Giddy. It's the only word there is to describe how you're feeling, since Brittany proposed to you almost two weeks ago. Whenever you're not with her, you spend half of your time staring at the ring on your finger. You've almost gotten into two car accidents because of it. Jonas, he's been teasing you like never before. But you don't care. You don't care, because Brittany asked you to be her wife. This girl, the girl with the universe eyes, the same girl who'd once been so scared of everything between you both, she bought you a ring, and she asked you to be hers for longer than forever. Your butterflies, they haven't settled down for even a single second since that night. And part of you, part of you hopes they'll never settle down, because this feeling? You love it. You love it more than anything you've ever experienced before.
Your mom cried when you called her. You're surprised she didn't get on a bus to come down and see you right away. She's thrilled. She's beyond thrilled. She absolutely adores Brittany. She tells you she wishes she had a ring for you to give her, but that maybe it's better that the two of your make your own luck, since it seems you've been lucky from the very start. She tells you she already considers her a second daughter, and you're just, you're beside yourself with joy. You want to tell all of Philadelphia on the radio. They've heard you talk about this wonderful girl for a year and a half. And you will, you'll tell them all that she looked at you, starlight and universe eyes the only thing you could see, and she proposed. You'll tell them that dreams come true. You'll tell them that all the love advice you've been giving for years is finally founded. You'll tell them, because you're ecstatic and proud and just everything, but first—
First, you have to tell Brittany's family. She's dragging her feet. You know she is, and you don't blame her. It makes her feel heavy when she thinks about them. You hate that. This girl, this amazing girl, she should never have to feel like she's not worthy of all the world has to give. But, that's how they make her feel. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to hate them for it. You try not to, because Whitney and Kevin Pierce gave you the love of your life, your forever, but it's really hard. It's really hard when you see a passing hint of a storm in those universe eyes sometimes when you're all with your mom and she thinks about her own. It's hard when you see her face fall when she remembers something they told her she wasn't capable of doing. It's hard when you think about how they let Otis be a substitute for the whole rest of her family. You love Otis, he's the loyalest of loyal, but, Brittany deserves him plus so much more. It's hard, because you love this woman with every cell in your body, and all you want is for her to have all the love and happiness the world has to offer.
Brittany, she decides that she wants to invite them over to dinner. Whitney and Kevin and Jessica, all in your apartment at once. It hasn't happened, not since you've lived here, and, though Brittany doesn't say anything, you think, maybe it's never happened at all. She wants to invite them to dinner, and, you're sure, there's nothing you can do to calm your fiancée's nerves. She's shaky and jittery all day, and Otis just looks at you, because you both know you both know, and you both suffer. But you let her work through her list, you know it's the best way for her to handle it, and you let her assign you tasks to do. Because the sense of control, it helps her. By the time six o'clock rolls around, your already neat and tidy apartment is spotless. The three bottles of white wine she'd sent you to the store for are chilling. She's been making osso bucco all day. She just wants it all to be perfect. And you grit your teeth. Because you might have a really unconventional situation with your mom, but you're sure that your parents are the last people who you're supposed to strive for perfection in front of. You're supposed to be yourself, and, when she brings her easel into the bedroom, you feel a splintering crack form down the center of your heart.
The two of you get ready together in the bedroom. Usually she turns and talks to you, but, today, she's quiet. And you let her be. You watch her smooth her dress and curl her hair. You watch her open her eyes wide, so wide, to put on mascara. You watch her struggle to put on her necklace, the one you'd given her for her thirtieth birthday, a tiny heart on a long silver chain. And then, only then, do you come up behind her. You come up behind her, and you make eye contact in the mirror. Her eyes, her universe eyes, they're flitting every which way, and gently, you move her trembling fingers from the clasp of the chain. You move them, and you take over, carefully closing it for her. You rub her thumbs over her shoulder blades. And you kiss the back of her neck then. Your beautiful girl, she seeks out your hands. She squeezes them, she holds them, she just, stays like that for a long time. And you let her, you'd let her forever. This is the most calm she's been all day, and, you want her to stay that way as much as she can.
"I love you." You tell her, as she stares at your reflection in the mirror. "You and me, Sweetheart, we're in this together."
"I know." She nods, and you watch the way her throat moves, you watch her try to swallow that great big lump. You watch her just, try, when you both know, all the trying in the world is never enough for her mother. "Thank you for that."
