Cemetery Song for Spring - Part 3 of 4

[kappamaki33]

Return to Part 2

For once, Carole beats Kurt home. She’s been waiting for this opportunity all week, so she tosses her keys onto the kitchen counter and makes a beeline for the basement.

It doesn’t take her long to find the two big garment bags of Kurt’s mom’s clothes. She knows Kurt must want them, but she doubts he wants to have a conversation about them. Especially now. Especially with her. And that’s okay. She and Kurt have always been good at straddling that line between friend-friend and parent-child that step-parents and kids who enter each other’s orbits later in life have to find. They’re good at talking about things-there were even a few things Kurt could talk with her about easier than he could with Burt. (Clothes. Boys. And one time, in a blush-inducing combination, how to wash semen stains out of the collar of his favorite silk shirt.)

As she makes her way up the stairs, Carole mentally congratulates herself on her plan. She’ll leave the bags in Kurt’s closet, where he’ll be sure to see them. He’ll know she put them there, and that she did it so they could avoid awkwardness.

Her plans crumble when she makes it up the stairs, rounds the corner into the living room, and nearly trips over Kurt’s legs, since he’s sitting on the couch.

“Sorry,” he says, scooting back on the couch and curling one leg under himself. He looks pale and uncomfortable, and for some reason she gets the impression he’s waiting for someone.

“Did you finish with the bookkeeping?” she asks in a deliberately light tone.

She has a feeling that’s not what’s going on. For one thing, though the walls are thick enough that she can’t hear them having sex, thank goodness, she’d heard enough of last night’s argument in Kurt’s room from hers. But more importantly, she knows her men. Chris, Finn, Burt, Kurt, and now even Blaine-none of them liked thinking she could read him before he even opened his mouth. Getting males to talk about feelings was like hunting, or fishing, or blocking without fouling in basketball: you could bait them, but ultimately you had to let them come to you.

“No,” Kurt says, not really looking at her. “I’ll have to come back for a day after the party to finish up. What’s that?”

Damn. “I thought you might want some of these.”

She hands the clear garment bags to Kurt, and he accepts them reverently. His eyes are watering. “What happened to her dresser?”

She remembers Finn and Chris’s recliner, and she can’t bring herself to say we threw it away. “Remember we had a little flooding in the basement a few years ago?” She’d called it right-he looks stricken. She reassures the best she can. “All her clothes were in the higher drawers, so they were fine.”

Kurt traces his fingers along a hem through the bag. “I suppose the smell of perfume doesn’t last that long, anyway.” He stares at the clothes in his lap for a long beat, then lifts them up. “I don’t want them.”

“You don’t?”

Kurt shakes his head and bites his lip, and Carole suspects that maybe this oddness today isn’t about the fight with Blaine after all.

Carole sits down beside him on the couch. “That’s perfectly fine. I just know how much you love clothes. I thought maybe you’d want to redesign a few of them into something you would wear. She obviously had great taste.”

She expects Kurt to say something along the lines of, I had to get my fashion sense from somewhere, and it certainly wasn’t from Dad, but he doesn’t. “I don’t let myself get attached to clothes anymore.”

That lie is so transparent, Carole doesn't know why Kurt even bothered telling it.

Carole considers her options. Her gut is telling her what’s going on here, but Kurt isn’t taking any of her bait. Even though it goes against everything she’s learned in the past thirty years, she goes on the offensive.

“Kurt, I don’t want to overstep…but I’m going to overstep here,” she says. Kurt looks up at her with clear but questioning eyes. “Are you doing okay?”

“Of course,” Kurt croaks, though his expression is screaming no.

“You can be honest with me,” Carole says. “I know I’m not okay. Not really. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I start talking to him and get through half a conversation before I realize.… And even after all these years, I still miss Chris. It’s okay to not be perfectly okay. Am I making any sense?”

Kurt nods and looks away. He wipes his eyes with his shirtsleeve, and Carole knows enough about Kurt and clothes to know that’s not a good sign. “Coming back here is hard. It’s not like I ever fit in here, but now…” He finishes with a shake of his head and a shrug.

