Archive of Our Own

It’s supposed to be the summer that Brittany and I reacquaint ourselves. After fake weddings and New York and Sam, this is our time to reconnect. It’s a good plan, an easy plan—I flew out of New York, left the apartment in the clutches of Rachel and Kurt and whatever boys they decide to bring home, and then Britt and I left on a road trip. We’re driving from Ohio to Cape Cod and then we won’t leave until we absolutely have to. It’s a straight shot, almost completely due east, and Brittany’s got an old school video camera because she says sometimes you learn a lot about people by watching them later. It’s slated to be the best summer of my life.

Except Brittany insists on taking the long way because she wants to eat a real cheesesteak, and our car breaks down in some little town right outside of Philly. The car’s a crappy Honda Civic and it hasn’t been driven in a year because I’ve been in New York and my parents don’t listen when I say they need to keep the engine fresh. 

Of course, I know fuck all about cars and Brittany knows even less, so we do the only thing we can: we kick the tires a couple times and go on a coffee hunt.

We walk for a while before Brittany spots the Rear Window Brew. I roll my eyes because there’s nothing worse than a pretentious coffee shop, and also because it’s a terrible name anyway. But it’s quiet and cool when we step inside and the barista, the one bending over to restock muffins and scones, has a really nice ass, so who am I to complain? I look at the menu while we wait for her to finish, ultimately deciding to get a Rice Krispie because Brittany is extra cute with sticky fingers and lips.

“Are you ready to order?” the barista asks.

I finally look at her and my eyes widen a little bit.

“Oh my god, San, there’s two of you,” Brittany blurts. “This is, like, my favorite dream ever.”

“There aren’t two of me, B,” I laugh (though I will admit the resemblance is strong). “This is…”

“Emily,” the other girl finishes. “I’m Emily.”

“See? Emily, not Santana.”

Brittany pouts, disappointed. “Darn.”

“Um, can I get you some coffee?” Emily asks.

“Actually, what I really need is a mechanic,” I answer. “Our car broke down a couple blocks back.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t really know any mechanics, but I know someone who might.”

“Okay.” Emily just looks at me. “Do you have a number I can call, or are you telepathic?”

“San, be nice,” Brittany chides.

“No, I can call her,” Emily blushes. She looks to either side of her then quickly pulls out her phone. I glance over the baked goods one more time, debating if I want a brownie. I could really go for the sweet but sometimes dark chocolate on a hot day doesn’t sit right. “Hey, Spence,” Emily mumbles, “are you and Toby…available? No, not like that—can you just come to The Brew? I need your help. Thanks.”

“Is that, like, a secret friend?” I scoff.

“What? No.” Emily shakes her head. “I’m just not really supposed to be on the phone while I’m working. And they’re—it’s complicated.”

“Okay. So we’re good?”

Emily nods. “My friend should be here soon. You guys can wait at a table if you want; the couches over there are pretty comfortable,” she says, pointing to one of the corners.

“Thanks,” Brittany says, smiling as she walks away. She grabs my fingers and tugs my hand with her. I let her straighten our arms before I give her hand a squeeze.

“Hold up, Britt. If we have to wait, do you want coffee?”

Brittany cocks her head, thinking, and I’m sure I’ve never seen a prettier neck. “Whatever you get, I’ll have.

“Okay.” I turn back to Emily. “Whatever is the biggest size vanilla latte you can legally give us, I want two of them. Iced.”

“Sure,” Emily nods slowly.

“And a Rice Krispie,” I add.

I pay for everything and take the Rice Krispie back to the couch where Brittany is sitting while Emily makes our coffee. “I hate this already,” I grumble.

“No, you don’t,” Brittany chuckles. “This is going to be a great vacation, okay?”

“Sure, Britt.”

“Are you gonna sit? This couch really is super comfy.”

“Okay.” I sit down—falling might actually be a better word for it—and put Brittany’s Rice Krispie on the table in front of us. If it was big enough, I’d stretch my feet out.

“San, you hate Rice Krispies,” Brittany says.

“Yeah, but you don’t. Have some sugar, sugar.” I flash her my cheesiest grin.

Brittany smiles back just as wide. “Thanks.”

“I still hate this, though.”

“You just need coffee.”

“Also that.”

/

The couch is actually pretty nice and the coffee is better, so I guess the day’s not a total bust. Brittany keeps dipping her finger in her coffee and drawing patterns on my palm, which is soothing but ends up stickier than I’d like. But I like being goofy with Brittany, so I’m not going to ask her to stop.

