Though you hadn't known what to expect of this, the house hunt is definitely taking far longer than you really thought possible. Wanting a little break from it, Santana took the last week of August off, and you did a little bit of local travel together. A night down at her mom's in Queens, where you finally got to see her team play, and she'd put a Mets hat on your head and kissed beer from your lips. Two days in Lancaster, because you'd casually mentioned once that you were fascinated by the Amish way of life, and because she was dying for good pickles. The weekend in Cape May that you'd planned, since you know how much she loves the beach, and it's nice for her to really be able to relax and not worry about driving back. You'd be lying if you said neither of you checked your phones for new listings. But. It was time away from thinking about it. Constantly, really. It was time for just the two of you, and Otis, who'd taken the moving around in stride. Much like you. Since you were both expanding your comfort level. You were growing in leaps and bounds. Still.

It was hard for you to believe that fall had come. Another season passed. Another season beginning. You watch Santana wrap herself in scarves for the morning chill. You kiss her nose for extra warmth, you tell her, before she leaves the house. You still wear shorts on your runs, but after you shower and head over to the park to paint, you pull on sweatshirts and jeans. The leaves. They begin to change. Subconsciously, you begin using more reds and orange in your work. And you love the coziness of it all. You love Santana in sweaters and fuzzy socks. You love her driving you out of the city on starry nights and lying on the hood of her car, her head resting on your shoulder. Your fingers knotted together. If someone had told you that at thirty-two, this is where you'd be, you wouldn't have believed them. You'd have assumed you'd still be where you were at twenty-two, twenty-five, twenty-eight. But. It's been nearly two and a half years since your world turned upside down. And you still find yourself pinching under your arm to make sure it's real.

Santana is turning thirty. She teases you and calls you old lady whenever you talk about it. And you kiss her, you kiss her and you pin her to the bed, reminding her, in all the ways you know, that you're most certainly still young. Santana is turning thirty, and you're not sure what exactly you want to do for it. You twist the silver chain around your neck, the one she'd bought you for your thirtieth birthday, when you'd only been dating for a few months, and you worry over it. You want to do something special for her, except you're not quite sure just what that something is.

It takes you a few days, but you finally decide to invite Maribel down. You know that this is a big milestone for her, too, and it just— it feels strange to leave her out. Thirty years ago, she'd made a choice that changed her life. Thirty years ago, she'd sacrificed everything she had. Thirty years ago, she'd brought the woman you love into the world. And. Though Santana lets you make your secret plans. You know she wants her to be a part of this, too.

You wake up earlier than normal on her birthday. You wake her up, too, though she grumbles and groans that it's too early. You pry her out of bed with kisses. With I love you's. With all the happy birthday'syou can speak. You get in the shower with her, and you make her early start time entirely worth it. You leave her to get dressed, a goofy smile plastered across both of your faces, and you make coffee. You fill her thermos up, and you leave a love note for her under the metal top, scrawled with balloons and confetti, because you can. You pack her the raspberry muffins you know are her favorite. You kiss her goodbye, slipping your hands up under her sweater and scratching her lower back. You tell her you'll see her in a few hours, and she's all crinkle eyes and dimples when she walks out the door.

It's a Friday. You're glad it's a Friday. Date night— well, modified date night. And her birthday combined into one. You have a lot to do, before she gets home. Before Maribel gets in. So you clean. You change the sheets, you make the bed. You scrub the bathroom, and you set up the air mattress in the office. Otis follows you around, until you tell him it's okay, you're not frenzied, you're just. You're busy, preparing, and he lays down to rest. You make her birthday cake. It's taken a lot of coaxing, but, she'll finally accept that you can make that funfetti cake that she's obsessed with. Without using the box. While it's in the oven, you hang streamers. You hang the big banner that you'd painted and hid away weeks ago. You and Otis walk, while the cake cools. You pick up balloons and flowers. You just. You want this to be really special. You know it's just a birthday, but. Santana. She loves things like this. You know, you know. Maribel, she'd done everything she could to make her daughter's birthday special. Even when she had no money. So. By making it special too, you sort of. You feel like you're carrying on the tradition.