You help her to her feet, and Brittany, she looks at you, she looks into you, the way she always does. You're not sure, really, what else you can say, so, instead, instead you just bring your hand to her cheek. You kiss her lips, softly, so softly, careful not to smear the lipstick she'd spent so much time applying. Then you feel her. She pulls you into her, she hugs you tightly, so tightly, and stays that way, until the bright red light flashes, and the sound of the doorbell rings through the house. Your stomach clenches. It clenches hard. The butterflies, they're still fluttering, reminding you of the ring on your finger, reminding you of Brittany. Reminding you that no matter how the Pierces behave, you need to keep yourself together. For her.
Otis, he knows. He can tell by Brittany's nervous energy that it's not Jonas coming to dinner tonight- since he's really your only occasional guest, besides your mother. He can tell it's her parents, and she holds him with one hand, while she holds you with the other. You wish, you wish, you could whisper in her ear that it's all going to be okay, but, instead, you settle for drawing hearts with your thumb on her wrist while you open up the door.
"Hi." Brittany looks down, then takes a deep breath, remembering that her mother gets annoyed when she mumbles. "Thank you for coming to dinner."
"What did you make?" Jessica smells the air, and you squeeze Brittany's hand tighter. They're not even through the door, and you can feel the tension pouring off her in waves. You're sort of trying to kiss Whitney and Kevin hello, but, focusing when she's upset, it's difficult. "It smells weird in here."
"Osso bucco. I—I, um, got the recipe from a new cookbook Santana got us the other day. She had the author on her show."
"That's veal, isn't it?" Whitney raises an eyebrow as you usher them to the couch. You're not sure if she's directing the question to you or not, since she's turned away from Brittany, but, you don't want to answer for Brittany, so you sign it to her instead.
"Yes Mom, it's veal."
"Brittany, you know I'm a vegetarian." Jessica whines, though you're more than one-hundred percent certain that the last time you saw them and met for Mexican food, she was eating chicken enchiladas.
"I—I'm really sorry. I didn't. Were you always—?"
"Obviously she wasn't always, Brittany." Whitney rolls her eyes, and in response, your stomach rolls violently.
"I think it smells great, honey." Kevin tries, but it falls short, and you're pretty sure Brittany didn't even notice he said it. She's flushed and flustered. Otis stands at attention, and you just, sit down beside her on the couch, letting her all but glue the entire side of her body to you. "Jessie, I'm sure we can go ahead and order you something else to eat. Brittany didn't know."
You bite your tongue. You think it might be bleeding, but, you keep it clamped between your teeth for fear of losing it. Because Brittany spent six hours cooking, ironing tablecloths, rolling napkins, and you want them to appreciate how much effort she puts in. If it were anyone else, you would, you really would let them have it, but, Brittany is already anxious enough, and, besides not wanting to disrespect your future in-laws, disrespectful as they are, you know it will just cause Brittany more anxiety. So you remain quiet while Jessica apparently decides to play the martyr and claim she'll just have water, and Whitney coddles her, talking about changing the plans and going out to dinner instead.
"Jessica." You finally cut in, because you really hate how they have Brittany all twisted up inside. She'd worked all day in the kitchen, she'd made this beautiful dinner that's ready to be served, and, the idea of going somewhere else, especially when there are four meatless side dishes, makes your blood boil. You always look at Brittany when you speak, and you've taken to signing along, no matter who you're talking to, so she can understand at least what you're saying, and hopefully follow along with the parts she missed when people don't. "Have you had Britt's mashed potatoes? They're as good as a meal in themselves."
Thank you. Brittany writes on your palm. She doesn't often reciprocate your favorite thing to do, but, when she does, you're always grateful that you have a private way to communicate. You draw hearts back in response. All you want to is for her to know right now that she is loved, so loved.
"I'm still shocked Brittany cooks." Whitney answers instead. "We definitely didn't let her do it while she lived at home. We figured with her forgetfulness, she'd burn the house down."
"Well she's an excellent cook. I tell her all the time, if she wasn't such an incredible artist, she should open up a restaurant." Half of Philadelphia knows how good of a cook Brittany is, you'd told Brooke Parkhurst as much on your show the other day, when she was promoting her and her husband's new cookbook, and everyone at the station is beyond jealous when Brittany brings you lunch. But you know, you know about her cooking lists, the timers she checks and double checks, the way she sits at the counter and watches the numbers tick down. You know, and you understand, that this is a fear that's been instilled into her. But yet, never once has Brittany so much as dried out a roast while you've been with her. Never once has she ruined a meal. Never, ever have you feared for your safety while she works in the kitchen.
