This is it, my friends. The final chapter ...
DAY 3062 - Happily ever after
It's early in the morning. I just got out of the bathroom after I dressed Cory and told Brittany to keep an eye on him. This day should be carefree. We have nothing planned until later. A night out with our friends. Doesn't happen that ofter anymore, but that's okay. It makes days like these the more exciting. I heave a relaxed sigh as I walk over to the second door on the right. A quick fix of coffee and I'll be okay to think about tonight's outfit for the rest of the day. Lady Tribeca passes me. Yeah, you heard it: Lady Tribeca. Brittany named our new cat after the place we once visited while we were in New York. It's because we had awesome sex in some lesbian bar back there - but she won't admit it. The beautiful, black Lady Tribeca is a gift from me to my wife since she still misses Lord Tubbington so much. She's so cute and stubborn - the cat that is. Kind of reminds me of myself. I bend over to pet the awesome animal on the back and continue my way to the kitchen. Life's just simple, lately. No worries, just work and family.
An honest and content smile decorates my face as I walk into the room. But my body freezes to the spot. In front of me, there's little Cory, four years old, throwing around flour and sugar and anything of that matter he can find.
He has got to be kidding me!
I'm genuinely startled, which - as I found out - happens a lot once you have kids, and I'm not sure wether I should yell or cry. How does one handle a flour throwing kid? Even Brittany never got me into this situation. I look around and put one hand on top of my chest.
There's flour on the walls, on the kitchen counter, on the floor, in the opened cabinets. It's everywhere. It's like a white sandstorm entered our home. My heart stops beating for a couple of seconds. Damn, I like my stuff all clean and neat. Clean and neat, I tell you!
Brittany walks in right after me and freezes as well. First, she has a look at me. Her inwardly pulled lips assure me she's well aware she failed to keep a close eye on him as I ordered. She frowns deeply to think about what's next. Without saying anything, she makes her way over to our precious, little baby boy - who still seems to be entertaining himself with a box of sugar, completely unaware of our presence. His dark hair is invisible, it's turned white from the powder. Brittany taps him on the shoulder, like it's a nice, little welcoming. He has noticed us by now, and tremendous fear is suddenly filling his eyes. Curious thing about kids: they know they'll be in trouble, but that doesn't stop them from doing it anyway. His mouth is already small and angsty, while his eyebrows curl all the way down. The way he looks at me, it's proof of how much he dislikes me when I'm mad. I'm always the one that gets mad, though. But this time, Brittany seems to take responsibility. And every time she does - which isn't that ofter - he's even more worried.
Brittany picks the bag of flour from the ground and studies the mess he has made. This will take forever to clean up. Even longer.
Our little man keep his arms crossed, all worried about what will come next. He bites his lower lip, just like his mommy does a lot when she's in trouble. Damn, Brittany's still not saying a word.
"Relax, Britt. We'll ... I'll go get a mop. Or a vacuum. And - uhm."
I scratch my head. How does one start cleaning this shit? Brittany puts her fingers in the bag and lifts a pile of the flour out of it. I frown.
Cory aims his blue eyes at her movement and isn't sure what to do. Normally, when he's been up to no good, he runs out of the room and goes into hiding modus. Never lasts long. It wouldn't be the first time that I need to drag him with his feet from under the bed. For a four year old, he still has to learn a couple of tricks.
Cory keeps studying the little pile of flour on Brittany's index and middle finger. He's brave enough to approach his mommy. The second he does, she puts together her lips and powerfully blows the powder at him. The little one closes his eyes in a hurry and welcomes the white stuff on his face. A second passes. Nothing. Nobody moves. Two seconds pass and his adorable, cute laugh appears. Brittany's smiling as well. She takes the bag of flour and pours another couple of grams over his head.
"Brittany!" I protest, completely overwhelmed by confusion.
She looks over to me and waits patiently for my complaint. I don't have anything else to say, really. I'm too surprised. I walk over to her and yank the bag out of her grip. She holds both of her hands up in defense and innocently looks at our son. God, two of those in the house. I didn't deserve this.
