Maribel tries, but cannot stop thinking about the Pierces. She eyes Whitney across the barn.
(A barn, for fuck’s sake, a dusty, hay-filled barn, smelling of mildew, animals, and their— she winces— feces. A barn. But if mija is happy, then a barn it is.)
Brittany is lovely, always has been, if odd, but she has always lit up the Lopez house, even when Santana was elsewhere. And these— these people— who obviously take the job of embarrassing their daughter very seriously— are part of her package. In several hours they will be, for better or worse, part of her family.
Maribel tries to imagine growing up in such a household.
She can’t tell whether Pierce is truly a fool or whether his affect is simply a method of teasing— or deflection. And good God, Whitney has no more filter than old school Camels— which, she must admit, were their own kind of lovely back in the day…
But Brittany combines the two of them with incomparable brains and unusual beauty. On top of which, she has been nothing but good for Santana. Brittany’s a keeper. And so, therefore, are her unconventional parents.
She observes the looks, the touches between them. She manages not to laugh out loud at their byplay. Then she notices what it is about them that rivets her gaze. The thing she wishes for most for her daughter. The thing that has been so elusive for her.
The Pierces are happy.