Brittany twists your ring on your finger. She twists it, while the other Pierces sort of talk amongst themselves. Otis has his head on her knee, he's barely taken a breath since they've come in, and, you think maybe you haven't either. You hate how her eyes dull when they're around. You hate how they try and steal her shine. Because really, really, who would want to take the starlight from the universe? Who would want to see sadness in someone they're supposed to love? Who would want to make her feel bad, when this girl, this wonderful girl, has worked ten times harder for what she's accomplished than anyone else?
"Mom and Dad." Brittany blurts out, interrupting something Jessie is saying about ethical treatment of animals. Apparently, in a month, she's become a real activist. Or, she's just trying to get under Brittany's skin. Probably the latter. "We have something to tell you. Something really important. I. I. Um. I proposed to Santana. And, we're. We're getting married."
"Is that even legal here?" Jessica blurts it out. Her first response. You know she's full of herself, but, that seems like a lot, even for her. Your stomach, it drops again, and you can feel Brittany's nails bite the skin on the back of your hand.
"Yes. For almost two years. And even if it wasn't, we'd go to New York, or, find another place. Britt and I, we've been together for a year and a half. We love each other, and we're building a life together." You don't know why you're feeling defensive, but, maybe it's because of Whitney Pierce's first response when she met you. These people, they're not tactful. Your Brittany, she's so careful, so caring, and yet, she can't be cared for by her own.
"Brittany, that's great news." Her father offers her a small smile. But you see it. You see how he looks at Whitney, to make sure that's okay. You're just, you're not sure why he doesn't stand up to her, but you almost feel bad for him. Or, you would, if his failure to do so didn't hurt your fiancée so much.
"Now Brittany, I'm sure you're excited, but don't you think you're a bit young to make a decision like this?" Whitney sounds so patronizing that you could cry. You just don't even have coherent thoughts when she speaks the way she does.
"Mom, I'm thirty." You're sure she's drawing blood from your skin with her nails, but you can't blame her.
"You know what I mean, don't you? Sure, you're chronologically thirty, but realistically? You have trouble thinking things through, you know that. You go and propose to this girl without talking to your family first. That just seems a bit silly is all. Marriage, it's not one of your games Brittany."
"I. I haven't played pretend. Not since I was fifteen, Mom." Brittany, she's mortified. She's sad, she's just, breaking. You can feel it, how she fractures inside, you can feel it, you think, her physical pain, inside your own heart. You feel it, her embarrassment, the same as you felt pouring off her when she'd told you she played make believe until she was a teenager. She told you she played it, because she liked the world in her head better. The embarrassment that colored her cheeks, and that you'd kissed away, promising her there's nothing strange about that at all.
"About five years later than any other kid I've even met." Whitney mutters under her breath. It wasn't for Brittany, but, you know she's staring intently at her mother. You know she caught it, and she stiffens her spine and holds her chin up. Trying, trying.
"I'm a grown woman. I have an apartment, and a job, and a, a woman, a fiancèe. Who I love. Really, really a lot. I know that I want to marry her. I'm not a kid, not in my body, or, or, in my mind. I just. I'm really. I'm so. I'm happy. With Santana, and— And she's happy with me, too. She loves me. Really loves me, and she understands me. And we didn't just, decide on a whim, we—" A hiccup from Brittany's throat cuts her off, and you watch her. You watch her as tears gather in her eyes. You watch as the universe threatens to spill over, and you feel something deep within you snap. Something deeper even, than the night with Marcus, something at the very core of your being.
"You don't see her." You speak it low, calm, and you look at Brittany, silently telling her to stop you if you say too much. "The things I hear you say about her, and to her, they're not true. They're things that you're, I don't know, projecting onto her, just because she's not this idea you had in your head when she was a kid. So she's not who you thought she was supposed to be, so what? You're missing out on who she is. Brittany, she's an amazing painter. She knows these spots all over the city that no one else has ever found before. She loves, she loves harder than any person I've ever seen. She pays for the coffee of the person behind her in line sometimes. Once she bought all the balloons from a guy in the park, and we spent the afternoon handing them out to people who looked like they were having a bad day. She's good, and she's beautiful, and she's different, she's so different than other people. But I don't love her in spite of that. I love her because of that. It makes her so special, and I wake up every morning and look at her and think how damn lucky I am that she loves me. You act like she's some kind of stranger, or impostor, or something, like you lost your daughter when she fell in the pool, but you didn't. I just can't understand why you're not grateful that she lived. Why you're not grateful that you got to have the last twenty-one years with her. I've been trying, so hard, since I've met you not to be rude and not to question the things you do, because I wasn't raised to be like this, and the last thing I want is to create more tension and upset Brittany more. But you hurt the person I love the most in the world, every time she sees you, and I think— I think even my mom who was more strict about manners than anyone would be okay with me standing up for her. I just, I wish you would look at her, and that you would see all it is that I get to see. All the things that make Brittany Brittany."