She awaits my next move. I'll get mad, too strict and all parental over the both of them ... They know me well. Let me tell you: it's quite the challenge, living together with the two most playful and carefree people in the world.
I grab the bottom of the bag and surprise her by doing the exact same thing she just did to our child. The entire content of the baking material drops on top of her head and the only response I get is a dropped jaw.
"You did not just ..." she ultimately gasps.
I smile victoriously while crossing my arms: "Oh, I did."
She analyzes the way her entire outfit turned white in an instant. Then, she pushes me back, to at least have some sort of revenge and shakes her entire body heavily to infect me with the powder. I hold her hand to keep her away from me. We both think it's hilarious. Cory's just standing there, witnessing our cute, friendly struggle in wonder. He knows how silly we can get, but this still is a risky situation for him. There's still a chance we'll end up getting mad at him.
Half of the flour that's covering Britt's head and shoulders has made a lovely pattern on my shirt. There are no freckles on her face, and I barely can see the blue eyes. Even her eyebrows and her lips have changed color. All there is to see is whiteness.
When Cory suddenly pulls Brittany's pants, she looks down and we stop moving. He hands her over the little box of sugar he was playing with a second ago. We both stare at him, all confused. But instead of accepting the gift, she picks the little one up from the ground. That's when I realize what's coming. I just stand there, eyes closed, mouth shut, completely giving in, as she lifts our son high up in the air. He patiently tosses the sugar crystals over my entire body. Cory laughs hysterically, Brittany laughs hysterically. I just stand there, licking my top lip until the last bit of crystals have dropped down my shoulders. Such joy.
Eventually, I join them in the hysterical laughter, while I think about how ridiculous all of this is. Cory gets positioned on Brittany's left arm and the two of them look at me with pride. It's too late to change my mind and act all motherly. So this is it ... This is the moment ... This is revenge time.
"Aaaaaaah!" I roar, as I dive in to tickle Cory until he's about to pee his pants.
Brittany turns around in circles and acts as if she'll save him from the horror. She won't. It makes the gorgeous, caramel skin-toned cutie shriek from excitement and that's how we spend our morning: doing exactly what every responsible parent wouldn't. And we love it.
"Do you think he's missing me? He's probably missing you, but do you think he's missing me? I'm always so tough on him. I should relax a little bit more. No wonder he's not missing me."
She analyzes my rambling. I always get like this when we leave him behind. I'm not a fan of sleepovers that don't involve our house.
"Santana. Relax!" she warns me, as she puts her hands on my shoulders.
I take a deep breath and stop talking.
"Of course he misses you."
I'm not convinced: "What makes you think that?"
Brittany waits a whole second before she starts smiling the goofiest smile of them all: "Because you, my darling, are very missable."
I pout, while smirking over her adorableness: "I am?"
She nods and puts a soft peck on my left cheek.
"Yeah. I did it for a whole lot longer than one night. He'll be okay. Tomorrow, you can be the best mom in the world again."
I turn her head, that's buried deep in my neck to kiss my bare skin, to face me. That's when I warm her lips with my touch.
"Where's the little warrior?" auntie Quinn excitingly asks, happily to interrupt our scandalous behavior.
"He's at my parents'." I inform her.
Brittany nods: "And my parents happen to be there as well. The fantastic four, they've become."
Quinn seems disappointed. Auntie Quinn is in love with our kid. Then again: who isn't?
"Wait, did you really expect us to bring a four year old to a party?"
She shrugs: "I don't know a lot about kids, do I?"
I softly smile and raise an eyebrow: "If you every tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it ... But you're kind of great with our son, Fabray."
She tilts her head and blinks a couple of times. Sometimes, it is possible to shut her up, as it seems.
"Where's Rachel?" Brittany suddenly asks.
But instead of answering my wife, the blonde just looks at me, accusingly.
"What did you do?" my wife immediately demands to know.
I shrug, completely unaware of my involvement.
"What? I didn't do anything. Last time I talked to her was this afternoon. She asked me what time we expected her at the bar."