“You know,” Carole starts. She’s taking a risk that she’s wrong and will scare Kurt away, but it’s worth it. “After Chris died, one of the hardest things was taking Finn to see his grandparents.” She knows she’s hit the right nerve when Kurt relaxes into the back of the couch. “Chris and Finn were basically all we had in common. It was hard, but Finn needed family, and frankly, I did, too.” She pauses, then takes the leap. “I know you’ve had a hard time coming back here, especially being around Finn and me since Burt died.”

Kurt makes a sound that could turn into a protest, but he gives up when he realizes Carole isn’t accusing him.

Carole continues, “We miss you, Kurt. But I get it, I think.”

“You do,” Kurt agrees quietly. He takes a deep breath and clutches the garment bags. “I think I’d like to take a better look at these in my room, if that’s all right.”

“Of course it’s all right, honey.”

Kurt pushes himself up from the couch. He turns when he gets to the door. “I’ve been stalling at the garage,” he confesses. Carole’s not really sure why he’s telling her this, but she falls back on her old strategy of letting them come to her. “I could’ve finished yesterday. It’s just so hard to let go.” He shakes his head. “And it’s so hard to hang on, too.”

Carole rarely swears, especially not in front of her kids. “Life’s a bitch sometimes, isn’t it?”

Kurt looks a little shocked at her language, but it manages to coax a surprised laugh out of him, too. “No argument here. Thank you, Carole. I…thanks.”

Carole stays out of Kurt’s way for the rest of the afternoon. Later, she finds the garment bags on her bed, lighter now that several pieces are gone, no doubt tucked safely in Kurt’s suitcase.

~*~*~

Kurt knows everyone is uneasy about their big family dinner falling on a Friday, even though Friday Night Dinners ended long before his dad died. At first, no one has the courage to take Dad’s old seat. The vacant space hurts more, though, so Kurt takes it when he, Finn, and Blaine come in with the food. Blaine sits on Kurt’s right, with Finn’s girlfriend Evie on his other side. Finn sits between Evie and Carole. The table should seem crowded, Kurt thinks, but it still feels empty.

Either Blaine doesn’t notice the awkwardness, or he’s trying to smooth it over for everyone else. Kurt guesses it’s the latter. He’s turned up his charm dial to max and zeroed in on Evie. In return, Evie is hitting the perfect balance between finding him delightful and sweetly ridiculous. It’s fun to watch.

This is the second time Blaine has met Evie, and since the first time was the funeral, that one hardly counts. Kurt knows Evie quite well by now and likes her immensely. She has all the kindness and patience you’d expect from an elementary school teacher, but also a sly blink-and-you-miss-it sarcasm and an eye for fabulous shoes and bags that you definitely wouldn’t. She is tall and built sturdily enough that Kurt doesn’t think her someday bearing Finn’s abnormally large babies will be a form of cruel and unusual punishment-something Kurt had actually worried about when Finn had dated tiny, bird-boned girls like Quinn and Rachel. Yes, there is a chance that, should Evie and Finn procreate, their children might come out looking like Carrot Top, but on the other hand, they could get a Nicole Kidman. That’s the risk two people with unique genes take when they decide to mix them together, Kurt thinks to himself.

Kurt knows he’s not going to care if his future child has his genes, or Blaine’s, for that matter. As for his traits, though Kurt accepts that he’s grown into his looks, he’d still feel guilty saddling another human being with a complexion so fair he gets sunburned from thinking about going outside. But…but if it were as simple for him as it probably would be for Finn and Evie, as it was for his own parents, would he play the game of genetic Russian Roulette and just see how it goes? Probably. It’s just a weird thing to think about, after knowing most of his life that for him, the process of having a biological child would likely involve scrutinizing an egg donor catalog.

Kurt shakes his head. Why does he have babies on the brain lately? It’s not as if he has a biological clock. He decides it’s easiest to blame it on the dinner with Quinn and leave it at that.

“Your mother sounds like quite the character,” Evie says to Blaine at the end of the story of one of Mrs. Anderson’s epic showdowns with Principal Figgins. Kurt nods emphatically out of Blaine’s range of vision, making Evie giggle.

“Dude, you totally should’ve invited your mom up here tonight,” Finn says to Blaine. He actually swallows his bite of casserole before speaking. Evie is doing wonders with him. “I haven’t seen her in forever. Since graduation, maybe?”

