up against her knees from under the desk. Her heart beat at an ultimate high through her black sweater. Her nerves on the insides of her arms, legs, and down her spine were getting the better of her.

"When my mother does agree to this, and we actually head out on this journey…" It was almost difficult to express this sentence to her. "I want you to be as happy, successful, and strong as you are now."

She couldn't bear to bring that girl up. She was too nervous to even discuss her, for her image kept popping up before she spoke to Brittany. Head Bitch in Charge Santana Lopez wasn't scared of anything with glowing, stalker kitten eyes or a seductive, hypnotizing force. However, it would be best for Brittany to not know rather than for her to be upset when she's around her.

And the Latina definitely wouldn't want to see a let-down, melancholy face as opposed to the bright, beaming one before her on the computer screen.

"I want the same for you, Santana. I want everything for you. That's something I'll never take back."

Santana hadn't been this relieved in her life. She would wrap her arm around Brittany's back and hold onto her soft, porcelain hands if she weren't talking to her via Skype right now.

"I love you so much."

Brittany perked up, her face blushing fifty shades of red. "I love you, too. Get some good night's rest."

"I promise."

She couldn't help but wave her perfectly-manicured hands back at the tall, blonde Cheerio before logging off Skype to get ready for bed. Her face burned for smiling at her for so long. Thank God for the tension fading away for Santana.

Her gleeful thoughts faded as well as she had turned on the radio and heard "The Scientist" playing on channel 103.6 FM.

Nobody said it was easy.

No one ever said it would be so hard…

The song was right about something.

God, what am I to do now?