Brittany crosses her arms and taps her foot. Damn, she looks good in that loose purple jumpsuit with her braided ponytail. Even better than me in my stylish, red, cocktail dress.
"And what did you tell her?"
I shrug: "Nothing."
Quinn has talked to Rachel, though, as it shows. Her very disapproving facial expression gives it away. Okay, okay, maybe that's not the entire truth.
"I just told her she had to be here at eight. But then I might have accidentally said that she'd better stay at home because the last three parties, she respectively threw up on herself, dressed horribly, acted all disgracefully - and groped Quinn."
Brittany throws both hands up in the air and growls.
"What? Suddenly, I'm the bitch or something?" I ask, defending myself.
Brittany bends her head and sighs deeply. Quinn doesn't move a muscle. There's weird staring and judgement. I always get that in certain situations.
"God, Santana. Even after all those years, we still need to work on your tact." Brittany informs me, while sighing.
"I have tact!" I protest. "I just don't use it very often."
But my wife"s not amused. She hands me her phone and orders me to call Rachel. She's really mad, I guess, because this time, there's very little compassion.
"Get her over here, Santana. I'm not kidding."
In any other situation, a true Lopez would throw the phone to the ground, stamp on it to prove a point and walk out of the room with a great amount of flair.
But Brittany S. Pierce is standing in front of me, so I simply take the phone and dial Rachel's number - ready to swallow my proud.
"Okay, okay. I admit." I stutter as I put down my sixth glass of wine.
Having a kid seriously makes me an easy drunk. Brittany seems to find that amusing. The music's extremely loud. It's pounding so hard that I feel the bass in my throat.
"I might have my flaws ..."
Brittany, Quinn and recently joined Rachel, Jacob and Marley frown in a rejecting way.
"Yeah, borderline alcoholism and extremely loud orgasming." my wife responds as she pulls me close to kiss me on the cheek.
Jacob doesn't even look up as she says it. That's how it goes now.
I push her away from me and act offended: "So not the time to mention that, Brittany."
Quinn looks at Rachel with a secret smile on her face, while Marley walks away with a smirk. Brittany doesn't get where she went wrong, though.
"What? Last time we came home after a night out, you undressed yourself until all you were wearing were your high heels and your golden watch. You didn't even realize that you were naked. Then you started dancing with Lady Tribeca in the kitchen. And you dipped her!"
My friends sound too amused. I cross my arms and squeeze my eyes to stare at my wife condemnatory.
"Oh, and let's pretend you had a problem with that." I reply to her.
Jacob wisely shuts up. Quinn, on the other hand meddles in.
"Let's not forget that you can't be nice to anyone but Brittany. Another flaw."
She steals a look from Rachel, who probably doesn't object her accusation. But her words don't really make me feel bad. If anything, there's some feeling of pride that's taking over.
Brittany defends me at least a bit, though: "She's nice to Cory, too."
Quinn smirks and throws her shoulder-length hair back. All she can utter is a hissing sound. But I'm kind of okay with all the things that are being said about me. I know exactly what kind of person I am.
"Just face it. I'm a horrible person. I hate about ninety nine percent of all people I meet. The only reason why I'm this awesome is because I look hot, I'm viciously funny and I have awesome lesbian sex skills."
My wife's standing next to me, confidently relaxed and all: "Score."
Rachel swallows the wine in her mouth with a loud couch. Her friend Quinn's there to pat her on the back.
"You can't get away with that forever, Santana." Jacob suddenly tells me.
But I disagree with my ex-boyfriend: "I have big, beautiful tits. Rules don't apply to me."
An amused smile lights up his face as he leaves to make his way over to the bar to meet up with Marley. Just what we need: more drinks. As a woman passes us, I'm busy kissing the softness of Brittany's lips. I catch her throwing a quick glance at the somehow familiar appearance.
"Don't you know that girl?"
"Yeah. We had sex once." Brittany honestly answers.
I frown: "You never told me that."
Then again, there's just too many to mention.
"Well, it wasn't really ... I mean ... She bought me a beer and the only reason she did that was because she was bisexual and wanted to touch my vagina. I didn't care. Beer is beer."