At nine forty-five, the red light above your door flashes, and Otis jumps up from his resting spot. You've got frosting up to your elbows, but you toss the spatula in the bowl, and you, you wipe your hands and forearms on a towel. You open the door, and your mother-in-law, she doesn't say a single word, before she wraps her arms around you. Before she engulfs you in a hug. These hugs. This genuine love you get from your wife's mother. You're not sure either of them realize just. Just how much it means to you. They know it means a lot. The actual level though, you think it's beyond even your comprehension. It's been nearly a year since. Since you've spoken to your parents. They haven't tried, and you— you won't, because the years of buildup and then, then the final rejection, it. It hurt too much. It still stings sometimes. So Maribel Lopez's hugs. Her frequent text messages and just because cards in the mail. Her genuine acceptance of you. It reminds you. It reminds you when you need the reminder most, that you do have a family. That you're Brittany Lopez now, and that's more than enough.

Brittany, honey, everything looks great. She surveys the apartment when she walks in, ruffling Otis' fur, and giving him the affection he loves. She approves, and, you beam at the compliment.

"Thank you Maribel. I just. I. I wanted it to look nice for Santana when she gets home. I know it's. It's kind of silly because we aren't having a party. But, it's a big birthday."

Hard to believe it's been thirty years since the day she was born. Maribel waves her hand, as if brushing off her own thoughts. And you can't help but take her hand in yours. Because. Because your gratitude to her, you're filled with it. But you don't want to hear my old stories.

"I'm always happy to hear them, whenever you want to tell them." You smile at her, and, she gives you her soft smile in return. The one Santana inherited from her. The one you love, so much.

You're such a good girl, Brittany, really. I'll save them for later, maybe. Santana was always pretty fond of her birthday story, too.

"I'll bet." You know it. The story about how it snowed in October. How Santana was nearly born in the waiting room of the hospital, while a young and scared Maribel tried to get the attention of the receptionist. You know how she let out a wail that could wake the dead when she came out, but that she was quiet, content, when the nurse put her in her mother's arms. You know about the doctor that insisted that both mother and baby needed to be kept for further observation, because it was cold, and he knew they were headed for a shelter. You know about how he came back before they were discharged, with a car seat and a box of warm clothes for both of them, hand-me-downs from his daughter and granddaughter. And you know, the most important part, that on the day your wife came into the world, it was the first time her mother believed in the kindness of strangers. A belief that kept them afloat for years and years to come. You know these things, but you'd hear them a thousand times, if Maribel wanted to re-tell them. Because they're special to them, and that makes them special to you, too. "Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat? Or a drink. Or—"

No, no, relax. Looks like you got up even earlier than me. I'll just go put my things down in the office, and then we're headed to the station to surprise Santana, right?

"That. It's the plan. As long as you're still okay with it."

Of course, whatever you want. I'm just so very glad you wanted to include me in this today.

"You know, when I started making plans. I. I just couldn't think of anything but."

Maribel, she gets herself settled quickly. She always does. Because she never really brings much, and, you kind of can't wait for her to have a space in your home that's more her own. Where she can leave some things. Where she can be more comfortable, you're sure, than she is on that Aerobed, nice as it is. You know it's been Santana's dream for a long time, and the more you dream about your future house, the more those two dreams seem to mesh into one. While Maribel washes up, after her train ride, you finish frosting the cake. You can't help but dot the i in Birthday with a heart. And you smile to yourself as you cover it. You smile to yourself because, you realize, when you love someone, suddenly their special days begin to feel even more special than your own.

You walk over to the radio station. Otis seems to know where you're going, and you smile, as you watch him try to keep his excitement at bay. Maribel has gotten better at remembering not to try to talk to you while you're walking, a tough thing to get used to, you know, even for Santana, who'd been so in tune with you. She takes in the changing colors of the city around you, and you enjoy watching her do so. It's a different pace than New York, that's for sure, but she seems to enjoy it. She seems to enjoy it, and. And you wonder sometimes, maybe, if she won't end up here permanently someday, especially, if— You shake the thought out of your head. For now. And you hold the door open for your mother-in-law when you arrive at the studio.