Emily keeps glancing between us and the door, like I’m going to explode at her if we don’t get our car fixed soon. I’m not—it’s actually nice to sit down and stretch my feet out and take a break from being so cramped—but I also wish she’d stop looking at me, so my only response falls just short of a smile.

(I catch her looking at me other times, smiling at how Brittany can’t stop touching me. I know that smile. Maybe she’s just making coffee, but the abundance of leather bracelets and her worn-out Chucks aren’t fooling anyone.

Emily’s okay, I guess.)

It takes another twenty minutes for Emily’s friend to show up, and I know who she is because she walks faster than Rachel and has crazier eyes than Quinn, and Emily looks both relieved and a little on edge. Emily explains the situation and points her friend in our direction. She looks over her shoulders and decides to join us anyway, pulling off her apron and stuffing it out of the way. Like that’s going to make her invisible to customers.

I think I might want another cup of coffee.

“Spencer, this is Brittany and Santana,” Emily introduces. “They’re the ones with the broken car.”

I give Spencer the once-over, noticing the khaki shorts and a top so stuffy my mom would call it a blouse. “You can fix cars?” I sneer.

Spencer crosses her arms and sits up straighter. “No, my boyfriend can.”

“Well, we’d really appreciate it,” Brittany chimes in. “It isn’t too far away from here and we’d really like to get on the road again.”

“I’ll give him a call,” Spencer says. She starts dialing a number and then turns to me again, squinting her eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Um, no.”

“Because I know everyone in Rosewood and I don’t know you.”

“That’s because we’re not from Rosewood, genius.”

“Oh my God,” Brittany blurts, “this is Rosewood?” She nudges me and drops her voice. “San, that’s where that girl was murdered.”

“What girl?”

Spencer immediately disconnects her phone. “You know Ali?”

“Who?”

“No, I saw it on the news,” Brittany explains.

“It went all over the country?” Emily asks in disbelief.

“Well, we only live in Ohio,” Brittany answers. She frowns. “I thought her name was Maya.”

Spencer slumps in her chair and throws Emily a guilty look.

Emily averts her eyes. “It was,” she mutters. “I mean, her name was Maya.” She grabs her apron and ties it on again, pulling the strings a little tighter than she needs to. “Spence, I’m gonna…”

“Yeah, go ahead, I’ve got this,” Spencer says, waving her hand in the direction of the register.

“Is she okay?” Brittany asks.

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “It’s just hard; Maya was her—”

“—Girlfriend,” I finish. “Listen, this is all terribly tragic and I’m really very sorry for her, but can you please call your mechanic boyfriend? We really just want to get our car fixed.”

Spencer smiles at me the same way Quinn smiled at the glee kids sophomore year. “Sure.” She narrows her eyes again as she waits for her boyfriend to pick up. “I know I know you.”

“Well, you just keep thinking about that,” I reply.

Brittany bonks her head into my shoulder. “How did you know Maya was Emily’s girlfriend?”

“What, are you telling me you didn’t? You get better vibes than I do.”

“No, I totally noticed,” Brittany smiles. “I just didn’t think you did.”

“If I wasn’t good at noticing things, I never would have found you.”

(It sounds cheesy, but it’s totally true. On our very first Cheerios trip, she got lost in the hotel right before we had to get back on the bus home. Sue was ready to leave her behind but I remembered that she told me once how much she liked to talk to old people because they have the best stories, and I found her chatting with some guy named Henry who was three whiskey sours into happy hour.

Two weeks later she kissed me.

I don’t hate Sue Sylvester as much as everyone thinks I do.)

Brittany smiles wider and kisses my cheek. “You’re such a dork, San.”

“Okay, I have good news and bad news,” Spencer says as she hangs up.

“No, come on, I just want to get out of here,” I groan.

“What’s the bad news?” Brittany asks.

“Toby won’t be able to fix your car until tomorrow,” Spencer says, wincing.

“And the good news?”

“I have a spare bedroom and I’m a pretty great cook.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s it? That’s your good news? That’s not good news. That’s just less-bad news.” I grab Brittany’s hand and get up. “C’mon, B. Why don’t we just find a nice hotel to crash at? This looks like a tourist trap; I’m sure there’s something gross and cutesy around here.”

“No!” Spencer gets up and steps in front of us. “Sorry. Um, what I mean is, you should definitely not stay somewhere else. You can only trust about five people in Rosewood.”

“And who are they?” I scoff.

“My friends and Toby,” Spencer answers. She tips her head up, calculating. “Oh, and me. You can trust me.”