Her shamelessness makes me giggle: "Yeah, that's exactly how you ended up being the slutty, lesbian friend."
She doesn't seem offended at all. We have that strange kind of humor. Her hands pull me close and I wrap my body around her once more.
I kiss her on the lips and whisper through her mouth: "Well, if you're that easy, I'll go get you a beer."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm a married woman now." she formally lets me know.
I'm waiting at the counter to order some drinks. Beer for my girl, as I promised. Wine for me. Since there's a few others waiting as well, I check my phone. It's almost eleven, Cory's supposed to be asleep by now. If not, I'll have to yell at my mother tomorrow. The screen of my phone remains empty. Only a background picture of the three of us. No message. That means he's doing fine. When a man suddenly comes standing right next to me, I recognize his face.
The guy stumbles over the liquids in his mouth as I address him. Charming. I have that effect on men.
"You're Quinn's current lover boy." I say.
It's not even a question. He frowns and takes a look around. She's nowhere near.
"Yes. I guess. Who are you?"
I smirk and let him analyze me.
"Wait ... You're the lesbian one, right?" he guesses.
I shake my head confidently: "No, I'm the bitchy one. Britt's the hot lesbian one. Hobbit's the ... Hobbit one. And Quinn's the in-denial-about-being-in-love-with-her-best-friend -one."
Just as I expected, he doesn't really get what I'm talking about.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
I point at the two girls, overly cosy across the room, flirting like crazy and suddenly, I get it. I'm not disgusted or freaked out or confused about my oldest friend doing the nasty with a leprechaun. No, I'm sick of them hiding for all the things that I once feared. And those things happen to make me the most alive and happy woman in the world right now. Even worse: suddenly, I feel so very sorry for the Hobbit. She's been pushed to the side. She's a dirty little secret.
"Have you slept with Quinn yet?" I ask him, completely ignoring his previous question.
His initial reaction is to frown. But instead of acting offended, he seems impressed by my directness, so he just shakes his head nervously. That's a negative. None of the boyfriends seem to cross that border, judging by Quinn's stories. The waiter asks for my order and I quickly inform him what I'd like.
"Okay, I'm going to try and tell you this as carefully as possible - I must warn you, because it probably won't seem like it ..."
I shrug, to introduce him to my personality: "I'm just that kind of person. But ... - uhm. This is probably your first big chance of getting laid this month, isn't it?"
He frowns, then nods hesitantly.
"So now you're here, making an effort, following her to this party with her friends and she's not even giving you a minute to talk to her ever since Rachel walked in."
The bartender puts the drinks on top of the counter.
Quinn's sort of boyfriend, who still hasn't told me his name, acts more gloomy by the second that passes. He turns his head to stare at the two of them. Quinn wraps her arms around Rachel's shoulders as one of their favorite songs reverberates through the room. They are so ridiculously in love.
"Those two live in a freaking closet and they still get laid every week. You need to change your game, man."
I pat him on the shoulder and walk away from the bar, leaving a couple of bucks and taking the drinks with me.
Brittany smiles lovingly at me when I get closer. She puts her flexible arm around my neck and accepts the beer I bought her.
"Let's go home, babe." she suggests.
I nearly spit my wine out, but manage to keep a straight face.
"Why?" I doubtingly ask.
Brittany never wants to go home. She's the one that keeps me at a party until six in the morning. It has always been that way. But my wife just shrugs and bends over to me, so the music won't soften her words so strongly.
"We have to pick up Cory in the morning. And then there's work."
There are no words to express how startled I am. She sounds exactly like me, six years ago. I frown and quickly change that expression to a smile. There used to be a time when having a sex buddy was too much commitment for her. And now this ...
"Okay, Britts. If you want to go home, we'll to home."
The sides of her mouth turn up and her lips puts a gentle, lovingly kiss against my cheek. Her love still warms me enough to make me blush ...
"Oh, come on, come on! We have to dance to this one!" I suddenly hear an annoying, overly enthusiastic voice interrupt.
It's Rachel, who starts pulling us towards the dance floor. I prick up my ears in an attempt to recognize what it is the deejay's playing. After a second, I start smiling. Ride wit me. Nelly.
