Song: Shit, Man!, by Skylar Grey (youtu . be / CqmNgx8zG3A)
Rate: T
Length: +11k
Notes: mild mentions of G!P, nothing explicit.
You pace the worn out wood in front of the door you have only crossed twice before. Despite that, you're sure you're on the right place; you just need to pluck up the courage to actually knock. That's what you've been doing for the past ten minutes and when one of her neighbors asks you if everything is alright, you decide that you have stalled enough.
Your fist connects twice with the door and you wait. This is it.
Her blonde hair is tied up in a pony and her face looks flushed when she finally gets the door. She still looks like the gorgeous girl you met on the dance floor a couple of months ago, but you don't blame her for the way she stares at you wide-eyed. You said you'd call, but you just disappeared after that morning. And you'd still be missing if something hadn't changed.
"Santana?" Her tone carries a lot of the disbelief you can see on her face. It makes you wince internally and you try to fake a smile.
"Hello, Brittany. Can we talk?"
She silently steps away from the door enough for you to enter her apartment again. It's just as small as you remember, but it looks different under artificial lights. The colors are somewhat muted and it doesn't feel as warm. Just like her.
"Please, take a sit."
You notice that she takes the armchair opposite the couch you're occupying. Maybe the distance is a good thing. Maybe it'll make this conversation easier. Less awkward, at least.
The words you've been rehearsing in your head for the past week don't seem to want to form a coherent sentence. You're sure she must think you're crazy, showing up like that, asking to talk and than not saying a thing. You're also sure that you must look like a fucking fish, with the opening and closing your mouth every few seconds.
"I, uh... I need to tell you something," you mumble to your lap before you look up.
Bad move. When you look up, her eyes are trained on you and they have an intensity to them that steals your breath right out of your lungs - and you remember that it's not the first time they've done that. She's waiting. She's patiently waiting for you to get your shit together and it doesn't help.
So you get up. You get up and pace the floor. You have too much nervous energy within you to be able to sit still through this. So you pace her living room floor, wringing your fingers and stringing words together in your head before you say them.
"When we, uh, met," you start somewhere you feel it's safe. "We didn't use a-"
"I know," she interrupts, a pained expression on her face. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."
"No. It's both of our fault." You didn't want to guilty trip her, but you're also glad that she's accepting responsibility. It might make the next few seconds a little easier. "It's just that... Ever since high school I haven't been with someone that had a...you know."
"Yeah, I know."
"And that also means I haven't been on the pill."
You stare deep into her eyes, seeing all the pieces of the puzzle locking in place behind them. You need to actually say the words out loud, but you want to give her a minute to understand things by herself. Everything will change after you've said what you came to say. When she speaks again, she's a little breathless.
"Santana, are you-"
"I'm pregnant," you interrupt her. "And it's yours."
When you first woke before your alarm, having to run to your bathroom with a hand in front of your mouth, you blamed the chinese you had the night before. That thing had been sitting in your fridge for at least four days and you could swear it looked a little greener than when you bought it.
When it kept happening the following mornings, you just chalked it up to stress and got a load of ginger ale and crackers.
About a week later, it was time for your monthly dinner with your best friend. What started as a way to keep in touch soon became a way for you and Quinn to vent about your jobs and bosses and obnoxious coworkers. You both normally drink more than you eat but, by the time Quinn arrived this time, your table looked like a sampling buffet. You had ordered almost half of the menu and were dipping olives in the chicken dressing.
"If I didn't know you any better I'd ask if you're pregnant," were the first words you heard from Quinn that night.
You dismissed her words at the time, reminding her that you hadn't been near a guy in ages. But as you lay at night, alone in your room, they kept replaying in your head, taunting, teasing your sanity.
That night you dreamt of blonde hair and blue eyes and that's when you remembered the girl you met on Puck's birthday. The one that danced with you and that ran away from you when you felt something that wasn't supposed to be there. You followed her and went home with her. You don't know if she could get you pregnant, but she sure had the equipment and you don't remember using a condom.
A smiley face, two lines and a cross later and you're sitting on your bed as your whole world changes around you. That is not how you had planned your future. You were supposed to finish law school, pass your bar exam, work at prestigious firm, make a name for yourself, meet a nice girl, marry and only then have kids. And now you feel like you're part of a Snakes and Ladders game, you've just skipped so many squares it makes you dizzy.
It takes you three days to decide what to do - it's not easy making one decision and changing your entire future -, but when you finally do it, you know that you have to talk to Brittany again. You owe her that much.
Silence hangs between you, deep and heavy. You can see her eyes widen and get misty, a million emotions flickering behind them, but you're not able to read them. You swallow and hold your stance, readying yourself for anything that might come out of her mouth.
"Are you..." Her voice is scratchy and you can see her throat bob when she swallows. "Are you sure?"
"That I'm pregnant or that it's yours?" You don't mean to sound so harsh, but you've always had a hard time controlling your tongue. And now that your hormones are all over the place, it's not a pretty sight. "I'm sorry. I..."
"It's okay. It just caught me off guard."
"Believe me, I know."
You both share a smile and you sit back down; you're suddenly too tired to stand. Across from you, you can see Brittany's sitting on the edge of her seat and she looks like she's formulating the question of a lifetime in her mind. You just wait for her like she waited for you.
"Are you keeping it?"
That's the question you've asked yourself since you found out, day and night. It took you a while to reach an answer, but when you did, you came straight here.
"Brittany, I -"
The next movements happen in a flash and suddenly you have a blonde head of hair almost on your lap. Brittany's kneeling on the floor in front of you and she's clutching your legs like she's afraid you might disappear if she doesn't.
"Please, Santana, you can't... Please, don't... I can help..."
Her words are mumbled against your legs and it takes you some time to understand them. When you do, you place a hand on her head and stroke her hair.
"Brittany, if I wasn't keeping this baby, I wouldn't even be here."
Watery blue eyes look up to find yours. They're swollen and pink and her fair skin looks flushed again. Brittany holds your stare for long moments, as if she's searching you for any kind of deceit, and you feel naked and vulnerable but you let her. As from this instant, you two are intrinsically bound together and you need her to see that.
"Really?," she asks you with a trembling voice and she sounds like you just told her there are no monsters under the bed.
"Yes, really. I'm having this baby and I just wanted to let you know, okay? I can handle it and if you don't -"
"No!" Brittany all but screams and takes a sit by your side. She's clutching your hands now and the desperation you heard in her voice is now behind her eyes. "No. Please let me be a part of this. I wanna be a part of this."
