It was Saturday morning, and Brittany was miserable. She'd barely slept since Santana had left on Thursday night. Cliché as it was, she hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed since one of the pillows still smelled like Santana's shampoo, and the couch was so uncomfortable that Brittany had made a note to buy a new one once she got out of her funk. Her back was aching in places she'd never known existed, her head was throbbing, and her heart felt like a heavy rock. Since she was too tired to fix herself anything decent to eat, she was surviving on crackers and tap water.

As she munched on saltines and stared blankly at the TV, Brittany couldn't help but wonder what Santana was doing. It was torturous to imagine her either sad or angry, but Brittany thought she deserved to feel guilty. However, another part of her wasn't so sure, and for that, Brittany felt even more awful.

On the one hand, Santana had every right to be upset. She'd opened up to the blonde about her deep anxiety and fears regarding the future of her restaurant, while Brittany had responded with lie after lie to cover her identity and the fact that she was the very source of Santana's problems. She had trusted Brittany completely, while Brittany had done the exact opposite. Santana had probably thought she could finally allow herself to be vulnerable, only to later discover she was the only honest one in their complex relationship.

On the other hand, though, Brittany knew she had to keep Susan a secret. It wasn't only for personal reasons—such as her preferring to work anonymously, unlike some other critics—but her whole career was at stake here. Susan Spite wasn't a good food critic only because she knew every in and out of the industry or because her writing was witty and deeply honest. She was loved by her readers, because she was a hidden persona. There was no face associated to her name, no way to judge or see her as anything but a renowned critic. There existed a whole world of questions behind her, and her name in the industry inspired respect and motivation to surpass oneself.

Brittany saw how her colleague, Jesse St. James, used his name in his favor. People who knew him would immediately be on their best behavior the minute he stepped into a restaurant. They wined and dined him like the wealthiest of kings, offering free appetizers and presenting their most succulent dishes and desserts. Jesse was still a good food critic, that much Brittany knew, but the waiters and chefs knowing him meant they would serve him better than anyone else.

That was exactly what Brittany wanted to stay away from. She didn't want the staff to treat her like a queen, the waiter to observe her every move in order to gauge if she was pleased, the comfiest chair in the room, the meal she ordered to be presented any differently than it would be to any other customer.

Being a privileged customer meant she'd be a biased critic, and Brittany had too much integrity to work that way. Who was she to be treated better than any other person? Waiters and chefs should be on their best behavior for anyone in the room, not just for the person in charge of their restaurant's publicity and success. That's what Brittany believed, at least.

If she'd told Santana who she was and what she did, she never could've known for sure if Marley was sweet to her because she was a critic, if Kurt smiled joyfully at Susan or at Brittany, if Mercedes's desserts were just as scrumptious on any other day. If she'd told Santana, Adjacent could have suddenly revolved around her instead of everyone in the dining room.

That was something Brittany knew she had to tell Santana.

With this last impulsive thought in mind, Brittany got up from the couch and moved to her desk. She sat in front of her computer but grabbed a pen and paper instead. She wanted this letter to be completely genuine, and writing it instead of typing felt right.

After an hour or so, she read the letter and nodded to herself. She had taken her time to get things exactly right, and she hadn't left anything out. Her hand was cramping, and her heart still felt heavy, but she was hoping it would be worth it. She wasn't expecting Santana to forgive her immediately, but hopefully, she would at least understand her reasons for keeping the truth from her.

Brittany also decided to print out her review of Adjacent. It wasn't edited and Shelby hadn't read it yet, but the raw honesty behind her words was there. It was less polished than her usual work, but it was just as genuine.

She slipped the letter and review into a manila envelope—which, granted, looked more professional than personal—and wrote Santana's name on the front. Afterwards, she walked up the stairs with renewed vigor and took a shower to wash off the cracker crumbs in her disheveled hair and the stench of two miserable nights on the couch.

A few hours later, standing in front of Adjacent, Brittany wasn't sure what to do. Should she just go in and ask for Santana? Then what? Would she give her the letter and hightail it out of the restaurant? Was the chef even in? She didn't work on Saturdays, though she sort of had these past few weeks. What if she was at home? Should Brittany just go to her apartment and drop off the letter there? It was a bit far, but it would allow her time to think and—

All these frantic thoughts flew out of her mind when she noticed Kurt inside the restaurant.

He was walking two men to a table, with his neat tie and courteous smile right in place. Kurt was a great head waiter, and from what Brittany had observed, he got along well with Santana. If she gave him the folder, then surely he'd pass it to the chef.

Brittany thought that was as good a plan as any, so she crossed the street and pushed open the door to the restaurant. Kurt noticed her quickly, and she waved awkwardly. He smiled and walked over.

"Table for one?" he asked teasingly.

Brittany was surprised he didn't seem to know what was going on, but after a second, she realized it wasn't like Santana to share her personal business.

"Actually...I was wondering if you could give something to Santana for me."

His eyebrows raised. "Oh, well, she's in the kitchen, do you want me to ca—"

"No!" Brittany cut him off, a bit too loudly. She looked around, embarrassed, before lowering her voice and taking the envelope out of her purse. "Could you just give this to her when she leaves, please? You guys seem busy, and I don't want to disturb her."

Kurt looked at the envelope quizzically. "Sure."

Brittany smiled in appreciation. "Thanks. I'll...um, see you around."

He nodded, eyes on her as she opened the door and left the restaurant.