The cotton of her t-shirt—well, mine, really—was soft where I burrowed into it, and I tried to shut out everything but her. 'Everything' included the buzz of protest in the back of my skull, telling me I was making a mistake. I shut it out. It was easy to do in her arms. I held on desperately to the book, which was made incredibly awkward by the placement of my arms, which were around her neck. My wrists ached, but I ignored that too, and my thoughts were a constant stream of Brittany Brittany Brittany. She held me as the sun went down, and I knew I was forgiven. I cried, not out of of sadness, but out of relief. I didn't even want to imagine what could've happened if she had told me to go home.
She finally stepped back, but she didn't let go of me. Her hands found my hips, and she drew circles on the bones there with her thumbs. I dropped my hands to her waist, still trying not to drop the precious picture book.
"You're so sweet," she told me through a laugh, moving her right hand to brush a piece of hair out of my eyes. I looked to the ground and sniffled. She sighed quietly and glanced down at her hands on my hips. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," I told her honestly, still very much aware that we were still visible to all of Brittany's neighbors. I imagined curious faces poking out from behind living room drapes, spying on the reconciliation taking place on the Pierce's front porch. I didn't like it. Her serious blue eyes bore into mine, searching for my soul, ignorant to everything but me. I let her look, knowing that she deserved that much. But I was getting uncomfortable, even though we were mostly obscured by the shadow of the porch. "Can we go inside?" I asked her quickly, the words tumbling out against her hair.
She nodded and took my hand in hers. I followed her into the house, still clutching the book in my left hand. Her foot pushed the front door closed as we entered the foyer.
"Emily should still be awake," she told me. "Do you want to go upstairs and read that to her? We can do it together." She pointed at the book in my hands.
I smiled a tiny smile. It was good to be back. And Brittany was treating me like I'd never left. "I'd like that." I climbed the stairs, finding the rhythm of the Pierce home again. It came easily. Brittany took the stairs two at a time, and I looked at the pictures on the walls.
"Where are your parents?" I asked her, glancing around the second floor hallway.
"Out back," Brittany said casually. "Just sitting in the backyard, I think."
"Why?" I couldn't fathom going to sit outside for no reason.
"They like to watch the sun go down," Brittany told me, shrugging.
I'd like to watch the sun go down with you.
But I didn't say that.
"Okay," I replied.
Emily's room was a subdued pink, a shade I could tolerate, and the princesses having tea at the small table in the corner were joined by a variety of army men and a cowboy doll. Toy Story had come to life in Emily's room, and that made me smile.
"Santana," Emily greeted, bringing me back to the present. "You're back." She smiled, and I smiled at her, feeling hesitant. I prayed that Emily wouldn't comment on the fact that I hadn't been around for a few days. Did six year-olds even have a concept of time?
Brittany sat down on the edge of the bed, and Emily, who was nestled in the center, surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals, patted the bed beside her, indicating for me to lie next to her so that she was wedged between Brittany and me. The youngest Pierce and a layer or two of stuffed animals separated us, but I supposed it was probably a good thing. It would be easier to be in the same room as Brittany without the temptation of touching her. Look, don't touch. Mrs. Pierce was always telling her daughters that.
Brittany, your father will be so upset if you smear the frosting on his cake. You know that's his favorite.
The cookies are still hot, Emily. You'll burn your tongue. Be patient.
The youngest always listened, Brittany rarely did. Mr. Pierce was perfectly happy with smeared frosting on his cake; the Pierces had celebrated his birthday in late May.
I held the book in my lap, and Emily angled herself towards me so she could see the pictures. I felt Brittany smile across the bed. I think I could feel her smile across the state of Colorado, but that was just a guess. It reminded me of two cans and a string trick; her smile vibrated between us. I wondered if the line went both ways.
"This is my favorite book," Emily told me earnestly, with that bright childhood innocence in her eyes; it had always seemed so elusive to me, but that didn't seem to be the case with Emily. "How did you know?"
"Just a guess," I told her with a wink. I opened the book to the first page. "Would you like me to read it to you?"
"Yes," she answered, and I could feel her tiny arms pressed against my side where they wrapped around a large stuffed dolphin. Brittany propped herself up on her elbow to get a better view of the pictures.
I cleared my throat. "The night wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind…"
Emily turned the pages for me, sometimes waiting for long periods of time to memorize every detail of the illustrations: every hair on a wild thing's back, every sharp point on Max's crown. During these interludes I glanced to Brittany, only to find her just as enraptured with the pictures, her expression nearly identical to Emily's.
It's not elusive, it's right in front of you, I thought. I watched her for a little while longer.
"Santana," Emily interrupted, drawing out each vowel. "Read." She was demanding. Brittany's blue eyes snapped to mine from the pages in my hands. She smiled.
I cleared my throat and read on, subconsciously lowering my voice to personify the monsters. This made both Emily and Brittany giggle, and I felt immense satisfaction at having accomplished that, though I was a little embarrassed by my monster voice. I sounded like I smoked two packs a day.
"But the wild things cried, 'Oh please don't go—we'll eat you up—we love you so!' And Max said, 'No!'" I caught Brittany looking at me when I read that line, but I didn't want to pretend that it was purposeful. I didn't want to think about love, or monsters. But I supposed the two were synonymous.
I closed the book and glanced at the little girl on my left. Emily was tired; her eyelids looked heavy, just like Brittany's did when we'd spent hours talking and the moon was high in the sky. I watched the small girl's eyes close, and flutter open, and then close again. I looked up to Brittany, who was standing next to the bed, watching me with a curious expression on her face. Our eyes met and I saw a flicker. Now that was something truly elusive, because I could never get the look to stay in her eyes long enough for me to read it. It was maddening and it happened all the time. I was glad to see that it was still happening, because I supposed it was probably good, but I still didn't know what it meant. Brittany nodded towards the door, indicating that we should leave, and she padded across the carpet. I eased off of Emily's bed, careful not to make it squeak. I followed Brittany wordlessly out the door. She flipped off the light as we left. The darkness of the hallway swallowed us.
"Where are your parents?" I whispered to Brittany, following her into her room.