Whitney looks at you. She's stunned, you know she is. She's obviously gone through all these years with people painting her as some sort of victim because of Brittany. And you can't imagine what it was like for Whitney back then, when she watched her child almost die, when she watched her re-learn all the things she'd already known. You can't imagine how difficult it was for her then. But, you know, deep within your heart, that she's been Brittany's greatest hurdle since. You know, that Brittany has spent her life trying, trying to be good enough, and always falling short. And for that, you can't feel a single ounce of sympathy for the woman who is supposed to love and protect her, no matter what.
"Okay." Kevin stands up from the couch. He's anxious, that's clear. "What do you say we have some dinner? Is it ready, Brittany?"
"It is." Her words, they're a whisper, and you're just not sure if you did the right thing. Though Brittany clings to your hand still, you're uncertain.
"I'm not hungry right now, Kevin." Whitney snaps at him. "So what is it you want from me, Brittany? Clearly not my opinion on the matter. You want me to pay for this wedding? When even is it? Because you know we're going to Zurich for the winter. And I'm not changing my plans because you have these fantastical ideas in your head."
"I know, mom." Brittany nods. "I don't. I don't want anything. I just, I wanted to tell you, because, you're my parents. And I. I'm getting married. We're not having a real wedding, I just, I don't know."
"Of course you don't." You know, you know your words didn't impact her, not like you'd hoped. Not at all. "I didn't come here for all of this, honestly. And Jessie's not going to eat meat anyway. So we're going to go have dinner, just the three of us. Clearly, you and your fiancée don't want us here, anyway."
"No, Whitney, that's not what I said at all. I just—"
"Save it." She holds her hand up. "Kevin, Jessie, let's go."
Otis, he's on his haunches. He keeps Brittany safe as her father tries to apologize to her. He keeps her safe as her mother, with her hands on her hips, tells Kevin to hurry up. He keeps her safe as she sits beside you on the couch, never loosening her grip on your hand, but, curling into herself, in her own way, pulling her shell back out. The dinner she worked all day on, it still sits warming in the oven, but Brittany, she murmurs something about needing a shower, and you just nod, because you don't know what else to do. You just, your stomach hurts. It aches and twists because you're sure you said the right thing, but you also burn a little with shame, because you think you made it all worse. You continue to burn as you go into the bedroom. As you pull off your carefully chosen dress. As you pull your hair back in a ponytail and slide into pajamas. As you sit back down on the couch, and you absently twist your engagement ring. You and Brittany, you don't have a lot of people to tell. You and Brittany, you hold things dear, and, you sit there, and you worry, waiting for her to come out.
"Hi." Brittany murmurs, when she finally comes back out into the living room. She's wearing sleep shorts and a sweatshirt, and her eyes are rimmed with red. She was crying in there. She was crying, and your heart, it feels like someone is twisting a knife inside.
"Britt." You sigh, as she comes over to sit beside you on the couch, Otis slipping down from where he lies beside you and going to her. "Britt, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Santana why, why are you—Why are you sorry?"
"I— She's your mom."
"She is." Brittany nods slowly, and tears, more tears begin running down her face. Tears you know that you can't stop, tears that you know she has to cry. It aches inside of you to see her like that, but, you have to let her cry. "She's my mom, and she shouldn't have needed to be told what you said to her. And I, I don't want her there when we get married, even if she decides she…I don't—"
Brittany collapses into uncontrollable sobs. You pull her into your arms, and you hold her tight, you rock her body with yours, and you swallow hard as you try not to cry too. She cries so rarely that when she does, it jars you. Straight to the core. You love her. You love this strong, brave woman so much. And you think maybe, you love her even harder, because you get to see all that no one else does. Her tears, they soak through your shirt, and she continues to cry. She molds into you, and you stroke her hair, you kiss her head. And you feel Otis, as he nuzzles her stomach, trying to calm her too. The three of you, you stay there, until she's all cried out, and she falls against the back of the couch, weakened by the intensity of feeling.