"You do?"
"Yes," she chuckles. "Santana, you don't understand. This is like a miracle. All my life, my doctors have told me I would never be able to have my own children. And I was fine with the idea of adopting, but now... Now you're telling me that you're pregnant. Of course I wanna be a part of that!"
"Oh, okay."
That is so not the reaction you were expecting. When you decided to keep the baby and tell Brittany about it, you didn't think she would kick you out and tell you to never call again. But you sure weren't expecting desperate pleas to be a part of a pregnancy neither of you planned. If you're being honest, you're a little relieved. It scared you so much to think about doing it by yourself; all the doctors and the changes to your body. It's just good to know that you won't be alone.
"Have you...have you been to the doctor, yet?" Brittany's voice yanks you out of your thoughts and you blink a few times, just to be able to focus on her and her brilliant smile.
"What? Oh, no. Not yet. I have an appointment next week, though."
"Can I... Can I come?" She seems shy to be asking you that and it makes you smile. You'll never admit to that, but you hate going to the doctor by yourself.
"I would appreciate it if you did, Brittany."
It's not easy keeping your pregnancy to yourself over the next few weeks. You and Brittany have decided not to tell people about it until you're through with the first trimester, but you're having a hard time justifying your tiredness and your frequent runs to the restroom during work hours - it doesn't help when the girl on the cubicle next to yours is a vegan and always has some weird, smelly stuff for lunch.
What throws you off the most is, in fact, what you'll tell people after they find out you're pregnant. Ever since you went to college, you have been very vocal about your sexuality and being a lesbian should mean not having these kind of surprises. (Lesson learned) What people in your life also know is that you're not in a relationship and that you never wanted to be a single parent like your mom. It all means that telling people might represent lying or spilling secrets that are not yours to tell.
You decide you will talk to Brittany the next time you see her. Not that it makes you any less nervous.
"Hi," Brittany's bubbly voice invades your ears as you open the door for her in the morning. It's not terribly early and you told her to meet you there, but you're fucking exhausted after an entire week's work.
"Hey."
"Is everything okay, Santana? Are you feeling well?"
Her worry is always able to make you let go of your bad moods.
"Yeah, I'm just so tired I feel like I could sleep for five days straight. And I'm hungry."
Brittany chuckles lightly at your pout and squeezes your arm. "Why don't you go lay down and I'll get you breakfast?"
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. I want to help."
She's sweet. You thought that when you first met, but you confirmed it when she held your hand when you had to draw blood for some tests. Ever since that day, it's like everything she does is to make you more comfortable and it makes your heart hammer against your chest. But you can't let it. You know she's only doing that because you're carrying her baby and you can't allow yourself to forget that. Even if you do get lonely sometimes.
"Here you go, San." Brittany offers you a plate with crackers and a glass of orange juice. It's the only thing you've been able to eat in the morning these past few weeks that won't send you straight to the bathroom and you love that she remembers.
Wait, love? No, no, no. You like that she remembers. Like, okay?
"Thanks," you mutter, embarrassed by your own thoughts. You adjust yourself on the couch just to give yourself something to do and wince when the movement jostles your body.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. My tits are just killing me since yesterday, they're so sore."
It used to bother you, talking about things like that with her. But you gave in to her pout eventually and, now, it's like she knows your body almost as well as you do. Not that that means much these days. Everything's changing so fast, sometimes you think you were taken by aliens.
"Oh, that reminds me. I brought you something." She turns around to look into her purse and produces a brand new heating pad. You lift your eyebrow to not lift your lips. "I read on a forum that they can help with the soreness."
"A forum?"
"Well, yeah." She seems embarrassed and you can't suffocate your smile now. "Since you told me, I've been doing some research. I wanna know as much as I can so I can help, you know?"
And there goes your heart again.
"Thanks, Britt. For...the heating pad. I'll try it later."
"Awesome."
"Look, Brittany," you start before you've completely melted away. "I asked you to come here because we need to talk about something."
"Okay."
Brittany's face is open and you catch yourself hoping that your baby will have her smile.
"Pretty soon I'm going to start showing and we need to discuss what we're going to tell people."
"What do you mean?"
You lick your lips and try to formulate it as gently as possible. "People know I'm gay and that I'm not in a relationship. So, when they find out I'm pregnant, there's gonna be questions."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Silence fills the room and you feel bad. It seems as if your words just sucked all the light out of Brittany. You wonder if maybe you shouldn't have waited a few more weeks to talk about this. But deep down you know that it wouldn't have made a difference. And, if you can talk to her about your sore breasts and morning sickness, than she can talk to you about...this, right?
"What do you wanna say?," she asks with the smallest voice you've ever heard her use.
"I think that should be your decision, Britt. I'm okay with anything you decide."
If you get to make decisions concerning your body, you think it's only fair that she gets to do the same.
"Thank you," Brittany says after a moment and there's a hint of a smile back on her lips. "I'm not ashamed of my penis or anything, you know? I just...I just don't like talking about it."
"I understand."
Her eyes are still heavy and you wonder if people have been mean to her in the past. It takes you less than a second to promise yourself that you'll do all you can to make sure that never happens again.
"But... I guess it would be okay if you told some people the truth. Maybe your mom and, I don't know, Quinn? You told me you guys are close."
"We are."
"So, them?"
There's a glint of hope in her blue eyes that puts a smile on your face. "My mom and Quinn will be fine."
Talking to your mom goes surprisingly smooth. It's like the idea of having a grandchild impaired her ability to question logic and all she was able to ask, in a hurried Spanish, was how far long you are and if you're eating well. (She also gives you her mother's recipe against morning sickness, even though you told her you don't really have those anymore.)
Quinn, on the other hand, is a little bit harder.
"What do you mean pregnant, S?"
"Do I really have to tell you about the birds and the bees?"
You're both sitting on your living room couch and she's looking at you like you just grew an extra head. You don't really blame her.
"Funny. I happen to know how babies are made, which is why I'm having a hard time understanding how you're pregnant. I didn't think fingers had sperm."
"Gross. Do you remember Puck's birthday?"
"When you ditched me and didn't answer my calls until Monday?"
You sigh. Guess she's not making it easy for you. "Exactly. Well, I met a girl that night."
"Okay. That doesn't -"
"Will you let me finish?" Her self-righteousness is starting to annoy you and your crazy hormones. "Her name is Brittany and she has a..." You trail off, gesturing vaguely at your crotch. It makes you feel a little ridiculous, that you're having a child but can't name a stupid body part.