"Probably still out back," Brittany answered. "My mom is home with Emily and me all day, so when my dad gets home she wants to spend time with him. I'm pretty sure they just drink beer for an hour or two and then they come inside and go to bed. My parents love sunsets, or something. I don't know, they're weird."
I thought it was sweet.
Brittany sighed nervously as we went into her room. She didn't turn the lights on.
"Are you staying over?" she asked me quietly. I didn't miss the slight tremor in her voice.
"I was planning on it," I told her. Her nervousness was following the string connecting us, and I absorbed it, feeling my hands begin to tremble at the hem of my shirt. "Is that okay?"
"Yes."
Of course it was okay. I felt her move towards me, and the string between us went slack as the distance closed, but the electricity in me buzzed. I stared through the dark, searching for her. Her palms found my forearms, and they were warm. She stepped closer.
Now what? Do I kiss her? Do I tell her I love her?
Her right hand slid painfully slow from my forearm to my upper arm, and then my shoulder, and her fingers danced across my neck, brushing the pulse point below my jaw. I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to keep it together.
What is she doing?
"We should talk." My voice trembled.
Her fingers flitted across my cheek, rounded the shell of my ear, and then slid back down to my jaw, where she tugged slightly.
"Yeah?" she responded, her eyes on my lips. I got the sense she wasn't even listening to me. My head tilted forward instinctively, and our lips met, and I knew what to do this time. She kissed me, and nothing mattered.
I sank into her, and the kiss was, impossibly, better than our first. I gasped against her lips, surprised, and it was electric. My pulse stampeded through the silent room, interrupted briefly by the sounds of our lips smacking together; every few seconds we adjusted, trying to tilt this way, or that way, trying to find out what it would feel like if I pulled her lower lip into my mouth. I think she liked it, because she gasped quietly into my slightly opened mouth. The room was getting very hot, and her breath, or my breath, I couldn't tell the difference anymore, was getting warmer by the second. Her hands found my hips, and began to thumb circles into the joints there. My knees felt weak. Her fingertips walked across my lower back, sending currents everywhere. I hardly felt like I was in my body anymore.
We kissed harder, and she pushed against me, and our hips connected.
We need to talk.
Nope.
Her fingers found the hem of my t-shirt, and the warm pads of her fingers touched the skin of my lower back, sending shocks up and down my spine. I wrapped my hands tightly around her neck, kissing her harder.
And then I felt her tongue, gently at first, so slow that I barely noticed it pressing against my lips, pushing my mouth open wider. I could hardly breathe when her tongue slid against mine. I thought I was going to pass out from the heat and the electricity and her hands on me.
What am I doing?
Her palms were flat against my lower back, under my t-shirt, and her thumbs pressed into my sides with a pressure that was enough to make me squirm under her touch for reasons I didn't quite understand.
"Brittany," I breathed into her. She took it as encouragement, and pushed up against me harder. I heard the back door slide open on the first floor. Brittany ignored it. The room was pitch black, but I could tell her eyes were closed. She was so far gone. And I was responsible for it.
I kept kissing her.
A noise escaped her lips, a whine, really, and I could hardly stand the pressure that had built up everywhere in my body. It was too much, too fast. Her hands found the waistband of my denim shorts, and she was yanking at my belt loops, grunting into my lips in frustration; she couldn't seem to take them off, if that's what she was even trying to do. Not wanting to stop her, I let her struggle. Her hair was a messy blonde halo around her head, and her hands had found the button of my shorts, and she had snapped it open expertly and her fingers brushed against the strip of skin above my underwear.
I gasped, inhaling lavender. I stumbled from the shock, and my palms hit Brittany's walls. She grabbed my hips and turned me around, pressing me against the wall, and she began to kiss me again.
I was okay with this.
Why am I okay with this?
She was breathing hard against my lips, panting, dipping her tongue between my teeth every few seconds with a delicious flick, and it was easy to forget to think. I was weak under her touch. Her bare hands ran up and down my thighs, and I was able to block out the noises on the first floor of the house.
Her hands were moving closer and closer to my underwear, and I was really, really tempted to let her do whatever she was planning on doing.
Sex only complicates things. I've seen enough rom-coms to know that.
But was she planning on having sex with me?
My stomach rolled, and the heated sweat became ice cold as the guilt set in. The fingers of Brittany's right hand were under the elastic of my underwear, and I was in sensory overload. I had no idea what to listen to, or where to look, or how to touch her.
"Britt," I groaned. Her fingers slid lower, just above the heat between my legs. I grabbed her wrist quickly. She wasn't getting the hint. But then again, I wasn't doing a very good job of convincing her that I didn't want it.
Whatever 'it' was.
She took my lack of movement as a cue for her to continue, and her fingers pushed further. I gripped her wrist harder, tightening my fingers against the flesh of her palm, trying to get her attention. I was breathing hard.
"Brittany," I gasped. "Stop it." I was hoping that using her full name would finally get her attention. I was right. Her fingers stilled.
Her eyes widened. There was that fearful expression on her face, the one that absolutely scared the shit out of me. The one I had sworn to myself that I would avoid seeing again at all costs, much less cause. Her wrist retreated, snapping back to her body like I'd burned her. I hastily redid the button on my shorts, hiding myself from her, and she started walking backwards towards the far wall of the room, away from me. I could see the glint of tears in her eyes despite the darkness of the room. Her shadow was long against the wall.
It was exactly like the first kiss, but now it had gone further, and I hadn't acted fast enough, and now we were both freaking out.
Fuck.
I grasped at the loose strands of my hair stuck to my forehead.
Think, think, think.
Brittany had crossed her arms in front of her chest, and I could tell by the movement of her shoulders that she was about to cry. I was glad for the shadows.
I had to convince her that she hadn't done anything wrong.
"No, Britt, I didn't mean it like that." I stepped forward hesitantly into the center of the room, standing with my arms at my side. I didn't want to look defensive and closed off; she needed to know that I didn't mean to hurt her.
But I'd hurt her anyway. Again.
I was still breathing hard. I reached out and took her hands in mine. The long fingers trembled against the skin of my palms. "That's not what I meant," I tried to tell her.