"I'm sorry, I'm just. Santana. I. I really mean what I said. I'm so. She just. She showed more enthusiasm for my sister's newfound vegetarianism than for me getting married."
"Sweetheart." You lean over and you kiss her forehead, a single tear falling from your eye and mixing with hers. When you pull back, you look at her, reading her, just for a moment, before you speak. "Anything you want, we'll do, okay?"
"Okay. I just. I. I don't want anything negative or mean on our wedding day, and. I don't want them there. Not on the day I know will be the happiest one of my life."
"Then we won't invite them. Britt, we're going up do it at City Hall, we already talked about that. We don't need to try to fill a church. It can just be us. We can, go down there, and get married, and then grab champagne, and I can take my new wife to Little Fish for dinner, because we save it for special occasions, and I know you love it."
"I like that idea a lot, Santana." She nods. Her whole body, it looks heavy and sad, and you hate it. You hate it so much, but, you know her, and you know, she's strong, and brave, and tough, and she'll be okay. Even if you need to hold her extra tight in the meantime. "But, I just, want to add two things. Your mom, she's been waiting for this day forever, I want her there."
"Britt, if it's too—"
"It's not. I know she'd understand if it was just you and I, but she's already called me her daughter in that text the other day, and—" She quickly wipes away the tears that threaten to fall. She doesn't want to cry anymore. You understand. "It just, means a lot to me, and even more to the both of you, to have her there." You nod. You nod because it's true, but also, because, you love her. So incredibly much that you can't believe it doesn't terrify you, to feel this way for another person.
"And what's the second thing?"
"Well, I think Otis would look really good in a bow tie." Brittany, she smiles. A real, genuine smile. A smile that makes you lean in and kiss her again. Because, she's just really something else.
"I'd have to agree with that." You smile back, and you scratch the top of his head. "That seems pretty easy to manage."
"What about you, though? Is there anything you want from our wedding?"
"Not at all. My mom, Otis in a bow tie, me and you, saying I do and having each other forever. That sounds like pretty much the greatest wedding in the world."
You sit with her awhile longer. You know she really needs time to regroup before she can handle much more than that. It's late by the time you finally eat dinner, but her stomach growls and gives away her hunger, and you poke her stomach, making her smile again, before you make her stay where she is, and you go into the kitchen to warm up the meal she made, and pour some wine. You're two glasses in, when she snuggles back into you, and you tickle her back. You tickle her back, and she yawns a little. You know what it's like to cry yourself exhausted, and you kiss her eyelids, you rub her arms, and you sign to her, asking her if she wants to go to bed.
It's possible you've never gotten ready for bed as quickly as you do tonight. You wash your face, you brush your teeth, and you crawl beneath the covers with Brittany. Otis, he's at the foot of the bed, and you're glad for that. You're glad he's close by, because it's another night that Brittany needs all the love the two of you have to offer, it's another night that you're glad you can give it. She lies on her side facing you, legs tangled up with yours, and quiet, quiet, as you draw more hearts all over her skin. Her eyes, they're calming, the universe, it's going back to how it belongs, and you can't tear your own away from them. It's the easiest way to tell her you love her, you know, by letting her stare back into yours so she can just see it. She smiles a little, and then she brushes your nose with her's and kisses your lips.
"Santana." She starts. She finds your hand, and clasps it in hers. She loves to lie like this, as connected as you can be, and so do you. You love it so much. You never feel more at home than you do in bed with Brittany Pierce. "There's one more thing I want. But. It's. It's not about the wedding, really, so much."
"Okay." Your brow, it furrows, as you try to figure out what she means, but she rubs the wrinkles away, and she kisses you there in their place.
"I. If it's okay with you, I. I want to take your name. After we get married. I mean. If it's okay with you."
"Brittany." You can't help the gasp you make at her request. It overwhelms you, for some reason you're not quite sure of. Brittany, taking your name. The name passed on to you by your mom, because you were hers and hers alone. Brittany Lopez. The thought, it brings tears to your eyes. "Really?"
"Really. I've been thinking about it awhile, but, I just. I wasn't sure if you'd think that was weird, since we haven't talked about what we'll do yet. But, yeah, if it's okay with you, I'd like to be a Lopez. You've already made me part of your family and…"
You cut her off with a kiss. You can't help yourself. You can't help yourself at all.
"I think, Britt, that if you really want that, nothing would make me happier than you sharing my name with me."