"A penis?," Quinn asks and you nod. "Oh, my God, Santana. Can you hear yourself? You don't wanna tell me, fine. But, there's no need to make up stories."
"It's the truth! Believe what you want, Quinn, but I'm telling you what happened."
"So, you met a girl who is a guy."
"Look, we didn't get into details, but she says she's a girl, she presents herself as a girl, so she's a girl to me. That's all. Only difference is she got me pregnant."
"You are aware that that sounds like a plot to a really bad movie, right?"
"I do," you breath out and can see Quinn's hazel eyes soften a bit.
"So, how did she take the news?"
"So well. She was ecstatic, really and she practically begged me to keep the baby and let her be a part of everything."
"Really?," Quinn asks with a knowing glint in her eyes, but you don't really notice it. You're too busy gushing about Brittany.
"Yes! She's gone with me to every doctor appointment and she knows what I should eat and she reads maternity forums. She even got me a heating pad or my tits, 'cause they were hurting like hell and it is perfect."
"Okay, I did not need to know about that," Quinn protests. "So, are you two...?"
"What? God, no! Is that really all you think about, Fabray? Look, we had sex and now we're having a kid, that's all."
"That's all?"
"Yes! We're both just concerned about the baby and we're trying to get along because of it."
It irritates you so much when Quinn goes silent like this, a half smile on her face, looking at you like she knows something about you that you don't. Luckily, your bladder gives you a way out of this weird staring contest before you start screaming in Spanish or crying your eyes out. Honestly, these days, you're never really sure what's gonna happen.
Four weeks later and you're really starting to show. Not just in front of your mirror or to Quinn, who knows your wardrobe inside and out. Now, as you're walking down Brittany's street, you can see more smiles aimed at your belly than lecherous looks towards your chest. After more than a decade, it's an interesting change.
But, showing means your clothes are starting to get even tighter. And that's why you're about to ask Brittany to go shopping with you. Technically, this doesn't fall under her baby-duties category, but Quinn's out of town and you hate shopping alone. Besides, Brittany's fun to be around and you feel really at ease with her.
Brittany doesn't answer, though. You almost break your finger on her buzzer, but still nothing. You know that it's early, but she's a light sleeper and the sound should have woken her. (The two of you have been playing this game for weeks now, where you'll text the other one thing about you, trying to imagine which traits your baby will inherit.) She could be out, perhaps. Maybe she didn't even come home last night. She didn't tell you anything, but it's not like you have the right to question her. She's the mother of your child, not your girlfriend.
Before your brain goes wild with the possibilities, you decide to give her a call - nothing she says she's doing can be half as bad as the images you're painting. As the ringing sound in your ear, you furrow your brow. You can hear Brittany's ringtone approach you. It's getting louder and you turn around to find her wrestling with her purse to find her phone.
"Hi, San," she says when she sees you standing on the sidewalk. Her voice is wobbly and she doesn't look too happy to see you.
"Hey, B. What are you up to?"
"I just went to...get some things...from the store."
"Oh, okay. Well, I'm here to see if you wanted to come with me to buy some new clothes. I could barely find anything to wear this morning." You shoot her your brightest smile in the hopes to diffuse whatever weird mood got to her. The one you get back is lackluster at best.
"Yeah, sure. I'd love to."
"Uh, B," you start when she doesn't move. "Don't you wanna put that bag away?"
"No, it's okay. It's not heavy and the elevator is broken."
"Are you sure? I can wait. Besides, I'm gonna need your full arms to help me carry everything."
Brittany's smile looks more like a wince and she turns around, searching her pockets for her keys. Only, you're pretty certain she has checked her left front pocket at least four times already.
"Britt, is everything okay?"
"I-I can't."
Her voice is so soft that you almost don't hear it. But you do. And you take notice of her closed eyes, her hunched shoulders and the way she won't look at you.
"What do you mean, you can't?," you ask touching her arm, but she's still staring at the floor. "Did you lose your keys? Or... Is there someone upstairs that you don't want me to meet?"
"What? No, Santana. There's no one in my apartment." Her answer is a little frantic, before she adds, almost in a whisper: "That's the problem."
"What do you mean? Come on, Britt, you're scaring me."
A long sad sigh escapes her lips before she turns a little more to you. "I got evicted. A little less than two weeks ago."
"Evicted? But how? Why?" A fair eyebrow raises at you and you shake your head. "That's not important, now. But, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you to know. You're successful and smart and I'm just a screw up. You'd probably be better off raising that child by yourself."
"Don't you dare repeat that again, Brittany. You are not a screw up. And this baby needs you." She opens her mouth, most likely to protest your words, but you hold up your hand to stop her. "I need you, okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, where have you been staying?"
"In my car, mostly."
"What?," you scream before you can control your temper. "I'm sorry. Okay, you're living in your car. What about your stuff? What did you do with that?"
"I have a suitcase with me and I sold most of it. The rest is at a friend's place."
"Then, I want you to call this friend and tell them you're going there to get your stuff."
"What? Why?"
"Because, Brittany Pierce, you are moving in with me."
You love feeling your baby kick in your belly. It's like it's saying 'Hey, mom. I'm here'. You know you always get this dopey smile on your face whenever you fell it and you just want to stop the world and enjoy the moment.
(At first, Brittany had been hesitant to touch your stomach when you told her the baby was kicking. You found it funny that that was the moment she chose to show some kind of shyness. So, you yanked her hand forward and placed it low on your belly, where you had been feeling the kicks. The look of absolute elation on Brittany's face when she felt it was simply priceless.)
What you don't love is when your baby is using your ribs as a damn monkey bar. Specially when you had a five hour meeting, couldn't ditch your heels for a single second and your back has been killing you since lunchtime. You thought a hot shower and bed would help, but you've been tossing and turning for over an hour to no avail.
"Can't sleep?," Brittany asks you from her place on the couch as you step into the living room. When she came to live with you, she refused to take the spare bedroom, since that will be the baby's, and took the couch, instead.
"No. My back is killing me and the baby hasn't stopped kicking my fucking kidney."
"Oh. Maybe I can...," she starts but trails off. "No, never mind."
"No, Brittany, tell me. So far your suggestions have been amazing and I'm so exhausted I think I'm willing to do anything."
"Well, remember how you said the baby normally calms down when I'm near you?"
You smile fondly at her. "Of course I do. It's like a magic trick."