She relaxed. Her jaw went slack, her eyes fluttered open hesitantly, a breath made its way past her newly parted lips. She looked at the floor.
Look, don't touch.
"What did you mean?" she asked gently. She ran her fingertips over the lines of my palm.
"You didn't say you love me back."
Brittany looked up, confused. "What?"
I cleared my throat. "Because I said I was in love with you. You didn't say you love me back."
She leant in to kiss me again, and her hands moved to my hips.
Why does she keep doing that? Why can't she just tell me she loves me?
"What are you doing?" I whispered, resting my hands on her forearms, trying to push her off of me.
"Showing you," Brittany said desperately, trying to kiss me again. I pressed my forehead against hers, preventing her from attacking my lips again. Her eyes slid to the ground.
"Why?" My head was spinning.
"Because," she started, "it's how you show someone you love them." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but her blue eyes flickered to the side, afraid she was wrong, and knowing she was.
I breathed out, trying to calm down and collect my thoughts. Who had told Brittany that?
"Who told you that?" I looked straight into her eyes, searching for the answers there.
"I don't know, San. That's just the way it is." Her eyes looked watery. "Right?" she said, negating the confidence of her previous statement. She looked so scared. I didn't know what to do. They didn't prepare you for this kind of shit in health class.
"Britt, I… I don't think so. You don't need to…" I struggled to find the right words. Anything I said could hurt her again. She looked so fragile. "You don't need to do that to show me you love me."
"Why?" Brittany asked feebly, worrying her hands together. She needed something to hold on to, too.
I stepped towards her, touching her cheek. It was strange to just be able to do that, to touch her, like I had imagined doing so many times before. Even under the circumstances, it was liberating.
"You just need to tell me."
"But I don't know what it means," Brittany said. "It means more than just 'I love you' and you know that." She crossed her arms over her chest, shrinking into herself.
"Tell me what else it means, Brittany. I don't know what you're trying to say."
Brittany looked frustrated. Her eyebrows knitted together, and I tried not to get impatient. "Does it mean I have to hold your hand outside, and tell my parents that I'm in love with you, and never kiss anybody else? What does it mean, Santana?"
Her eyes flitted from my eyes to my lips and to my cheeks, waiting for my response. I didn't know what it meant. Everything Brittany suggested was loaded with implications of commitment; commitments that I was far from ready to make.
"I don't know, Brittany." I shook my head. "I don't know what anything means." I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, following the colors that shot across my eyelids. I didn't seem to know anything anymore.
After a little while, I wasn't sure how long, Brittany's long fingers found my wrists and tugged me towards her. A sob bubbled up from my throat, muffled by her chest as she pressed my limp body against hers. I felt the weight of her body against mine, and it became clear to me that it was not Brittany who was supporting me, or me supporting her; we were holding each other up.
"Should we stop?" Brittany whispered into my hair. I could feel her trembling, and I knew she was nervous. Nervous I would say yes, or nervous I would say no, I had no idea.
I thought carefully before responding, knowing, somehow, that what I said to Brittany in that dark bedroom on that humid summer night would be life altering.
"I don't think I can," I finally told her, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
Brittany nodded, and her fingers slipped through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. I sighed into her, breathing in lavender, feeling at peace, at home.
"Do you still love me?" Brittany asked. She already knew the answer. I could tell by the gentle way her hand slipped from my hair to my neck, thumbing over the hollow at its base. She knew.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Then that's all that matters."
Wednesday, June 9th, 1999
Mrs. Pierce made pancakes again. They were just as good the ones she'd made after the first sleepover, and I did enjoy them, despite the lump in my throat and the uneasiness tainting the air between Brittany and me. After our tearful, sticky love confessions, we had fallen asleep, in our clothes, tangled together on top of Brittany's sheets, our foreheads pressed together. It went unspoken that we would not kiss again; there had been too many kisses that night, and too many misguided intentions. Instead, we breathed in each other and the summer air, allowing ourselves to believe that our insignificant teenage love was truly all that mattered.
Thursday, June 10th, 1999, 12:00
I was watching TV when Brittany came over, which she found strange.
"Does your mom know you're still down here?" she asked, her eyebrows quirked above her. We didn't hug when I let her in, mostly because I immediately walked back to stand next to the couch.
"Probably," I whispered. "I couldn't sleep."
Brittany nodded. "Do you think you can sleep now?"
I shrugged, but I turned the TV off. "Might as well try."
"Alright."
In my bed, we lay next to each other, unsure of boundaries. It was incredibly awkward. I had never known a time where I couldn't reach out to her, and sleep curled up against her with my head in the crook of her neck. But things were different now. I didn't know if I was allowed to do that.
Look, don't touch.
"Can we…?" she asked, trailing off. I knew what she meant.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," I said, laughing, but because I was relieved, not because I found the situation funny. There was nothing funny about it. Brittany smiled as we moved into our regular sleeping positions, with me in front of her and her arms encircling my waist. Despite the comfort of having her arms around me, I barely slept.
By Friday, we hadn't kissed again. I was beginning to wonder if we ever would.
Friday, June 11th, 1999, 2:00 p.m.
Each time we were alone, except for at night, Brittany and I had kept at least a foot of space between us. Still, I felt her eyes on me, and I knew that she knew that I stared at her unabashedly when her attention was elsewhere.
It was a tense few days, and the rising summer temperatures only made it worse. There were only so many movies to watch and so many board games to play before we ended up on Brittany's bedroom floor, taking turns staring at each other.
Brittany's shorts were very short. It was distracting.
Look, don't–
"Want to go get ice cream?" Brittany asked me, yanking me from a daydream I hadn't realized I was having. I blushed.
"Sure."
We borrowed the Buick, and Brittany led the way out of the house, surprising me when she slid into the driver's seat. I stood in the driveway, staring at her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm driving," Brittany said. "Get in."
I obliged, unable to muster up the energy to protest Brittany's illegal driving. It was simply too hot out. She still only had her permit and was therefore only allowed to drive with a licensed adult in the car, and because I was not a licensed adult, if we got pulled over, Brittany could be arrested.
