The tears don't come right away. And as the days go by she wonders if she's broken.
Brittany tells her it's okay to cry, it's okay to scream, it's okay to want to punch something or set it all in fire.
It's okay.
But, all Santana can think about is how she's wrong.
Nothing is okay.
Her abuela is gone.
There was no time left to get back what they once had. There was not time left to say "I love you" one more time. There was no time left.
Still strained and awkward in some places her and her abuela were working towards something that looked a lot like acceptance. The hope she thought had died that night at her abuela's kitchen table sparked again at her wedding. A small glimpse of a better future, a better understanding.
Now, that spark was extinguished.
How could any of that be okay?
She keeps trying to think back to the last words she spoke to her. Ever since the wedding at least once a week, Santana would call to check in.
On some days it seemed like nothing had changed, that things were almost to the way they were before. Santana would ask about her favorite telenovelas and laugh when her abuela would proceed to rant about the fictional characters like they were her own family and friends.
On other days she could sense her discomfort and the conversation would find itself at a standstill at the mention of Brittany. Still she would carry on, hurt, but still not denying herself nor her love.
What they had bonded over the most was Santana's new found love of cooking. Every call had some question about a dish she remembered, a dish she missed and wanted to recreate just like her abuela's.
If there is one thing she always knew about her abuela, it was her pride in the food she made. The joy she would get from feeding her friends and family, of seeing their faces reflect her joy as they ate.
It's bittersweet thinking of it standing in her abuela's kitchen for the first time since coming out, helping to prepare the food for the repast.
In a way it felt so much like coming home.The smell, the decor, everything in place, exactly like she remembered, left like a museum.
Yet, there were more than a few things off. Even though she was surrounded by so many aunts and cousins, something was amiss.
Her abuela's presence was achingly missed. The mood in the sweltering kitchen waxed and waned from somber to joyful memories as her family remembered together while making the dishes Alma had taught them.
As the stories were shared, she found herself laughing and smiling at some of the funnier ones.
It didn't hit her until she sat down at the table to help chop the onions. While her abuela may be gone from the house, the hurt and the pain still lingered. Duller than before, but still there. It was almost as if the ghost of that painful night hovered over the chair.
Love was such a complicated thing.
Maybe that's why the tears didn't come at first.
When they did come, the next day that is, they came with a force she was not ready for.
She makes it through the car ride to the chapel. She makes it through the entirety of the mass without a single tear. She makes it through the car ride to the cemetery.
It's the graveside where she loses it. As the casket lowered into the ground, the impact, the weight, her new reality came crashing in.
This is her world now.
She now exists in a world without her abuela.
The tears start and she's never felt such sadness.The feeling, the knowledge of loss is so intense, so encompassing. She wonders if she'll ever be able to stop.
Brittany holds her as she tries to reign in her sobs. She sinks into the embrace in search of a comfort she's not sure she will ever be able to know again.
Still, for the moment the blonde's long arms wrapped tightly around her prove to be an anchor in this sea of grief.
And she's grateful.
The rest of the weekend is a blur as the tears come and go. Before she knows it she's falling back into their bed in their Boston apartment.
The next morning, it was back to the routine. After ignoring Brittany's insistence that she didn't need to, she made her strawberry smoothie and lunch then sent the blonde on her way.
She needed some form of routine. Something that was consistent, the same as before.
Ever since the funeral she'd felt so up and down. After her breakdown back home at the graveside, she thought she had got it all out. But, no. Her grief snuck up on her at the oddest of times.
And then there was Brittany. Sweet and caring and trying her best to understand and be there for her. But, there were times where it felt like she was suffocating.
There would be the small side glances every once in a while, a hand on her back, the constant need to ask if she was okay.
And as the days went on her expression of grief started to changed. The tears started to taste a tad too bitter. And the sadness, so deep, was giving way to her fiercest feeling besides her love.
She notices it one Tuesday morning as she's finishing washing the breakfast dishes.
She's taken to hand washing instead of using the dishwasher, because that's what her abuela had done. And in a way, she finds going through the motions calming.
"Santana." Brittany's saying from the other room. "Have you seen my ph-"
"It's on the nightstand, you put it behind the cat clock."
"Right." She hears her footsteps retreat before coming near again. "And my-"
"You left it in the car, it's in the console."
"Oh yeah." She hears as once again the footsteps start to retreat.
It's quiet for a moment but then she hears footsteps again. As soon as she hears the crash from where she stands in the kitchen, it's an accident and she knows it. Reaching for a dish towel she dries her hands moving towards the living room.
"Shit." Brittany is saying. "Shit, shit, shit."
Her eyes find the blonde on her hands and knees in their living room trying to pick up the shards of glass from the vase that had been on their coffee table.
"Brit." She says, softly coming to her aid. She holds out the dish towel for Brittany to drop the shards in. "It's okay, I'll get it."
Blue eyes look up at her and she can see the apology coming, instead she leans forward to kiss the blonde's forehead.
"Go. You're already late as is." She says pulling back.
"You're amazing, you know that?"
Santana shrugs, with a small smile. "I have my days."
Brittany looks at her then, letting her eyes linger before she leans in to kiss the brunette.
"I don't know what I'd do without you." She says, before she stands up and leaves.
Left alone with the mess, she carefully picks up the larger shards before placing them on the dish towel.
It isn't until she's sweeping the tiniest parts of the shards into a dustpan that she remembers where they had gotten the vase from.
She remembers the card attached.
My deepest condolences
With love from, Quinn
She remembers the text that came through days before the funeral.
I'm on the next flight out. xo
She remembers the hazel eyes, and the other hand in hers besides on her right side, opposite of Brittany's at the wake.
I'm here for as long as you need me.
Now weeks later she could still feel the ghost of her breathe against her ear.
And it was then coming back from the memories she felt it.
Like a switch, something broke within her.
Revealing what had been there all along, only suppressed, waiting idly for its triumphant return.
It'd been so long since she'd felt it, glaring white and hot, right in the center of her chest. It felt like an old friend, a strange comfort, a way to make sense of the nonsensical.
It embraces her kindly.
Her anger.
She looks at the tiny shards now and can't help but shake her head as she tosses them into the garbage can.
Her movements are swift and direct as she picks up her phone.
Her fingers fly across the screen, finding and tapping on her name.
It only takes two rings.
"Hey, what's-"
"You're full of shit, you know that Fabray?" She says, her words getting right to the point.
It's silent on the other end for a moment, before Santana hears slight rustling.
"I'm listening."
Santana rolls her eyes. The fucking audacity! She thinks before she barrels on with her rant.
"Of course you're going to listen! You call me the day before my wedding, after ghosting me, your best friend, on the biggest most important day of my life. Spewing the weakest bullshit I've ever heard."
"Santana, I-"
"No. Because you got to talk six months ago. Speaking in fucking code about who the fuck I am. If you're so all knowing, Lucy, then riddle me this?"
"Who the hell am I?"