"So, I remember I once read on a blog, a woman complaining of back pain and she said the only way she got any sleep was if her husband was holding her from behind. Like that, she could lean back and he would take some of the weight." Brittany's voice was soft, as if she was trying not to upset you. "If you want, we can try that. It would help with your back and the kicking."
All you can do is blink at her. Over the last weeks, you two got more comfortable around and touching each other, but the prospect of having her in your bed, holding you while you sleep, seems like the best possible outcome. Only, you have to remember yourself that she is only doing that to help you and make you more comfortable.
"But...but we don't have to do that. Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"No, Britt. I-I'd like that. I think it could work."
A brilliant smile blooms on her face and you feel your face heating beneath it. She turns off the TV, gets up on her feet and takes the hand you offer her. The two of you walk in silence, hand in hand, to your bedroom. There, she straightens your sheets and kisses your forehead after you settle down. An instant later, she's laying down by your side. Her body doesn't touch yours, but you can feel her heat warming you and her arm hovering over your stomach. Smiling, you take her hand, pull her towards you and wrap her arm around your body. The instant her front is pressed against your back, you can feel your eyes getting heavy.
"Goodnight, Santana," she says against your neck and you shiver and smile.
"Goodnight, B."
Living with Brittany is easy. She has your breakfast ready when you finish getting dressed in the morning and dinner is normally well on its way when you get home in the evening. Sometimes, she even packs you lunch.
You tried telling her that it wasn't necessary, but she just shrugged and said she had to pay you back, somehow. And until she found a steady job, taking care of you was the best she could do.
So, you let her do it. Not only because she wanted to, but because it felt good being taken care of. It felt good to come home to a made bed, done laundry and a scent of homemade food in the air. And, at night, she would settle in bed with you - like she'd done every night since she suggested it - and would hold you until you fell asleep.
(At first, it was hard being held by her every night, knowing it was a completely platonic embrace. You knew all she saw when she looked at you was your growing belly. Eventually, you settled for that. If her hand on your stomach and her arms around you were all you were going to get, you would not turn it down.)
But, you make sure to take care of her, too. You make sure to find out her favorite food and stock up your pantry with it, you watch every dancing show there is with her and your weekends are dedicated to relaxing and having fun together. It normally starts with take out food on Friday and snuggling on the couch during a mindless movie. It's simple and familiar and you can't think of a better way to end a week of work. You think Brittany feels the same way.
Or so you did, until you get home a little earlier than usual this Friday only to find her talking on the phone. Brittany starts using a hushed voice when she sees you entering the apartment and is quick to finish the call after that. It stings at you in a way you didn't think was possible.
"Is everything alright, Britt?," you ask her when you notice that she looks uncomfortable in your living room for the first time.
"Yeah, yeah. Just catching up with a friend." Her answer doesn't convince you, but you don't have time to dwell on it before she's walking your way with a bright smile. "So, any request for our dinner tonight?"
"Not really. I'm just gonna take a shower. You can order anything you want."
You don't wait for her answer. You simply turn around and stride to your en suite bathroom. You don't stop until you're under the spray of hot water, your tears mixing with the droplets on your face.
If someone were to see you now and ask you why you're crying, you would have no idea what to tell them. All you know is that seeing her on the phone, clearly hiding something from you, reminded you that Brittany isn't yours and that all the care she's been bestowing on you is directed at her child. It doesn't help when you look down on your belly and remember that having this child will do nothing to help you with your love life.
When you close your bedroom door, you hope your eyes don't betray your crying. It would be difficult to explain, even if you can blame your hormones.
The first thing you notice is the smell. It's not like any of the places you normally order from. You're about to call Brittany out when you hear the clattering of utensils coming from your kitchen.
"What are you doing?," you ask her from the kitchen entrance.
"You looked tired. I thought you could use some home cooked dinner." She flashes you a beaming smile and turns to retrieve two bowls from the counter. "Mac and cheese. My grandpa used to say it can cure anything."
Your tears almost make a reappearance at that.
Dinner is a quiet affair. Both of you seem to be too absorbed in your thoughts to make conversation. Only, you're not oblivious to the way Brittany's been glancing at her phone between every couple of bites.
After she does it for the eight or ninth time, you can't ignore it anymore.
"Is there someplace you have to be, Brittany?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"You've been checking your phone every five seconds since we've sited."
She looks genuinely surprised that you noticed and a faint blush starts coloring her cheeks. "Oh, that? No, it's...it's nothing."
"Look, Brittany, you're living with me, you're not my prisoner. If you want to go out and have fun, you should."
You know your voice betrays you. You tried to sound aloof and detached, but it came out hurt and harsh, like the mere thought of her walking out of your door physically pains you. And it does. You can't think of her out at a club, dancing with some girl like she danced with you, touching someone else like she touched your body. You wouldn't be able to sleep in her arms if you thought that had happened.
And now that those images are flashing behind your closed eyelids, you can't seem to look at her anymore. So you get up with your half eaten bowl of food and go to the kitchen. You can always blame your pregnancy for your early turn in.
"Santana, why are you doing this?" You can hear her voice asking you from behind and you take your time turning around.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're trying to push me away, Santana." Brittany speaks with a kind of defeat in her voice that makes you wonder if she had said those words before. "It's not the first time you try to do it and... I just want to know what I did wrong."
"You did nothing wrong, Brittany. I just don't want you to feel like you have to be chained to me simply bec-"
"What if I want to be chained to you, Santana?" There is a kind of fire in her eyes you have never seen before and it makes you swallow hard. "Have you thought of that?"
"Brittany, I-"
"I'm exactly where I want to be, Santana." Your eyes are trained on the ground and you don't see her move. Only when you feel a warm palm cupping your cheek, you lift your face. "Please don't shut me out."
Her gaze is strong and unwavering, as she searches your eyes for something you're not sure what it is. It feels like she's giving you a moment to flee, if that's what you want, but you can't. Your feet are glued to the ground and your eyes are lost in hers. You feel helpless. You feel...safe.
The memory of your first kiss is still ingrained in your memory. You had chased her to the street after she ran out on you during your dance. She was mumbling apologies and saying she didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but all you could think about was the way your body had reacted to hers and how you had felt in her arms. So, you silenced her rambling with your lips. It was deep and hungry and it didn't leave much room for anything else.