"Don't get pulled over," I told her.
"Alright, I'll try not to," she replied, adjusting her mirrors. She'd gotten pretty good at driving around parking lots, so I wasn't too worried about her driving us to the ice cream place. Her fingers fumbled with the knobs on the dashboard and she turned the air conditioning all the way up. She backed out of the driveway, going a little too fast on the residential road. I didn't say anything. I felt safe with her.
It was nice not driving for a change. I got to watch Brittany, who was extremely focused when she drove; she did that thing where she stuck her deliciously pink tongue out of the corner of her mouth, and I could watch, and she couldn't see me. It was still awkward, we both knew that. This was new territory for us. She stopped at a red light and looked over at me, and I blushed, turning away. She smiled.
When her eyes found the road again, mine found their way back to her face. One of my new favorite things about summer were Brittany's freckles. It really wasn't even summer yet, and even though Brittany and I had only been apart for three days, it seemed like she spent each one lying in the sun; every time I looked at her I noticed freckles that hadn't been there before. There was the faint dusting of them across the bridge of her nose, and the one below her left eye, and then a faint one above her lips, and a few on her cheeks.
I wanted to kiss them. I wanted to kiss her.
Brittany looked at me again, taking her eyes off of the road as if she could feel my stare. I looked quickly to the road in front of us, hoping she couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. She was always making me blush.
"Eyes on the road," I told her, trying to sound stern, but my voice cracked in the middle of the command. She laughed, and it sounded like bells.
"Whatever you say, Santana." She shook her head.
We pulled into the parking lot of the ice cream shop, and I reached for the handle of the passenger side door.
"Wait," Brittany said abruptly, reaching out to touch my arm. Electric currents erupted across my skin where her fingers brushed it.
"Why?" I asked her.
"What kind of car is that?" she asked me, pointing to the car parked to our right.
"What?" I asked her, opening the car door. "Why does it matter?"
"Santana," Brittany said, lowering her voice, "just tell me what kind of car it is."
"Like an Acura or something? I don't know." I wasn't really one for identifying cars. I didn't know why Brittany cared so much. She still hadn't unbuckled her seatbelt, and the car was still running.
"Is there one of those Christmas tree air freshener things on the rearview mirror?"
I squinted, trying to look through the car's windows. "Yes," I told her, growing more exasperated by the minute. "Why does it matter?"
Whose car is this?
"We can't get ice cream right now," Brittany said quickly, putting the car in reverse. I closed the door, confused.
"What?" I asked her, hoping that my tone didn't convey my annoyance. I had been looking forward to getting my ice cream, and now Brittany was saying we couldn't?
"Crap," Brittany whispered. I followed her line of sight to the door of the building, where Quinn was exiting with a group of cheerleaders in tow, all of them looking perfectly tanned in their short shorts and their tank tops. It didn't surprise me that they all wore their hair in high ponytails, even during the summer. Thank god Brittany didn't do that.
I turned to meet Brittany's eyes, asking a plethora of questions with my glare. She looked at me desperately, her knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel.
Please tell me what's going on, I pleaded silently.
"Do whatever you need to do," I told her, raising my hands in front of me in small surrender. I watched Quinn, who hadn't yet noticed Brittany's mom's car, or who its driver was. Or me in the passenger's seat. These were all good things.
Brittany's hands were shaking as she pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. She didn't relax until we were three blocks away from the shop. I just stared at her.
"What the hell was that?" I demanded. I was fed up with being patient about the Quinn thing; I needed to know what was going on. Brittany turned left, the opposite direction from our houses. She was quiet. "Brittany," I said sternly. She looked apologetic. "Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked her, gesturing at the surrounding area. The ice cream shop, which had been located on the outskirts of Littleton, was now behind us, and we were traveling west, out of the town entirely.
"I just need to drive," was Brittany's only response. "To think."
"Okay," I conceded, leaning on the car door and looking out of the window at the trees on the side of the highway. Brittany got onto the interstate. I was surprised; Brittany had never driven on a highway before, to my knowledge. I looked at her nervously. I looked over my shoulder at Littleton, which grew smaller as we drove away. West was the direction of the Rocky Mountains, which rose in front of us, gray and green and tall, their peaks poking holes in the cloud cover. I didn't go to the mountains very often.
Forty-five minutes later, Brittany hadn't said a word.
"Brittany?" I asked nervously. I was starting to get worried, and my questions were burning holes in my brain.
"We're almost there," she told me softly.
"Where is there?" I didn't really expect an answer. Brittany kept her eyes on the road.
"Mount Evans," she answered. "It's really quiet. We go there sometimes as a family to hike. I want to talk about it there."
It was more than I had been expecting from her given her silence on the topic of Quinn, and so I was satisfied with her answer, though I did find it a little strange that she felt the need to take the conversation to the side of a mountain. Even so, the questions burned a little less.
"Okay," I told her.
Mount Evans was one of the closest mountains to Littleton in the Rocky Mountain range. I'd been there only once, on a science field trip in fourth grade. It was pretty, and like Brittany had said, very quiet. There were hiking and biking trails that ran all over it, and it was a popular fishing spot. It took us another half hour to get there. Brittany drove along one of the mountain roads, passing by multiple camping sites before pulling into a deserted unpaved parking lot.
"Come on," she instructed, and we got out of the car and walked towards the start of a path that disappeared into some trees ahead. I followed her, asking no questions. She had to be the one to start the conversation; I knew that much.
We didn't walk for very long before the trees abruptly disappeared, revealing one of the most breathtaking views I'd ever seen. The Rocky Mountains stretched out before us, their snowy peaks melting into the blue sky. The landscape looked incomprehensibly large from where I stood. I felt smaller than I ever had in my entire life.
I was distracted by the view, but I didn't miss the way she shuffled closer to me, brushing our fingertips together. Her fingers groped for mine, holding them firmly. Our hands fit together easily.
I knew why she'd taken me up here.
It was beautiful and serene and so stunningly quiet. And I didn't know if it was the mountain air or the silence, but my thoughts felt clearer. Brittany's thumb stroked the back of my hand.