Britt. Mama. You see the excitement on Santana's face when you walk in the door. You see the way she looks at you. Face soft. Eyes burning into you. Because she knows you planned this, and. And it's made her really, really happy. She kisses you first, a quick hello, that turns a little longer than quick, but, you shoo her off of you.

"Your mom got on a train at six o'clock this morning. Go give her a hug, I'll be here when you're done."

You. Just. Thank you, Brittany.

"Of course. What kind of wife would I be, if I didn't know what you wanted most for your birthday?"

I love you. Seriously, thank you.

They both wipe tears from their eyes after they embrace. It's something they always do. It's something you understand, a lot. It was just them, for so long. And being separated by all these miles, you know it must be hard. You know it makes Santana sad sometimes. You know she hangs up the phone and you have to kiss away her blues, because she hates that she doesn't see her mom all the time. But. Their reunions are always so sweet. Their reunions, they always make you choke on the lump in your throat, because seeing how they love each other. It's something so incredibly beautiful. And. You wonder, a lot. If this is how most mothers and daughters are. You don't think so. You think what they have is really special. And you're glad it is. Because they deserve it. They deserve it, so much. You don't know what they're saying. Santana slips into her fast, Queens accent, which you still can't really imagine, but you can tell by her lips, and Maribel keeps up. They're catching up, and, though Santana looks to you in an effort to include you, you wave her away. You have all day, you have all weekend, and you want her to have at least this few minutes, for them to say all the things they've been dying to say.

You go back to the house, all of you, in Santana's car. Otis is thrilled to have Maribel in the backseat with him. He rests his head on her shoulder. He grins at the treats she slips to him— his big goofy dog grin. He's thrilled to have her. Santana, she gasps when she walks in. You don't have to hear it to know. She covers her mouth with her hands, and then, then she covers your mouth with hers. It's not much. But. For Santana, coming from you, it's everything. She admires the flowers, she hugs you tight and nuzzles her face into your neck, because, because. And she insists on helping you make lunch, though it's her birthday, and you tell her she shouldn't have to. But she wants to, so you let her. She wants to, so you work together side by side in the kitchen. You make sandwiches. And she smiles. Crinkle eyes. Dimples. The entire time.

After lunch, you eat cake. It's her birthday tradition, one that Maribel has verified for you on more than one occasion. Santana, she's extra adorable, in one of the party hats you'd bought for the event. She blows out the candles. She makes wishes, wishes you think you know, wishes you hope you can help come true. She gulps down her cake, admitting to you that she's glad you made it from scratch, and then. Then she shares another piece with you. You give her most of it, because she enjoys it so much. And she pats her full belly. Looking even cuter, in that silver hat. You kiss the last of the frosting off her lips, and Maribel. Maribel just smiles at you, because you're young and in love, and she loves that, she tells you how much. All the time.

You relax for awhile when you're finished. Santana's tired, you know, but she winks at you across the room. She's telling you it was totally worth it, and, you blush— you blush pretty profusely. You don't think Maribel notices, but, you turn away, you turn toward the stove, and you set about making coffee, until your cheeks cool off. When the coffee is ready, you bring it into the living room. This tiny bit of entertaining, you really enjoy it, and Santana, she looks at you, with that look. The one that makes your heart race. And when you find your seat, she doesn't take her eyes off of you, not for a single second. Even as her mom tells you both the birthday story. Even as you wipe the tears from your eyes, even as you sniffle a little. Because you've heard the story before. But the way Maribel tells it. The way she looks at your wife, like she's the light of her whole world. It just, makes the entire thing so much more— so much more everything.

This is where I'd hoped you'd be when you were thirty, baby girl. From the first minute you were in my arms, and I knew all I really had to offer you was my love, this is what my dreams for you looked like. You. All grown up, in a job that you love. With a person who you love, and who loves you back. When I see you so happy, I think iI did something right.

Mama, you did a lot right. Trust me. You raised me good and strong, and ask Britt, she knows how thankful I am for you.