The kiss she gives you now is the opposite of that. There's no fear, there's no one running; it's sweet and tender and slow and everything fairy tales have taught you a first kiss should be. You start to lose yourself to the motions and the warmth of her body when she places her free hand on the side of your stomach. That single touch manages to break the spell and bring you back to reality. Brittany is kissing you in your kitchen. She's kissing you after she made it clear that she wanted to be somewhere else and refused to tell you what kind of call she was expecting. You take a step back, panting and with your eyes still closed.
"Brittany, you can't do this again."
"Why not, Santana?" She steps towards you again and your breath hitches. "If we both-"
"I don't want your pity, Brittany!"
Her face is a mask of shock and hurt. Brittany takes a step back and her eyes fleet all over your face. You feel naked and vulnerable and so very small under her gaze. Not as if she could hurt you, but like a silly child. You're not used to this feeling and you try to get away from her and from your thoughts when you're around her, but she doesn't let you.
"Why would you say that?"
You think if you were standing two more feet away from each other, you wouldn't have heard her question. But you heard it. And now you're tearing your brain apart after some snippet of reasoning you can find.
You just wish she wouldn't look at you like that.
"Britt, I know I'm pregnant with your child, but you don't have to kiss me just because you feel sorry for me. I really don't need that."
"Santana, I don't feel sorry for your."
"Then why did you kiss me?"
"Because I like you!" Her voice is louder than usual and her breathing, ragged. You look at her like you've never seen her before and she takes a step in your direction. "I kissed you because I've wanted to kiss you since you showed up at my doorstep."
Everything starts coming back in a flash. Every coy smile, every unnecessary touch, every sweet thing she ever did that you thought was about the baby. Could it be? Could it be that someone could possibly want this huge, bumbling thing you became? Maybe, but definitely not Brittany. She can have so much more than what you can offer her now. She's just... She's mixing her feelings. You're pregnant and she feels protective of you. She's honorable and thinks that's the right thing.
That thought alone gives you the strength to step back and put some distance between you two.
"I don't know, Britt. I think you're confusing your feelings. I'm pregnant and-"
"Santana, I don't like you because you're pregnant," she interrupts you and you feel like a silly child again. "I like you because you're beautiful and smart and funny and generous and understanding. I like you because you never made me feel like a freak because I'm different. Or like a failure because I got evicted."
"Are...are you sure?" You don't recognize your voice. It's barely above a whisper, like a thin branch on a stormy night.
"Santana," she answers around a chuckle, like you just asked her the silliest thing in the world. You think that maybe you did. "Why do you think I've done everything I've done?"
"I...I thought...the baby..."
"I love our baby, but it's not here yet. You are. And I wanna be with you, I wanna take care of you."
"Really?"
The smile you adore reappear on her face and she cups your cheeks, closing the distance between you. "You're silly," Brittany mumbles against your lips before kissing them. This time, she keeps her hands away from your stomach. She touches your face, your shoulders, your neck. She presses closer to you and buries her fingers in your hair. For one second you forget that you're pregnant and you adore her even more for that. Once you separate, you both have stupid grins on your faces and you giggle before you hide your face on the crook of her neck.
"Now, what do you say we go back to the couch and watch that movie?," she asks you and all you can do is nod.
You walk back hand in hand and you settle on the couch between her legs, your back pressed to her front. It's not the first time the two of you sit in this position, but it feels so much better now that you know she's not just trying to ease your back pain or hold your belly. Brittany wants to hold you and for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax against her frame. But, before the movie can start, your eyes wonder to the coffee table and you see what triggered this whole thing.
"Britt, can I ask you something?" You can feel her nod against your neck. "Why were you checking your phone so much? If you were not waiting for an invitation, then..."
The sigh against your neck makes you shiver and you think that maybe you've overstepped your boundaries.
"You don't have to tell me, it it's personal or-"
"It's not. I just wanted to surprise you, that's all."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Earlier, my friend called saying she might get me a gig as a choreographer. It wouldn't be for long, but it's something, right?"
"Oh, my god, Britt. That's awesome." You half turn in her arms and peppers her face with kisses, finishing with a long, hard one to her pink lips. You sheepishly extricate yourself from her, blushing when she stares at you wide-eyed.
"If I knew this would be your reaction, I would have told you about this the moment you walked in."
"Goofball."
Your eyes feel heavy before the opening credits are through and you feel like you should close them, just for a minute, just to rest your sight before the movie really picks up. The circles Brittany's drawing on your stomach does nothing to help you keep them open, either.
You're jostled awake when Brittany moves your body in her arms. There are no other sounds other than your breathing and you open your eyes to find out that she has turned off the TV and is, somehow, standing from the couch holding you. Sometimes, her strength really amazes you.
"What are you doing?" You wince at your creaking voice, but Brittany gazes down beaming at you.
"I'm taking you to bed."
"I'm awake now."
"So?"
There's such a finality in her question that you don't argue with her. You simply hold her neck and burrow yourself deeper into her warmth. After every light in the apartment is off - she would walk you to the switch and you would hit it - she takes you to the bedroom and deposits you in the bed. Only, this time, instead of kissing your forehead, she kisses your lips. You smile against her mouth and hold on to her shirt, so she has no other choice than to keep kissing you.
Brittany's tongue invades your mouth and you don't hold back the moan that grows in your body. You bury one of your hands in her fine hair and pull her to you with such force, that she has to use both hands on the mattress to keep her from squashing your belly. She giggles and it vibrates against your skin. It's your new favorite sound.
After so many weeks of longing and distant closeness, you don't think you could ever be near enough to her. And you keep pulling her to you, as your lips and tongues and teeth find a rhythm all their own. It's like your body knows your mind is overwhelmed and it decides to take over.
This desire to be closer seems to be shared by Brittany and she joins you on the bed, sitting high on your legs, her knees almost bracketing your hips. You touch the arch of her spine and the muscles in her arms and, for a single moment, you hate it that you're pregnant. You hate it that there's this round belly between you two and that she's treating you like you're made out of glass. All you want is to feel her entire body weighting down on yours.
You feel a sense of loss when Brittany extricates her lips from yours. Her blue eyes shine almost gray in your dark bedroom and they study your face as if it were a painting on a wall. You wonder what she sees when she looks at you like that, so meticulously, so religiously.
A soft smile spreads her lips and she leans forward once more. You close your eyes and lick your lips in anticipation, but her kiss lands on your forehead. Before you can protest, she swings her leg over you and settles on the place where she has slept for the past weeks. And just like that, like a rehearsed choreograph, you turn your back to her and let her mold her body to yours. A kiss is placed on your neck and soon you can feel her slow breathing on your skin.