"Quinn started the rumor." Brittany spoke, startling me. I continued to look at the mountains splayed before us. I breathed slowly.
"What's the rumor?"
Her hand clutched mine tightly.
"That I'm a lesbian."
I felt nauseous. I couldn't look at her.
"Are you?" I didn't think Brittany was capable of glaring, but the look she shot me told me that I hadn't said the right thing. "Sorry, that was insensitive," I admitted.
"Yeah," she agreed, looking out at the mountains before us. She didn't let go of my hand. "I don't know, Santana. I don't think so."
My brain had kicked into high gear, trying to piece together what could have possibly made Quinn start a rumor like that. Their fight had taken place after the memorial, which was over a month ago, and Brittany had first mentioned the rumor at the end of the school year. Both events had happened before Brittany and I had kissed, but she had been sleeping in my bed for quite some time. Had Brittany told Quinn about our sleepovers? Did Quinn think I was a lesbian? Had she told anyone that she thought that? Was I a lesbian?
Apparently, my silence was an invitation for Brittany to further explain herself.
"I thought I could trust her."
"What did you tell her, Brittany?" I asked, hoping that the panic I was feeling didn't seem as obvious as I thought it did. The question sounded accusatory.
I finally looked at her. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, still looking out at the view. Her blue eyes looked apprehensive. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," she said.
"Well, sorry," I told her, not really meaning it, "but that's kind of important."
Brittany's hand tightened around mine defensively. I sighed. I was getting tense. I rubbed my thumb over Brittany's, hoping the gesture came across as apologetic. Brittany knitted her eyebrows together and her forehead crinkled.
"I told her that I liked someone."
My heart skipped a beat.
"A girl," Brittany continued.
Me? It had to be me, I thought. But Brittany knew that in May? How?
"Quinn thought it was her, at first," Brittany said, chuckling mirthlessly. My stomach churned. Brittany continued. "She said, 'Sorry, Britt, but I don't swing that way. Find me next time I'm wasted an I'll consider it.'"
I scowled. What a bitch.
"I said, 'It's not you, Quinn.' And she was surprised. She asked who it was, and I said that I couldn't tell her. And then she asked me if it was you—" my stomach dropped like a stone "—and I said no." Her eyes found mine. "But I don't know if she believed me."
There were too many things for me to process at once. My head was spinning.
"Was it me?" I whispered.
"It's still you," Brittany told me honestly, shrugging. She looked back out at the mountains.
"But how did you…" I trailed off, unable to find the words to ask the question.
"I knew after that first night I stayed over," Brittany said weakly. Tears were forming in her eyes.
I nodded slowly.
"Wow."
"Yep."
"I can't believe she thought it was her."
Brittany laughed through her tears; a genuine laugh, accompanied by a wet sniffle. "Isn't that ridiculous? She has such a big head."
I laughed too, louder than I normally would have, but I hadn't laughed in a while.
"Why would she start that rumor?"
Brittany shrugged. "She's probably mad that I don't like her," Brittany joked. "But I seriously have no idea."
We stood in silence and looked at the mountains.
"Are you okay, Brittany?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said. "I am. Are you?"
"I'm okay if you're okay."
"Then everybody's okay," she said. She turned to face me and took my other hand. "Come here." She pulled me close, and I relaxed into her.
It really was impossible to form a coherent thought in her arms. There were only feelings. No labels, nothing confusing, just Brittany and lavender and home.
Fuck, I loved her.
It was a really long hug. We just stood there, clutching each other. Time passed, and the sun moved over the mountains, lengthening the shadows of the trees and the boulders. I still wanted to kiss her, but with her arms around me, I didn't feel such a strong need for her lips on mine. It was easy to relax in her arms, to forget.
"We need to go home," she said after a while.
I am home.
"I know." She held me tighter, burying her face in my neck, just like she did really late at night when she was deep in sleep. It felt nice. "Can we come back?" I asked her. "I like it up here."
We can have a picnic next time, I thought. And maybe I can kiss you while we look at the mountains.
But I didn't tell her what I was thinking.
"Are you ready to go?" she finally asked, gesturing towards the woods behind us.
I nodded and we walked back to the car hand in hand. On the way home, Brittany held my hand across the center console. It felt right, even though it wasn't.
An hour and a half later, we were standing in Brittany's kitchen. Brittany had gotten us both a glass of ice water, and we were sitting at the counter quietly. She smiled a distorted smile at me through her glass, and I laughed into my water. Footsteps ran down the stairs, and Brittany looked over her shoulder, looking for the source of the noise.
"Where the hell have you two been?" Mrs. Pierce whispered harshly as she walked briskly into the kitchen. I assumed Emily was somewhere in the house by her hushed tone, and that made me nervous. If this conversation wasn't meant for young ears, it probably wouldn't be a pleasant one. Brittany whirled around in her chair, frightened. My smile disappeared and I put down my glass.
"Mom, we just…"
"Don't 'Mom, we just' me, Brittany. You said you were going out to get ice cream and that you'd be back by three! It's almost six o'clock!"
"Mom, I–"
But Mrs. Pierce cut her off again. I had never seen her like this; she was furious.
"You have a cell phone, Brittany! We got you a cell phone so we could contact you in an emergency! And I called it over and over again and you didn't pick up. Where were you?"
Brittany looked like she was going to cry. I felt awful.
"We went to Mount Evans," Brittany said quietly.
"What?" Mrs. Pierce asked, incredulous.
"Mount Evans," Brittany said a little louder.
Mrs. Pierce's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "Why in the world would you go to Mount Evans? And you took my car? Did you know your sister had ballet this afternoon, Brittany? How was I supposed to get her to ballet? I hope to god that Santana was driving on that interstate, Brittany. You have no idea how dangerous that was. Why did you think it would be a good idea to drive all the way out there? What if you'd run out of gas?"
Brittany was bewildered. She didn't know which question to answer, or how to apologize. Mrs. Pierce was breathing hard and looking at Brittany like she wanted to slap her, but I knew that she would never do that. The older blonde crouched down and looked at our feet, which I found strange. We were still wearing our Converse sneakers.