I smirk secretively: I love that one. Reminds me of when we were so much younger.
We all gather on the dance floor, like we've done a million times ago. Rachel, Quinn, Jacob, Marley and the two of us. I look around and feel something warm boiling up inside of me. All I see is happiness flowing from our dance moves.
"Dibs on the hot blonde!" I announce.
Brittany dives in my arms and sways her hips to make us start dancing together. She puts her left hand on my ass to guide me through the moves. Naughty one.
Quinn and Rachel, still unexplainably closeted, have their hands entwined as they are chuckling to the beats of the music. And then there's Jacob and his wife, Marley. A weekend back in freaking Lima - and I couldn't be happier to see them. He has guided her to the middle of the room, where they occasionally look up to one of us, but in general, they only have eyes for each other.
In front of me, there's Brittany. She's grinding up against me. Her eyes are closed, making it possible for her to concentrate on the music that's blasting through the speakers. Her blond hairs are wet, from sweating. Little drops have taken over her forehead. It's epic how she just absorbs the music, how she lives for the movements and forgets about all the things that are happening around her. Her body reproduces the sound waves and transforms them into visual representations. I love to see her dance.
Rachel starts singing along to the lyrics and I can't stop myself from following her example. We start off with silly hand gestures to make us seem tough and professional rappers. We're not. We're anything but. We just laugh and stutter over the rapidity of the flow of words.
"If you wanna go and take a ride wit me
We three-wheelin in the fo' with the gold D's
Oh why do I live this way?
Hey, must be the money!"
Brittany pulls my shoulder back so she can meddle in. She holds one finger close to her ear to get a better pitch. Her dancing skills make Rachel and I look like fools with good intentions.
"If you wanna go and get high wit me
Smoke a L in the back of the Benz-y
Oh why must I feel this way?
Hey, must be the money!"
As I look around, I find Quinn putting her fists up in the air. She's looking like a boss, singing along and wiggling her upper body like she was born in the ghetto. My arm slides all the way over her shoulders. She throws me a look and softly kisses me on my cheek before she continues the gangster act.
"In the club on the late night, feelin right
Lookin tryin to spot somethin real nice
Lookin for a little shorty hot and horny so that I can take home
I can take home.
She can be 18 - 18 - wit an attitude
or 19 kinda snotty actin real rude
Boo, as long as you a thicky thicky thick girl you know that it's on
Know that it's on."
Brittany slides to the centre of our little group and makes an elegant pirouette. We all applaud like it's the first time we've ever seen her do it. Marley has dragged Jacob back to stand closer to us. She dances in his embrace and starts singing as well.
"I peep something comin towards me up the dance floor
Sexy and real slow - hey
Sayin she was peepin and I dig the last video
So when Nelly, can we go; how could I tell her no?
Her measurements were 36-25-34"
I shake my ass against Rachel's front, which makes her laugh hysterically. It occurs to the other people in the room that we've established an improvised singing choir. They start looking at us and find it amusing how we don't care at all.
"Yellin' I like the way you brush your hair
And I like those stylish clothes you wear"
Brittany has pulled me close and drops it low in front of me. I feel the fabric of her bodysuit against my skin and that just feels so right. My fingers find their way to the sides of her hips. This girl is amazing. And she's all mine. I can tell she enjoys this night out. Sometimes we deserve it - sometimes we need it. It's not just Cory. It's the company. It's the responsibility that both bring along. It gets hard at times, but now that I see her gorgeous face absorbing all this joy and music, nothing feels wrong.
"I like the way the light hit the ice and glare"
She slides all the way down, using my legs to prevent her from falling. I am more than happy to be her personal stripper pole.
"And I can see you moving way over there"
We all throw our hands up in the air and cheer loudly. Quinn, Brittany, Rachel, Jacob and Marley - they are all laughing so hard that it warms my heart. It's like slow motion when I study their heartwarming faces. That's when I stop singing. It's like the music fades out. My dancing stops as I try to remember this gathering. This is one of those moments, I suddenly realize. One of those precious realizations that this might never happen again.