But you don't feel tired, anymore. And as sleep eludes you, you focus on the feel on Brittany's body against yours. Even after weeks of sleeping on the same bed, this is the first time you actually allow yourself to notice the details. Like her small breasts pressed against your back, your pelvises fitting together, her long legs following the angles of yours and her soft hand on your stomach beneath your shirt. There you're warm and comfortable and home.
There are days when you hate maternity clothes. Not that they are particularly hideous - in fact, you bought some quite fashionable ones the other day, very different from the ones your mom wore when she was expecting you. But, as cute as they might be, they do nothing to disguise the fact that you're this swollen, bloated, unattractive mess. On most days, you're able to either like what you see in the mirror or ignore what goes on below your neck.
Today is not one of those days.
It's Saturday morning and you're waiting for Brittany to come back from her meeting so you can go out and celebrate. As it turns out, the gig Brittany's friend talked to her about last week came true and, come Monday, she'll be filling in as a choreographer for a local musical production. You're so proud of her you can't keep the smile away from your face for long. Only problem is that you can't seem to find anything wearable in your closet. You don't know if you should be dressing for a simple lunch or for a date. And you don't even know if Brittany wants to date you.
After last Friday, you haven't talked about what the kissing and hugging and holding hands mean. You just kept on doing it as if it's the most natural thing in the world. And, it sure feels like it. But you're still unsure about what's going on and it doesn't help that Brittany hasn't tried to take it any further than kissing.
"San?," comes Brittany's excited voice from the door.
"In the bedroom."
Ever since she started sleeping with you every night, you stopped saying things like 'my bed' or 'my bedroom'. It feels more right this way. Sometimes you just wish you did more than sleep in there.
Brittany catches your eyes through the mirror and you can't help but smiling at her reflection. She's got this twinkle in her eyes that's just infectious. She stands behind you and throws her arms around the wider part of your stomach. You're standing there in your pants and bra and you admire the contrast between her pale hands and your tan skin - toffee and milk.
"I thought you'd be ready by now," Brittany mumbles against the skin of your neck and you shiver. You're over sensitive these days.
"I can't find anything."
"What are you talking about, San?," she chuckles. "You just bought a whole lot of clothes this week."
You think about the items Brittany's talking about, with their tags still on, laying on the floor. You tried them on and already you hate them, three days after you got them. You close your eyes, trying to find an escape, a way around her questions. But maybe you do it for too long, because she tightens her hold on you and her breath tickles you as she exhales.
"San? What's going on?" Her voice, soft and worried, weakens your defenses.
"I can't find anything to wear. Everything makes me feel fat."
"What are you talking about? You're beautiful." You scoff and she frowns. "I mean it, Santana. You're absolutely beautiful."
"It sure doesn't feel like it," you mumble, torn between exploding and keeping your insecurities to yourself. You know that if Brittany continues down this road, you'll be saying a lot more than you wish and you're not sure if whatever it is that you have with her is strong enough to handle it so soon.
"Santana, you're one of the most gorgeous women I know. You're-"
"Than why won't you have sex with me?"
Time stands still as you stare at each other through the mirror. Your voice rings around the room and her eyes are wide and unblinking as they gaze at you. Her arms loosen their hold and she takes a step back. You instantly miss her warmth.
"Wha-what are you talking about?"
"Never mind."
The first step you take towards your closet is halted by Brittany's hand on your arm. You don't move, but you close your eyes; you know your resolve would crumble beneath her blue stare.
You feel like you're a statue coming to life when she tugs on your arm and makes you turn a little, just enough for her to round your body and stand in front of you. You can only feel her movements, guessing where she is by the breaths that are blanketing your face. You want to open your eyes, you want to lose yourself in hers, you want to tell her to forget everything you said and take her out to celebrate. It's her day and she deserves that, not this whining girl you can barely recognize.
She cups your cheek and you hold back a sob.
"Talk to me, San."
Her tone convinces you to look at her. There's a deep line between her brows and her head is lightly tilted to the side, like it always happens when she's confused. And you hate that you're the one confusing her, bringing things up out of the blue and giving her half answers and hiding things behind your smile. It's just...you don't know how else to be. It's what you did with your mom, growing up, so she wouldn't be flooded with guilt. And how you survived through law school. And what you have to do to be respected at the office. But, looking at Brittany's face now, you don't think you can keep it up.
"It's just..." You start but have to swallow down your nerves. "It's been a week since you said you liked me and that you wanted to be with me-"
"And I do, San. I do."
"You say that, and I know it's not that long, but we've slept on the same bed every night since and you haven't tried to touch me even once."
"San, I-"
"But it's okay. I get it," you continue talking, deliberately ignoring Brittany's attempt at responding. "Who would want to sleep with me? I'm fat and my feet are swollen and I have stretch marks. It's disgusting, I get it."
"No, you don't get it." Brittany's voice is low and almost pained, you think. You don't really understand why, but you don't really try to. You're already too concerned with your broken feelings to acknowledge hers.
"I don't? So, enlighten me. If I'm so beautiful as you say and if you like me and wanna be with me, then why don't you wanna have sex with me? It's not like it would be our first time." You whisper the last part but, by the way Brittany's breath hitches, you know she hears it.
"I... I..." She can't hold your eyes for more than a second and you cock an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. "I was afraid it might hurt the baby."
Brittany seems pleased with herself, but you only cross your arms between your breasts and your belly and shake your head, a sad smile twisting your lips.
"Britt, you've read every maternity blog there is, so I know you know sex isn't bad for the baby. Hell, you were there with me when my doctor said so." You give her a moment to challenge you, to amend herself, but she doesn't. "This is a great way to start things."
Your bathroom is only a few feet away and you hope you can get to it before the tears come streaming down your face. Last week, when Brittany made her speech about wanting to be with you, you actually let yourself believe her, believe that you could build something out of what had happened. But you can't build something on lies and if she's not willing to be honest, then it's probably best if you ended things here.
"I was afraid."
Brittany's voice reaches you as you start to turn the handle. You turn to her and frown at her downcast eyes. She still can't make eye contact and you want to sympathetic, you really do, but your defenses are far too high for that.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I was afraid, San. I am afraid."
"What could you possibly be afraid of? Me?" You know your face shows your disbelief, but you make no efforts to hide it. If there's one thing this pregnancy has changed about you, is you no longer have this need to keep things to yourself. You've learned that it won't make you any stronger.