"Because you clearly didn't go hiking in those shoes," Mrs. Pierce added.
Fuck.
"Mom, I'm sorry," Brittany said, beginning to cry.
"Don't apologize to me," Mrs. Pierce said. "Apologize to your sister."
Brittany crossed her arms and looked out of the kitchen window, probably trying to hide the fact that she was crying. I wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, or her cheek, or even her shoulder. Just to say, it's okay. She didn't need this argument right now—not with everything else going on. But I couldn't do anything to comfort her with her mom standing there.
Mrs. Pierce saw the tears rolling down Brittany's cheeks and she looked to me, finally acknowledging my presence.
"Santana, I think it's time for you to go home," she said, not unkindly, but I knew by her tone that I had no other option, even though I didn't want to leave Brittany alone with her mother angry like this. "Do you have a ride?"
"I'll just walk home," I said quietly. Brittany looked at me sadly.
"I'm sorry," she mouthed. I shook my head, trying to tell her that she didn't need to apologize. I put my half-empty glass in the sink.
"Is your mother okay with that?" Mrs. Pierce asked me.
"Yeah," I responded. "Thank you for having me."
"You're always welcome, sweetie. See you soon."
"Bye San," Brittany said, still looking out of the window. She propped her head up on her elbows.
Will I see you tonight? I wanted to ask.
"Bye, Britt," I responded. I was halfway out of the side door when Mrs. Pierce spoke again, her voice lower.
"You know I'm just worried about you, Brittany."
I closed the door softly and stood in the Pierce's driveway, shoving my hands into my pockets. I hadn't expected my day with Brittany to be cut short so soon. I didn't really want to be alone with my thoughts for the next half hour of my walk home, but I supposed I didn't really have a choice.
There was a lot to think about.
Did Quinn know? And if she did know, what exactly was it that she knew? That I loved Brittany?
Did I love Brittany?
Yes.
That was all I knew.
Saturday, June 12th, 1999, 12:14 a.m.
I awoke to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I shuffled in my bed, trying to see the time on the clock. It was late. My door opened.
"Britt?" I asked softly, looking for her in the dark. The footsteps came closer, and she pulled back the covers and slid into bed next to me. Her body felt warm.
"Go back to sleep," she told me, slipping her arm around my waist. She buried her head in my neck.
"Are you okay?" I asked her, remembering how angry Mrs. Pierce had been.
"You should stop asking me that," Brittany joked. "I'm always okay when I'm with you." She buried her head further into my neck. I sighed contently.
We lapsed into silence, into that in-between, where sleep hadn't yet come, but conscious thought had ceased.
"Santana?"
"Hm," I mumbled, blinking in the dark as conscious thought resumed.
"Can I kiss you goodnight?"
Instead of responding, I untangled our legs and rolled over. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips gently to hers, and she parted her lips slightly. The kiss was short and she tasted like toothpaste. Brittany sighed into me as I pulled my lips away, and I fell asleep almost immediately with a small smile on my face. It felt unbelievably good to kiss her again.
7:30 a.m.
I awoke to Brittany slipping on her shoes in front of my bed. Well, trying to slip on her shoes.
"Where are you going?" I asked sleepily.
"I have to get home," she whispered. "I'm grounded. Now is like the worst possible time for my mom to find out about this," she explained, gesturing at my bed.
I looked at my sheets, confused. "What?" My speech was slow and stupid. I sat up in my bed. "Why?"
"Because of yesterday," she answered simply, tugging a sneaker onto her foot. She stumbled a little, banging loudly into my bedframe. I watched her. She knelt down to tie her laces. They were gray and tattered.
"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say.
So thoughtful.
Brittany shrugged. "It's not a big deal, really. It's just a week."
"Can we still hang out?" I asked, realizing how selfish I sounded. It was partly my fault that Brittany was in trouble.
"I don't know," she said softly. "I'm still feeling out the boundaries."
Me too.
"Alright."
"I have to go now," she said, standing up.
I rubbed my eyes. "Okay."
She walked over to the bed, bending over, and her long hair tickled my face. She kissed my forehead. Her lips were warm.
"I'll call you."
"Okay." I smiled, momentarily forgetting that I might not be able to see her again until that night. She closed the door behind her as she left my room. I heard her tiptoe down the stairs and out the front door.
A kiss on the forehead doesn't mean much, right?
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It didn't give me any answers. Outside, raindrops began to fall.
How cliché, I thought. I hope Brittany gets home before the rain picks up.
11:30 a.m.
The phone rang. I jumped off of the couch, probably a little too excited than I should've been, and answered the phone with a smile on my face.
"Hey you," she said. The smile got bigger.
"Hey Britt." I twirled the phone cord in my fingers.
"Want to come over? We're going to order a pizza and my mom picked up some videos from Blockbuster."
"Sure, what time? And you're sure it's okay with your mom?"
There was a pause. "Yeah, she's fine with it. Can you get a ride?"
"Yeah, sure," I told her. "See you in ten."
My mom sighed when I asked her to take me over to Brittany's, but she took me over, grumbling that she had to go grocery shopping anyway. In the car ride I couldn't help but wonder if Brittany and I were going to kiss again. It was a thought that crossed my mind a lot.
"Thanks mom," I said, stepping out of the car. I held my hands over my head to shield my hair from the rain, as if they really could. I slammed the door shut and I sprinted across Brittany's front yard. I rang the doorbell.
Brittany opened it in seconds, smiling warmly at me. She waved at my mom in her car. I glanced over my shoulder to see my mom waving back. It made me feel warm, even though the rain was cool on my skin.
"Get inside, you're going to drown," Brittany said, stepping aside to let me into the foyer. I laughed, and Brittany cracked a smile at her own joke. I shook the water off of me, and I caught her looking at my hair. I pretended not to notice. "Want some pizza?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her. "I'm starving."
"Sweet, it's in the kitchen."
I followed her into the kitchen, and she handed me a paper plate.
"Cheese or pepperoni?" she asked, gesturing to the pizza boxes on the counter. The smell of pizza invaded the room, making my stomach grumble.