"It's true." You nod. "And so am I. Santana is the best person I've ever met, and I. I know that a lot of that. It's. It's because of you. And because you made a lot of sacrifices so she had. Opportunities, and just. A home with a lot of love."

Seeing your home, both of your home, filled with the same kind of love, it definitely confirms for me that it was more important than anything.

We think so, too. Santana, she puts her hand over yours, and she catches your eye. Something, something's burning in there. Something that fans a small flame, in the pit of your stomach. And, you're not quite sure what it is. But it's a slow kind of burn, the kind you think, might not turn into a full fledged blaze, not for a bit of time. It warms you, though. It warms part of you that you never knew was buried deep inside, and you just, you smile. You smile at your wife. The secret kind, the kind that you don't often share in the company of others, but— I had really hoped we'd find a house by now though. Seemed like a good goal for thirty.

Santana. You watch the laughter dance across Maribel's features. I'd say that having a radio show and a wonderful wife were more than sufficient for thirty.

I know, Mama. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm so lucky to have everything that I have. It just, feels really unsettled, this waiting thing we're doing.

Oh, I know you don't. I know you want this so much. You were dreaming about this before you even knew what you were dreaming of, and trust me, I dreamed of it too, for you. But, the house will come when it comes. And it'll be everything you ever hoped for.

"It's true, Santana." You nod. You rub your thumb on the inside of her wrist. You think, sometimes, that she wasn't born so patient. But that patience was what she'd learned through hardship, and sometimes, sometimes, her impatience flares up, white hot. Before she stomps it back down and paints that serenity on her face. "I think soon too. According to that blog I've been reading, fall is the best time to buy."

Sometimes I think the internet just makes things up.

"I think most of the time they do." You can't help but laugh at her face, and you lean in to give her a quick kiss. "But let's go with this one. Let's keep hoping that we'll spend our first Christmas in our new house."

I hope.

If that's the case, you should prepare yourself, Brittany. You'll be in for a whole lot of decorating. She's been waiting her whole life for this.

"Oh, I know." You suck your lips into your mouth. You picture Santana, wrapped in garland. You picture Santana, picking out the perfect tree, without the space constraints you have here. You just picture her, her and that crinkly dimpled smile. You picture the little Santana, that comes out, when she's at her happiest. The little girl with all her big dreams coming true. "It might be what I'm looking the most forward to."

You take your time getting ready for dinner. You didn't do anything really over the top, because it's not either of your speed. But still. You made reservations close by, and it's a really nice night to walk. Santana, she looks beautiful, her hair curled, her sweater dress and boots. Cozy and sexy all at once. You have to kiss her breathless before you leave. Just because. Because she's your wife. Because it's her birthday. Because you love her so much that you can't help it. And she's gentle, when she wipes her lipstick from your mouth. She's gentle, as she kisses the corner of it, before she reapplies. She's gentle, as she wraps a scarf around your neck, and pulls you close as you walk out the door. And Maribel's smiling again. She's smiling, and you're so proud to be part of those dreams of hers for Santana come true.

Dinner is exactly what you'd wanted. Your own little corner of the restaurant, where neither of you worry about Otis beneath the table. Santana's favorite risotto, two bottles of wine, and tortoni. It's just like most of your Friday nights, except tonight you have her mom here. Tonight there's a candle in the dessert, and Santana ducks her head in embarrassment when three waiters sing what you can only assume is an Italian variation of Happy Birthday, since you can't manage to read the words they sing. Tonight there are gifts. A beautiful blue cashmere scarf from her mom. A bracelet you slip onto her wrist while she's distracted. Infinity, on a silver chain. Because you'd seen it, shopping in Center City one morning, months ago. And, you could think of nothing else but her. So you'd bought it, and you'd saved it. For this day. For her biggest birthday yet. It's perfect, it's so perfect, the whole evening. It's all you'd wanted for her. And after you eat, with Santana wrapped in her new scarf, her old one tucked away in her purse, Maribel, she tells you she's going to head home. Maribel, she accepts your keys, so she can go back. So you can walk through the park. Your arm wrapped around your wife's waist. Her head resting on your shoulder.