"No, San, not you." Brittany finally looks up at you and you think you see a kind of pleading floating in her eyes. "It's just... We were drunk when we slept together and... I don't have much...experience, so I was afraid you might hate it or be disgusted with my body if we did it sober and then you wouldn't want to be with me anymore."
"I wasn't drunk," you tell her softly and you can see her eyes widen.
"What?"
"I wasn't drunk that night. Alcohol makes me sleepy and I was already tired that day, so I decided not to drink."
"I-I... I had no idea."
"Brittany, I... Come here," you exhale and walk to your bed and take a seat. You wait until she's siting beside you. "I don't care that you don't have experience. I don't care that your body is different than mine. And, it's not like I wanna be with you just because of the sex part, but it is something important if we want to be together. And if you're feeling uncomfortable about something, you have to talk to me. I can't guess what you're feeling." You grasp her hand in both of yours and pull it to your lap. "Look, I'm also new to this whole together thing and my hormones are definitely not making things any easier, but I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you the way that I did."
"It's okay. I kinda deserved it." You try to protest, but she squeezes your hand and you close your mouth. "And I'm sorry too, for not talking to you. I was just really scared you would laugh at me and kick me out and not let me see my kid."
"Britt, I would never do that. Okay, first of all, this kid is as much yours as it is mine and, no matter what happens between you and me, I would never take them away from you. Okay?" You wait until she nods to continue. "And second, I really like you too and I wanna make this work. I want us together."
"Yeah?"
There's a childlike glint in her eyes that makes you giggle. "Yeah."
Brittany kisses you, then. You expect it to be just a peck, but soon her tongue is dancing in your mouth, drawing a moan out of your throat. She tangles her finger in your hair and it feels like everything she held back this week comes back with a vengeance. You're only able to throw your arms around her shoulders and hold on tight.
When her lips slide down to your jaw, you can feel your heart beating everywhere, specially between your legs. The blood in your veins almost deafens you and you start to feel lightheaded.
"Britt... Britt..." You pant and screw your eyes shut when she nibbles your ear. "Britt, what about... What about our reservation?"
She detaches her mouth from your skin and leans back only enough to look at you. There's a lopsided smile on her face and a mischievous spark in her eyes. "I'm already celebrating."
You and Brittany never discuss the status of your relationship. It seemed childish to ask if you two were dating since you are already living together and expecting a child. So, you decide to just go with the flow. For once in your life, you don't plan ahead, you don't worry about every possible outcome. Maybe, like Quinn points out almost every week, Brittany really is starting to rub off on you.
Only, you don't really think that's such a bad thing. You actually like going with the flow. It's just not such an easy task when you're eight months pregnant. You're starting to wonder if you can attach wheels to your shoes and have Brittany pull you around.
The sound of chairs scrapping the floor breaks you out of your thoughts. You blink a few times and find out that you lost about half of the meeting - thankfully, it wasn't anything that actually required your attention. Quinn is looking at you from the other side of the room with a knowing smirk on her face and you know she was probably betting with herself on how long it would take you to come back down to Earth.
Bitch.
You close your eyes as a strange, sharp pain shoots across your lower stomach. You've been feeling this since three in the morning, but you didn't pay it much attention. You still have three more weeks until your due date and your doctor had warned you about these, so you decided to go with your daily routine. You also decided not to tell Brittany about them; she would only spend her day worrying about you two.
"You okay?" Quinn's voice sounds too close and you open your eyes to find her standing behind the chair in front of yours.
"Yeah, sure, just...pregnant lady stuff." You try to smile around a grimace. "Look, I gotta go to the bathroom, but... Lunch?"
"Sure. I'll get our bags and wait you by the elevators."
Another cramp creeps up your spine as you close the door of the stall. Your knees threaten to give out on you and you have to lean most of your weight on the door just to keep standing up. You take a deep breath and think the worst must be over, when you feel something trickling down your legs. There's a small pool of liquid between your feet.
You know what this is. You're sure of what this means, but it can't be. You're still three weeks away and this is not the way it's supposed to happen. Brittany was supposed to be with you and the nursery was supposed to be done and you were supposed to feel ready. Well, you don't. You don't feel ready, but your baby does. Your baby's ready and there's nothing you can do about it.
Quinn is waiting for you where she said she would and you can see her face shift as she takes in your appearance. You don't even wanna know what you must look like.
"Santana? What's going on?" There's a slight edge to her voice and you really wish it wasn't there.
"Slight change of plans, Q." Hazel eyes go from your face to your belly and back up when you speak again. "Baby's coming."
"Oh, my god. Are you sure? Oh, what am I asking? Of course you're sure. Okay, we need to get you to the hospital and... Do you have your doctor's phone with you? And-"
"Quinn!," you cut off her rambling and you see her trying to catch her breath. "I really need you to not freak out, okay? I'm already doing that for the both of us."
There's a hand holding yours, but it's not the one you want. Brittany hasn't arrived yet and you're starting to get more panicked by the minute. Even though your doctor has already talked to you and examined both you and the baby, even though there are nurses checking up on you every now and then, even though Quinn hasn't left your side since you got here, you really want Brittany. You need her to hold your hand and tell you everything will be alright so that you can believe. You need her to smile at you and breathe with you.
A small commotion outside of your door invades the room. You can only hear undistinguishable voices and are about to send Quinn there to tell them to go fight somewhere else, when one voice rings louder and clearer than the others.
"That is my girlfriend and my child in there-"
You're not able to understand what she tries to say after that, but it doesn't matter. Brittany is here and she just called you her girlfriend for the first time. If you weren't hooked to so many machines, you would be running out there and jumping on her neck.
"Is that Brittany?," Quinn asks you and you remember that they have only met once.
"Yeah. Could you-"
"Of course."
From your place on the bed you can't see much, but the voices get louder when Quinn opens the door. You try to focus on what she's saying, but soon there are hurried steps coming in your direction and you turn your head to see Brittany approaching you. She's got this serious expression on her face, but you get it. You're scared too.
"Hey."
"Hi, San." She takes your hand and kisses your forehead. "I'm sorry. I tried to get here sooner, but I couldn't find a cab and-"
"It's okay. You're here now."
Quinn and a nameless nurse come back into the room. The nurse goes on to check on some machine and Quinn comes up to the bed.
"They said only one of us can stay with you. Now that Brittany's here, I have to go back to the office."
"Thank you, Q."
"It's okay. Keep me posted, alright? And I'll come back after work."