“If you know everyone in this town, why don’t you trust them?”

“Because I know everyone in this town,” she says, like that explains anything at all.

“Britt, this place is weird,” I whine.

“Yeah, but think of all the stories we’ll have when we get home,” she says, smiling. If anyone can find the good in this crapheap of a situation, it’s Brittany. Probably why I love her so much.

She turns back to Spencer and grabs my hand, pulling me with her as they walk toward the door. “Can you make stir-fry?” she asks.

Spencer just nods and smiles.

We’re never going to get out of here.

/

We don’t even end up eating stir-fry. Britt and I drop our stuff off at Spencer’s house, which is totally empty and really creepy because apparently she doesn’t have any parents. Still, it’s a pretty nice house so I can’t complain. Spencer spends at least an hour trying to figure out where she knows me from.

“Field hockey?”

(No.)

“Horse camp?”

(Like I would ever go to horse camp.)

“Academic decathlon?”

(That’s Britt, not me.)

She doesn’t shut up until I mention that I’m older than her and could have finished my first year of college if I’d stayed, so she definitely hasn’t seen me at anything recently. Still, she won’t stop looking at me as we walk to meet Emily and one of their other friends for dinner.

“Are you this charming with everyone you meet?” I ask.

“No, I’m just used to getting answers,” she responds.

“Did it ever cross your mind that you just don’t like the answers I’m giving?”

Spencer shakes her head. “No, I’m just not asking the right questions.”

Brittany giggles as we walk into The Grill, a restaurant one step up from a bistro with lots of ambiguously student-looking people. I swear everyone in this town looks like they’re perpetually stuck in their mid-twenties.

Emily is sitting at a table near the back with another girl. I take in the impossibly blond hair and brightly colored tanktop, and I have to smile.

I lean in close to Brittany so Spencer can’t hear me. “Look Britt, there’s two of you,” I echo. “This is my favorite dream.”

“San, stop,” Brittany laughs.

“Hey, guys,” Emily says as we sit down.

“Hi,” Spencer replies. She turns her attention to the blond girl. “How’s day two of your Caleb-less summer, Hanna?”

“California is stupid,” Hanna grumbles. “Who are your friends?”

“Brittany and Santana,” Spencer answers. “They’re hanging here until Toby can fix their car tomorrow. They’re from Ohio.”

Hanna gives us the side-eye and furrows her brows. “Did they know Ali?”

“Why does everyone ask us that?” I blurt.

“They didn’t,” Spencer says.

“I’m just saying,” Hanna continues, “people come in from weird places all the time and say they’re Ali’s best friend that we didn’t know about and then they try to kill us.”

“I can think of a couple of reasons I’d want to kill you,” I mutter, “but they don’t have anything to do with your dead friend.”

“Sorry, Hanna’s just kind of grumpy because her boyfriend’s gone the whole summer,” Emily apologizes.

“It’s cool,” Brittany says, always the first to accept an apology. “I like your shirt,” she tells Hanna. “You look good in polka dots.”

Hanna’s face immediately brightens. “Thanks!” she grins.

Dinner is just as weird from there on.

Brittany fits right into their conversation because Brittany could fit in anywhere and I feel myself start to relax as well. These girls seem nice, even if they do give off an oddly codependent vibe. But Hanna is funny and Spencer is neurotic and it feels so familiar that I can’t help smiling.

Brittany is recounting that first mash-up where we all got high on pseudoephedrine when I feel someone watching me. My eyes flit to a table by the door, where a girl is sitting and totally checking me out. She has pretty brown hair and even prettier green eyes, but everything about her face screams ‘crazy’.

I wait for a lull in the conversation and point her out.

“Who’s that?” I ask, tipping my head in her direction.

Everyone turns to look and everyone (minus Brittany) groans.

“Jenna Marshall,” Emily finally mumbles.

“She looks mean,” Brittany says.

“She looks gay,” I add.

Spencer, Emily, and Hanna answer in unison. “She is.”

“Which?”

“Both,” Emily says.

“Seriously,” I deadpan. “I was half-joking; how gay is this town?”

Hanna nudges Emily and grins. “Yeah, Em, how gay is Rosewood?”

Emily blushes and ducks her head. “Hanna, stop.”

Hanna turns back to Brittany and me, still smiling. “It’s really gay,” she whispers.

“I don’t think she’s gay,” Brittany says.

“What? Britt, she totally is. She was just giving me some serious bedroom eyes.”

“Well, who wouldn’t? You’re hot.”

“Okay,” I nod. “So, like I said—gay.”