"Pepperoni."
"Good choice," she commented, handing me a slice and taking a plate for herself. "Do you want to go downstairs? We can eat while we watch the movie."
"Sure," I replied. I began to follow her over to the basement door. Brittany had her hand on the doorknob when a voice came from the other side of the kitchen.
"Oh good, the pizza is here," Mrs. Pierce said as she entered through the side door. Emily entered the kitchen first, her hot pink rain boots squeaking on the hardwood floor. Mrs. Pierce followed, shaking rainwater off of a green umbrella. She looked up at Brittany, and then to me, and then back to Brittany. She raised an eyebrow.
"Hi Santana," she said slowly. "I didn't know you were coming over today."
I looked nervously at Brittany, whose face was expressionless. "I'm sorry, I thought Brittany said you were okay with me coming over."
"I am, but I think starting tomorrow Brittany needs to be by herself for a few days."
That was her way of saying that I needed to stay the hell out of her house for a week.
"Okay, Mrs. Pierce," I responded, not sure what was appropriate to say in this situation. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, Santana," she said before shifting her gaze to her eldest daughter. "It's Brittany's responsibility to know what being grounded means."
Brittany looked at the floor.
"Go ahead, I'm keeping you from your lunch," Mrs. Pierce stated, waving her hand and dismissing us from the kitchen. Brittany bolted to the basement door, and I followed her down the stairs.
Downstairs, Brittany put her plate on the coffee table in front of the couch. She picked up a pile of tapes and began to shuffle through them. I sat down on the couch, waiting for her to say something about what had happened upstairs.
"Okay, we have Terminator 2, Groundhog Day, and the Silence of the Lambs. Oh, and Clueless. Your call." She didn't look up from the videos, and I knew she was trying to avoid an argument.
"You lied to me?"
I decided to face the conflict head-on. I wasn't going to brush it under the rug, even though I knew that's what she wanted to do.
She looked up from the videos in her hands, confused. "What?"
"You said your mom was fine with me coming over."
"She is."
"Really? It doesn't seem like it," I argued. I crossed my arms. "She's clearly a little pissed off, Brittany."
Brittany frowned, placing the videos on the floor. "San, it's fine."
"You're not allowed to hang out with me, are you?" I asked, dreading her answer.
She swallowed. "No." I sighed. "It's not because of you, though," she insisted. "I'm not allowed to hang out with anybody."
That only made me more frustrated.
"Okay," I replied flatly. Brittany sighed and looked at the videos on the floor, picking one up to look at the back of its case. I looked at the ceiling.
I could get up and go home right now if I wanted to, I thought. That would put everybody in less trouble.
But I didn't want to. We sat in silence for a little while. I ate my pizza.
"How about we watch Clueless?" I finally suggested.
She smiled at me through a mouthful of pizza and popped the video into the VCR. We would deal with Brittany being grounded later.
Once we were on the couch, Brittany scooted closer to me, probably intending to take advantage of the dark of the basement. We'd turned the lights off after finishing our pizza, agreeing that no movie could be fully enjoyed in daylight. I pretended that I didn't see her slowly inching her way across the couch, or the way her hand was strategically placed on her own leg so that it also touched mine. In fact, I was sort of enjoying it.
I could've been imagining it, but it sounded like her breathing was faster than normal.
"Hey San?"
"Yeah?" I looked at her. Our faces were very close together.
Her eyes found mine, and then they traveled unabashedly to my lips. It was a very deliberate gesture. I glanced sideways at the movie screen.
I can take a break from the movie.
My heartbeat picked up. I looked back at her. She was still staring at my lips.
She kissed me.
I grabbed her waist, pulling her on top of me immediately, purely out of instinct. We fell to the cushions of the couch, welded together at the lips. Her eyes shot open, and I stared into them, hungrily moving my lips across hers. She whimpered, and I was glad we were lying down; I could feel my legs going weak again.
Her arms felt strong where they were positioned on either side of me, holding her up. Our hips fit together, and I was overwhelmed by the effect that she had on my body. All rational thought went out the window, into the rain.
My tongue slipped into her mouth, seemingly of its own accord, and she whimpered again.
"San," she whispered into my mouth, barely intelligible. I panted against her, subconsciously moving my hips; for what reason, I wasn't sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
She pulled away from me and hovered above my body, gasping for breath, and I was acutely aware of the subtle way she dragged her hips across mine. She bit her lip, and her piercing eyes stared straight through me. I reached for her, wanting to kiss her again. Her hips never stopped, and her skin looked flushed. My hands slipped behind her neck, into her silky hair. She lowered her body so that it was flush against mine, and I closed my eyes, expecting her to kiss me again, but her lips went to my neck. On the screen, the the main character, whose name I had forgotten, was kissing... her brother? But I didn't even care. I was so far gone.
"Oh," I breathed, unfamiliar with the feeling of her tongue running along the underside of my jaw. I arched my back, not missing the heat gathering low in my stomach.
Is this bad?
Brittany continued moving her lips across my neck, sucking lightly.
"Britt," I whined, biting down hard on my lip to silence myself. Her hips drove into me harder, and my eyes nearly rolled back into my head. Her lips were gone from my neck seconds later, but they had found my lips and we were kissing again. I groped desperately at her hair, and her arms shook at my sides from the strain of holding her body up.
"Santana," Brittany said seriously, pulling away. She sat up on top of me, placing her palms flat on my stomach. My chest heaved, and she was also breathing hard. Her hair hung messily in her face. "We have to stop."
"Why?" I asked her, confused. "It feels good."
"I know, I know," Brittany assured me. "But I… I can't do this." She blushed and broke eye contact with me, looking at the paper plates on the coffee table.
"I think I know what you're saying," I said slowly.
"Really?" Brittany asked, surprised.
"Yeah, of course," I told her. "We can do whatever you want."
I had no idea what she was talking about.
She seemed a little more comfortable. "Hey Santana, can we talk about this? It's kind of been bothering me."
I knitted my eyebrows together. "Talk about what?"