"Did you have a nice day?" You ask her, once you're sitting down on a bench in the park. She's soft and snuggly, a little tipsy from the wine and the excitement. And Otis, he lies at your feet, watching, watching, because he always steps up his game even more than usual at night. He keeps you safe, your boy.

The perfect day. Britt. Just, thank you. Thank you for always including my mom in the big stuff. I know maybe it's a little annoying that we're so close. But—

"Hey, it's not. Not at all. Why would that ever annoy me that you love your mom the way you do?"

I don't know. She shrugs, but you know, you do. You know, and you hate that she even thinks to feel that way.

"Santana, my stuff with my mother. It sucks. It sucks a lot. And. And I still get sad about it sometimes. But having your mom, it makes me less sad, okay? She. She treats me like a daughter, too. And I appreciate it. So. So much."

She thinks of you as one too, you know.

"I do. She makes me feel it. She's very good to me. And I love her so much. Don't ever think that I compare your happy things to my sad things. Because we share them. Happy and sad. That one was pretty much really in our vows, right?"

It was. For better, for worse covers that, right?

"Yeah, I think it does." You lean over. You kiss her. You take your time. You're mostly alone in the park, and you just. You want to make sure she knows that you mean the things you say. "I'm glad she was able to come. This was a big day for her, too."

Yeah, it really was. You know, when I was a teenager, before I came out, she was like, totally nuts with me. Yelling at me that if I was having sex I better talk to her, and so help me God I better use protection. I think— I think she was actually relieved that I wasn't going to sleep with boys. And I—She pauses for a minute, she puts her hand on top of yours. She does that, when she's very serious, and you squeeze them from beneath. I used to wonder a lot, how much she regretted, you know, having me, keeping me. She could have given me away, or, whatever, and her parents, my, grandparents, I guess, probably would have taken her back.

"Santana."

No, it's okay. I mean, it was just like, when everyone else was resenting their moms for dumb teenage stuff, I was wondering if mine was resenting me, you know? Like. She gave up everything for me. And, then, the day I graduated high school, she told me that seeing me there, in my cap and gown, going to college, it made her sure she made the right choice. Not because of her, Britt, but because of me. She told me she worried my whole life that she didn't ruin my life by bringing me from the hospital to a woman's shelter, and then raising me with nothing. But it made me the person I am, and I really don't look back on my childhood and feel like I missed out.

"I know you don't. I don't. I don't really know people. But it's not like I don't watch TV, or see movies, or read books. I just. I don't think other people look back so happily on their lives. And I don't think other people are as grateful as you are."

Thank you for saying that. I try, I really do. Even if I'm impatient sometimes.

"It's kind of cute when you are," you tell her, and she wrinkles her nose, trying to hide her grin.

I just hope when we…if we… She stops. Mid-sentence. And you look at her. You look at her for a long time. You look at the fire, flickering in her eyes. The hopefulness there. And your heart, it pounds against your ribcage. It pounds, thinking about what she's saying. It pounds, because— because you've been thinking about it lately. You've been thinking about the future, and, it makes your every nerve prickle. But. But—

"When we." You assure her. The thrill, rushing through you. You think, you think. You think your voice is really soft. But her eyes, they must be softer. They're melting. And they're melting you. "Definitely when we. But. Not yet. I want. I want to. To have have a little more time with just us first."

Britt. She kisses your top lip, and she picks up your hands. I'm so happy that it's something you want too, a bigger family. I'm not ready to even really talk about it yet, I want to buy our house, and ease into all of that slowly. But, I just, I was going to say that I hope, when we have…when we have kids, that we raise them to be happy, and grateful, and, I just hope that we'll be good moms to them.

"I hope that too, Santana." You know, you know that she will be. Because you've seen her with the kids in the park. You've seen her with the families she works with. But what you hope, is that when the time eventually comes, that you will be, too. "Wow. We're starting off your new decade with big things, aren't we?"

Always big things with you, Sweetheart. The biggest, and the best.

"Happy birthday, Santana." You kiss her. You cup her cheek. You drink her in. "Happy, happy birthday."