Blaine answers, “She would’ve loved to, but she’s swamped with party preparations at the moment.” Blaine flicks a glance over at Kurt. Kurt does his best not to let the churning in his gut at the word ‘party’ show on his face.

“We’re really excited for the party,” Finn says. “It looks like almost everybody from glee club is coming.”

“Really?” Kurt says.

Finn looks at him oddly. “Yeah, of course. Haven’t you seen everybody’s Walls on Facebook? Oh wait, that’s right, you haven’t done Facebook since, like, junior year of college. Why is that?”

Why don’t we just talk about my dad, if you really want an awkward conversation topic that badly? Kurt realizes that, considering this is Finn, that’s not outside the realm of possibility.

“Well, Finn, your accounts of participating in various beer pong tournaments were so gripping and captivating, I knew nothing I could write on my Facebook page could ever measure up. So, rather than be judged against the glamorous and exciting college life of my stepbrother, double-majoring in secondary ed. and mixology, I quietly bowed out,” Kurt says without missing a beat.

Evie snorts, Carole hides her smile behind her napkin, and Blaine gives him a look as if to say, ‘That’s hardly playing fair with your brother.’ Finn, of course, completely misses the joke. And what Kurt’s said is not even completely untrue. All in all, the perfect set-up for de-railing the present conversation. “So how are things in the Crestline Community School District?”

Finn and Evie both sit up straighter and grin. There’s something infectious about how much they love their jobs.

“The boys track team sucks-sorry, honey,” Evie says, and Finn shrugs deferentially, “but my girls are kicking ass and taking names.”

“Hey, Steve Mahrer got second throwing discus at the last meet. That’s better than I ever did,” Finn defends, though his tone is light and happy. He turns to Carole. “I know I moaned and groaned at the time, but now I’m really glad that Coach Beiste made all us football guys go out for track, too. At least I half-way know what I’m doing when I’m coaching.”

“And your second-graders?” Carole asks Evie.

“Cute as ever. Next week, we’re doing a play of ‘The Stinky Cheese-Man.’”

Finn’s eyes go wide. “I loved that book! Why didn’t you tell me? Can I come?”

Evie laughs and shakes her head, and she tousles Finn’s hair affectionately. “If it works with your schedule. Oh, hey, you were going to ask Kurt for help with that…thing with your phys. ed. program.”

Kurt’s eyebrows go up at the words “phys. ed.,” “help,” and his name all being in the same sentence.

“Oh yeah!” If Kurt had thought they’d looked enthusiastic before, Finn’s and Evie’s expressions light up like Dad’s old, over-the-top Christmas lights display now. Finn leans his elbows on the table, but nobody has the heart to correct his manners. He says, “So starting this semester, I’ve completely changed up the high school phys. ed. curriculum. Before, everybody had to have six semesters of phys. ed. to graduate, and I ran the same old curriculum every period. The kids were getting bored, and man, I was getting so bored. I never thought I could get bored of whiffle ball. Then I had this idea.”

“It’s such a cool idea,” Evie chimes in, looking so proud.

Finn puffs up a little at Evie’s encouragement. “I realized, phys. ed. is really like torture for a lot of kids.” Kurt, Blaine, and Carole all nod at that. “But unlike algebra, it doesn’t have to be awful. Instead of teaching the same class six times a day, I thought, why can’t I teach six different kinds of phys. ed. a day?

“Kids don’t hate phys. ed. because they hate to move. They hate it because it’s built for kids who’re like how me or Puck were in high school. And I know that we kind of made the class crappy and embarrassing for everybody who wasn’t like us.”

Kurt has a brief flashback to a particularly traumatic game of dodgeball where Azimio had decided it would be fun to take groin shots at all the “Nude Erections Fairies.”

Finn is still talking. “I figured if I offered enough really, really different types of classes, kids would kind of self-select into groups they’d be comfortable with-you know, the Azimios and Karofskys wouldn’t be caught dead in a yoga class, so kids who wanted to do yoga-or even just wanted to get away from the Azimios and Karofskys-wouldn’t have anyone around to embarrass them, that kind of thing.