"You know. Us." Brittany looked to the TV. She slid off of me, most likely deciding that the impending conversation wasn't one to be had with her in my lap. I sat up to make room for her on the couch, running my fingers through my hair. We sat cross-legged, across from each other. It suddenly felt impossible to look her in the eyes.
"What is there to talk about?" I asked quickly, defensively. "I love you, and you love me, and that's all that matters."
"Yes, but–"
"But what, Brittany? There's nothing to talk about."
I was trying to convince myself of that fact more than I was trying to convince her.
"Okay," she said skeptically. She looked at her hands.
I looked at her hands too, wondering what was so fascinating about them. "This doesn't have to be complicated."
"What do you mean?" Brittany asked, and she looked so innocent that it scared me.
I took a deep breath. "We don't have to try to label this," I said, gesturing between the two of us with my hands, lacking a word to describe what 'this' was. "Or anything like that," I added.
Brittany nodded, somewhat sadly. The movie had ended, and the TV had gone to the stop screen, bathing the room in blue light. It made Brittany's skin look like it was glowing.
"Alright," Brittany said. "I'm just confused."
"Yeah, me too," I agreed. "We'll figure it out."
She nodded. I still couldn't look at her. Instead, I looked at my nails.
"The movie is over," Brittany said, stating the obvious. It seemed to me as though she was asking me to leave.
I looked up from my hands. "Should I go?"
"If you want," Brittany said. "I know your mom probably wants you home for dinner."
"Yeah," I agreed.
She reached for me, and we embraced in an awkward hug. Brittany picked up the paper plates, and I walked towards the staircase. I reached the third step before I turned around.
"You're coming over tonight, right?" I asked her desperately.
Brittany looked at the plates in her hands. I knew her answer before she told me. "No," she said sadly. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" I felt tears approaching, but I pushed them back. I had to be able to get through the night without her.
"I'm always really careful when I leave the house, I really am, but I'm worried I'll get caught," she explained. "And if I do, I'll be grounded for longer, and then it'll be two weeks before I see you again." She sighed. "I just know my mom is really mad right now. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? We'll figure something out."
I nodded, swallowing. Brittany smiled apologetically.
Walking home, I couldn't ignore the guilt. It was only getting bigger, manifesting itself in every fiber of my being. I felt like I was using Brittany. For what, I didn't really know, but something about our friendship didn't feel right. Part of that was because I really didn't know if I could call our relationship a friendship anymore. What the hell was I doing making out with her on her couch? Why the fuck did I think that would be a good idea?
I could think of no positive consequence that could come of it.
But as soon as her lips were on mine, I couldn't think about consequences. I couldn't think about anything but her and the way she made me feel. And did that justify it? Not really.
Did I feel the way I felt when I kissed Brittany because she was Brittany, or because she was a girl?
I kicked a rock on the side of the road. A truck roared past, scaring me out of my thoughts. I ran my hand through my hair, feeling panicked.
By the time I made it back to the house, I was close to crying. I knew the answer, I just didn't like it.
"I need to shower," I told my mom as I walked into the house, skipping introductions. "I'll be back."
She waved a wooden spoon at me.
I ran upstairs, struggling to see through my tears. They spilled onto my cheeks, and I stumbled into my bathroom, feeling dizzy. I looked in the mirror, wiping away the tears running down my cheeks. I tried to calm down, but I couldn't seem to think straight. In all of the movies, at Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, they always said that admittance is the first step to everything.
Maybe, I thought, if I admit it to myself, it'll be easier.
"Lesbian," I choked out, a sob bubbling up behind the word. It wasn't any easier. In fact, it made me feel sick.
No.
"Bisexual. Bicurious."
Now you're just lying to yourself.
"Lesbian," I insisted, glaring at my reflection. "I'm a lesbian." The word tasted dirty on my lips, holding consequences that were so, so foreign to me. It was out now. The knowledge existed somewhere besides my agony-ridden brain. My teeth buzzed, and I broke down, sobbing into my sleeves.
Why did God make me like this? What did I ever do to deserve it?
I wanted to scream, to rattle the mirror. I wanted to break something. My head pounded as I slid to the floor, unable to look at my reflection. I banged my head against the cabinets below the sink in frustration before curling into myself on the tile.
I was dying to talk to Brittany, but it wasn't really a conversation I wanted to have with her.
Brittany. This is her fucking fault.
"Fuck you," I whispered, but it wasn't even directed at Brittany, whom I knew didn't deserve it. It was directed at God, at my mom, at that fucking school, at Eric and Dylan, at myself. Especially myself.
I slowed my breathing and wiped my shaking, sweaty hands on my bare knees. My entire body hurt, weighed down with this terrible, terrible secret.
I couldn't be a lesbian. It's not possible.
Thinking rationally, it was entirely possible. It didn't start because of my mom, or because of the shooting, or because of Brittany. I'd always been like this. The rejected dates, the indifference towards boys, it was all part of something bigger. An identity.
You can't be a lesbian.
And I was right. I couldn't be. I thought of my mom, and how she would react. I couldn't imagine it. She was all I had, really. I was all that she had. I thought of how the community would receive me; how it would affect my ability to go to college, to get a job, to get through high school, for Christ's sake. To survive.
Brittany would never talk to me again, most likely. It would scare the shit out of her.
I'd never be able to go to church. They'd smell it on me.
"Lesbian," they'd sneer, and excommunicate me. I snorted through my tears at the absurdity of it. Not like I'd care.
I'll have to wear muscle shirts, and hate men forever, and cut my hair off, and take up rugby, and drive a jeep, and—I slapped myself across the face, furious. I cried even harder. I pushed at my forehead with the heels of my hands, trying to get a grip. I was still denying it. I knew none of those things were true. I stood back up, steadying my shaking body on the edge of the sink. I couldn't think any more, because my vision was blurring as I cried, giving me a massive headache.
I felt disgusting for taking advantage of Brittany. She probably had no idea what she wanted. She was just sex-deprived, and I was just lonely.
"I like girls," I told my reflection. I wiped the tears from under my eyes, my chest heaving. My shaking fingers found the shower faucet, and I turned the water up as hot as it would go.
And I knew I couldn't tell Brittany. Not yet.