Brittany cocks her head, her lips dipping into a slight pout, the way she does when she’s about to figure out something important about a person. “No, I think she’s like me.”

I scoff. “No way; that girl makes my bitch face look angelic.”

“Okay,” Brittany shrugs. “So she’s like me only evil.”

Nobody really knows what to say after that, so we just laugh.

“CONGRESS!” Spencer shouts.

“Um, what?”  Hanna asks.

But Spencer turns to me when she speaks again. “That guy had you in his ad for Congress. You’re the gay cheerleader.”

“Spence!” Emily warns.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles. “I just really like figuring stuff out.”

My hand is clammy when Brittany reaches for it. “How do you know about that?” I ask.

“I saw it on YouTube,” Spencer admits sheepishly.

“What?”

“Spencer spends a lot of time on the internet researching,” Hanna explains.

“What? No.” I shake my head. “No, I mean—it was on YouTube?”

Brittany is the one to answer. Quietly, like she does when she’s ashamed or when she’s about to say something I won’t like. “It, well, it kind of went viral. I saw it when I was working on Fondue for Two. Artie helped me get it taken down but it took a couple of days.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. That ad is going to haunt me forever.

“I’m sorry, San.”

I wave it off. “It isn’t your fault, Britt. I should be thanking you for looking out for me.” I smile so she knows I mean it.

Brittany smiles, too. “Always.”

“Besides, at least they didn’t recognize us because of Two Girls, One Cat.”

Hanna wrinkles her nose. “What’s that?”

“You don’t really want to know,” I chuckle.

Brittany nudges me and wiggles her eyebrows. “Emily might,” she laughs, and suddenly everything is okay again.

Brittany has a way of making everything okay again.

/

She doesn’t bring it up until we’re settled in Spencer’s guest room. It’s kind of weird, being in a house that’s this quiet and this big and this dark at night, but it’s calming, too. I appreciate Brittany more in the stillness, when we have all the time in the world.

“Are you okay?” she asks when we slide into bed.

“Better now that we’re alone,” I respond.

Brittany smiles. “Seriously, San.”

“Seriously, Britt,” I echo. “I’m good.” I shrug when she doesn’t say anything. “It happened, it sucks, and it might keep coming back. But I can’t do anything about it now.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ve got you to make everything better, so I’m more than okay.”

Brittany laughs and scoots closer to me. “Any more embarrassing videos I need to erase from the internet?”

“Are you asking me if I did anything naughty while you were still at McKinley?” I tease.

“Did you?” Brittany asks, looking anywhere but at me.

“Maybe,” I shrug. “But do we really need to talk about it? It’s over. That’s why we’re going to Cape Cod, right?” I tap her nose and watch as the corners of her lips turn upwards because this never fails to get a smile.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I just…”

“I know, Britt,” I interrupt. “You had Sam, remember? I know how you feel.”

“Yeah.” She wraps her arms around my back and slides her hands under my shirt. Her fingers are soothing and safe and warm. I’d travel all over the world just so I could come back to these fingers. “I love you,” she breathes.

I melt a little inside and tuck a strand of hair behind Brittany’s ear.

“I know, B. I love you, too. And once we get to Cape Cod, I’ll spend the rest of the summer showing you just how much.”

/

Spencer wakes us up the next morning at nine with the smell of bacon and pancakes. Her boyfriend Toby shows up a little more than an hour later and Brittany can’t stop looking at him.

“Do you have relatives in Ohio?” she finally asks.

“Um, I don’t think so,” he replies. “Why?”

“You kind of look like one of my old teachers,” Brittany says, taking a big gulp of some orange juice.

“Okay.” Toby gives Brittany another weird look and then goes back to talking to Spencer.

“His chin, San,” Brittany whispers as she leans closer to me.

“I know, babe. I told you this town was weird; didn’t I tell you this town was weird?”

She just laughs and goes back to her breakfast.

/

Toby has our car fixed by noon and Brittany stops hugging him at 12:15. It’s sunny and warm with a nice breeze, a perfect day for driving, and I can’t wait to go.

We leave with a wave to Spencer and Toby, a couple bags of chips from Spencer’s pantry, and everyone’s numbers in Brittany’s phone. Just in case they ever pop by Ohio on a trip or something—those girls all look like they need a vacation.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Brittany says once we’re clear of Rosewood.

“No, I guess not,” I concede.

Lady Gaga plays on the radio and the birds chirp as I hang my hand out the window.

“We don’t need to go through there on the way back, though.”

“Hell no we don’t.”