Maybe it is like the old times. Maybe this is the way life's supposed to be. Maybe, this is what they call destiny. I look over to my wife. Maybe fate has laid a hand.
I'm standing right next to the dance floor when Quinn, slightly intoxicated, finds her way next to me. She's holding an empty glass, her fingers linger over the border of the bowl.
"What about you and the Hobbit?" I ask.
She frowns, clearly not up for this conversation. A friendly elbow push forces her to fess up.
"I don't know, Lopez."
She sighs and stares at her nervously moving right foot: "It's weird."
But that just makes me laugh out loud: "How can it still be weird after more than five fucking years?"
She shrugs, clearly thinking it through. I can tell she's troubled. I don't like her that way.
"You don't get it, Santana. I never thought that ..."
Her voice cracks and it scares the hell out of me. It's like saying it out loud scares her. Like it might change the world. It will.
Time to be a compassionate friend, I gather. God, how does Brittany do these things?
"Look, Fabray. I'm going to go easy on you with this one, for your own good. I rather not kick your ass in this very expensive dress and perfectly fitting shoes."
I have her attention. My soft approach seems to involve threatening.
"The Hobbit loves you. She adores you. And you're playing her - hard. You date these nerds right in front of her eyes. It's ridiculous. And if I were her ... I'd kick your skinny ass from here to Sunday."
My eyes are spitting fire. Guess I'm very protective when it comes to my friends. Even when it's the Hobbit. Only I am allowed to bitch on that little leprechaun. She lowers her eyes and nods.
"I'm working on it." she promises.
"Well, work harder." I push her.
I take the glass of wine from the counter and have a big draught. Brittany told me she wanted to go home. I guess it's about time. She's almost done dancing like a goddess. Allow me to watch as that happens.
"What now?" Quinn asks me.
I smack my lips as I swallow the last bit of wine.
"What do you mean?" I frown my eyebrows, still kind of agitated.
"What about the next chapter?" she continues.
I have no idea what it is she's talking about. Chapter what? But it hits me ultimately. Her eyes stare at the most gorgeous girl in this building. It's my wife. The light of my day. The purpose of my life. The mother of my child.
"There's no next chapter, Quinn. There's us, her and me. There's now ... And it's going to be that way until eternity ends."
She nods, with a soft, content smile and joyful eyes: "I like that thought."
Sure, it reminds her of something.
At that exact moment, the girl we're talking about has walked over to me. She ends up diving in my arms and I let her. She dives in to kiss me and I let her. She dives in to stay with me forever and I let her.
Quinn observes our behavior and after a couple of moments, there's light in her eyes that changes. Her head turns to the part of the room where Rachel's at. She's dancing solo and very calmly, yet at the same time, the Hobbit's looking better than I've ever noticed before. I guess Quinn realizes the same thing.
"Excuse me, ladies. I need to do something." she whispers to us.
It sounds anxious and like it's the most dreadful thing she'll ever do. Maybe it is. It was for me.
"What's wrong, babe?"
I experience the softness of Brittany's skin once more. Her face comes closer to mine and she puts her lips tenderly on mine.
I close my eyes to enjoy the moment a little longer and sigh all relieved.
"Nothing's wrong, Britt-Britt. Nothing's wrong as long as you're with me."
The freckles on her nose are warming my heart, while her deer blue eyes lure me into paradise.
I love this girl.
I'm in love with this girl.
And I'll always love her the most.
Can I just thank every follower for their support and critical comments, please? You've made writing this story such a joy, such a challenge, such an adventure. I feel loved, reading all your comments! I honestly do.
Journal of Unexpected Love ends here. I'm sorry to inform you, but it really, really does ... But hey, I'm already writing a next one and I really, really hope you'll all read it as well.
It's called 'Captured' and will be a Brittana story as well. I will post the first chapter soon ... soon-ish.
So once again, I love you all. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that this was an ending that really lives up to the expectations. And I hope you enjoyed reading my thousands and thousands of exhausting words!
Been a pleasure! And please let me know what you think about the ending ;)