After you're both left alone, Brittany half-sits on your bed. She keeps your hand in one of hers and uses the other to move your hair from your face and caress your skin. Her blue gaze is trained on you, blanketing your body in warmth just the way her body does when she sleeps next to you.
"I'm scared." Your voice is no more than a wisp of sound and you wouldn't have recognized it if you didn't know it was you who spoke.
"Why?"
"It's too soon, Britt. I was supposed to have three more weeks and I don't feel ready, the nursery isn't ready and the baby shouldn't be ready and what if-"
"Santana, don't." Brittany's forceful tone silences you. You sob and you both realize that you're crying. "You're just gonna go crazy if you start thinking about all of the 'what ifs'."
"But-"
"Has your doctor been here yet?"
"Yes."
"And what did she say?"
"That the baby is fine."
"See? Let's trust her, okay?"
"I don't know, Britt. There's so much that can go wrong."
"I know, honey. But there's a lot that can go right. Think of it as we'll be able to hold our baby three weeks earlier. That's pretty awesome, right?"
"Yeah." You don't know if you sob or laugh your answer, but Brittany smiles anyway. She starts drying the tears from your face with the gentlest touch.
"Everything will be okay, San. You'll see."
You're not sure how long after that your doctor comes back in and, after examining you one more time, looks up at you with a smile. "Alright, moms. It's time."
This moment is worth everything. When the room is finally quiet and empty apart from you, Brittany and your son. A son! You can hardly believe he's here, in your arms. You're also kind of relieved that you two waited to know the gender; you would have freaked if you knew you were having a boy. You know nothing about them.
You almost tried to get out of the bed when the nurse took him away to be examined. You felt a physical pain being separated from him, but the nurse smiled at your attempt and reassured you she would be back as soon as possible. At that moment, Brittany slid her hand in yours and you thought that maybe, just maybe you could do this.
When they brought him back, your chest exploded in relief. The nurse gave him back to you and the pediatrician started to explain that your son's health was in good shape. Even though he was born a little before his due date, he was breathing well on his own and was able to keep his temperature on a steady level. The only thing he wanted was for him to gain a little weight while being monitored. A sigh of relief escaped your lips, then. You had been so scared when you were admitted before you were expecting it.
And now that you're left alone with your family, the world feels like it's back on its axis.
"He's perfect, Britt," you tell Brittany without removing your gaze from your son. You don't feel like you could even if you tried.
"He is, San. He needs a name, though."
You smile a little at that. You have been trying to think of names for the last months, but without knowing if you were having a boy or a girl and without seeing their face, you couldn't set your heart on any. But, now, with him on your arms, you think you have an idea.
"How do you feel about Benjamin?," you ask her through a whisper. "It starts with a B, like yours."
"I like it." Brittany's beaming smile can light up the whole room as she caresses the fine dark hair on his head. "What about his middle name?"
"You pick."
"I kinda like... Scott?" Brittany's voice trembles as she speaks and you turn both names in your head. "It was my grandpa's name."
"Perfect. Benjamin Scott."
"Benjamin Scott Lopez-Pierce."
"Actually, I was thinking... Maybe just Pierce?" You don't mean to make it sound like a question, but you never told her about it and you don't know how she's gonna take it. It's just something you feel really strong about.
"What? Why, San? Is it because-"
"No, Britt, no. You see, the only thing my dad ever gave me was his name. He was never a part of my life. He was never there, not like you're here. I don't wanna pass his name to my son. It ends with me."
"Okay," she whispers against your hair. "Benjamin Scott Pierce it is."
Turns out, you and Brittany get to take Benjamin home two days later. You feel constantly like a pendulum, oscillating between relief and fear. You know that being sent home means your baby boy is healthy and strong and that's really all you can hope for. On the other hand, it also means you're on your own. You're a mom, now and, apparently, that means you should know what you're doing.
There's another thing that's bugging you as you step out of the car Brittany borrowed to pick you up from the hospital. The nursery. When you went into labor, the room had one painted wall and a whole lot of boxes. The crib, the dresser, the rocking chair; it was all just a bunch of pieces and parts and screws that meant your baby had nowhere to sleep.
The panic starts climbing up your spine when you feel Brittany's arm around your waist. She's careful not to put too much pressure on your body nor to startle you as you carry Benjamin up the front stairs. She's just a calming presence and it amazes you how she always seems to know when you need her.
"I have a surprise for you," she whispers after she opens the door to your apartment and you don't know if she's talking to you or Benjamin. It doesn't really matter.
But, then, she asks you to give her Benjamin and close your eyes. You swallow uncomfortably. It's not that you don't trust her, you're just not very fond of surprises. You're about to tell her that, but she kisses your lips and whispers 'please' in your ear. You're pretty much gone after that.
Brittany slowly leads you by the hand, making sure you don't bump into anything. She takes you across the room, down the hallway and, if your memory serves you correctly, stops in front of the nursery. You can hear the metal handle and the wood creaking when she opens the door and you feel a need to open your eyes and see what's beyond, but you screw them shut and you wait. So far, Brittany's surprises have been perfect.
"Open your eyes, San."
You cannot believe what you're seeing. The nursery is ready. Not just painted, not just with an assembled crib, but ready. The yellow walls and the white furniture reflect the sunlight coming in from the window, making the room seem bright and happy. The rocking chair you chose is set to one side and there are animal stickers all around the walls, as if you were on some kind of forest. The mobile Quinn got you is firmly set above the crib and the blanket your mom sent is on the mattress. Everything is exactly how you imagined it to be.
"H-how... How did you do this? You barely left the hospital."
"I asked a friend for help. He painted the walls and put together the furniture. I just came by to tell him where everything was supposed to go. Do you like it?"
"It's amazing, Britt," you answer her with a smile that has taken residence on your face since you held Benjamin for the first time. "I was so worried about where we would put him to sleep today."
"I know. That's why I did this."
"Thank you."
You watch as Brittany walks around with Benjamin in her arms, showing him his new domains. An incredible warmth settles in your chest as you watch the scene and you take a sit on the chair. It's even more comfortable now that you're not seven months pregnant and you're suddenly very tired.
Brittany finishes showing your son his room and beams at you. She places Benjamin in your arms, kissing both of your heads before she sits on the stool in front of you.
In that moment, you think about how one decision can change your whole life. When you chased Brittany out of that club and kissed her, you could never imagine this is where you would be less than a year later. But, looking at your son's perfect little face and Brittany's adoring gaze, you know you wouldn't change any of it.
"Welcome home, Benjamin."