“So when I was putting my plan for each class together to show to the principal, I tried to think, ‘What’s a class that Tina would’ve liked? What about Rachel? Brittany? Kurt?’ Now, I’ve got one session of the traditional contact team sports-type stuff, which is pretty much a bunch of guys and a handful of really tough girls who like kicking the crap out of each other. But I’ve also got a lifetime leisure class with things like golf and archery and tennis, and a distance running class, and a strength and flexibility class with weights and yoga-yeah, go ahead and laugh, Kurt, but I’m doing yoga.”

Kurt puts his hands up in surrender, but he can’t stop giggling. Blaine pats him on the back as if he’s choking, for some unknown reason. That only makes the giggles worse. Kurt finally says, “Do you want my help with yoga? I can try, but I haven’t done it in years.”

Finn makes a weird face. “No. I’m actually doing okay with that class. What I need help with is my early bird class. The most popular one I teach.” He pauses as if to gather himself. “Cardio dance.”

Both Kurt and Carole burst out full-on laughing. Kurt is certain the only reason Blaine doesn’t, too, is because he has better control over his emotions in social situations, not because he finds the mental picture any less hilarious.

“Hey!” Finn says, and this time, he actually looks offended.

“Sorry,” Kurt coughs. He does his best to calm himself. Really, it is sweet. Kurt loves that Finn is being so thoughtful about trying to make high school less horrible for kids like him and his friends. It’s like Finn has truly become the man Kurt had had a crush on sophomore year, except straight. Kurt promises himself he’ll tell Finn this sometime.

Finn proves how serious he is about this by pressing on despite the intermittent chuckles that still escape both Kurt and Carole. “I’m running out of Zumba routines I can handle teaching. I’ve started dipping into some old New Directions routines, but I don’t remember them very well. I figured you-”

“Oh my god. You’re doing ‘Single Ladies,’ aren’t you?” Kurt blurts. Finn blushes, and he has his answer. He knows exactly what to do. He puts his napkin on his plate and pushes back from the table in one fluid motion. “Blaine, get my iPod.”

“‘Single Ladies?’ What…?” Evie asks, a wry smile already developing as she sees Carole and Blaine smirk.

“Finn hasn’t told you about the McKinley football team’s single triumph our sophomore year?” Kurt says. Blaine is already across the room and at the hall closet, digging frantically in Kurt’s jacket pockets. Kurt has pulled a suddenly reluctant Finn out of his chair and into the living room by the time Blaine has found the iPod and hooked it up to Carole’s sound system.

“Kurt, we really don’t need to do this now. Can’t we at least wait until after dessert?” Finn protests weakly, but with Evie and Carole already there, looking on with interest, he knows he’s lost.

Then the music starts, and Kurt cuts Finn off with a motion that turns into a dance move. Even Kurt is stunned at how fast the routine returns to him. It’s like riding a bike-a very hip-swively, silly-sexy bike. Evie appears genuinely impressed; Carole and Blaine are leaning on each other and not hiding their giggling well. By the time he’s pointing to his ring, he’s yelling, “Come on, Finn. I know you remember it.”

Evie’s jaw drops. As soon as she recovers, she’s goading Finn on and shoving him to the front of the living room beside Kurt. Finn hasn’t grown any more graceful over the years, but after a few bars of bouncing to the beat, he catches up on a comb-the-hair, slap-the-butt.

Though she’s doubling over with laughter at least once every thirty seconds, Evie joins in the second time through point-to-the-ring, thus cementing Kurt’s fondness for her. Blaine takes only a little more coaxing, and once Kurt has him going, his expressions to go along with the lip syncing are the most enthusiastic and ridiculous of the bunch. Eventually, they hit a point where Finn has no clue what the steps are. Kurt quickly gives up correcting him in favor of taking Blaine’s hand and folding into an awkward, wonderful cheek-to-cheek couple dance.

Kurt can’t help but remember the night “Single Ladies” rang out over the football field, only to be drowned out by the roar of the crowd at Kurt’s game-winning kick. Even with all the noise, Kurt could still hear “That’s my son!” over it all, clear as day.

Kurt feels as if his dad is standing behind him, just outside of his field of vision. He hasn’t changed his views on the afterlife-it’s only a feeling inside him, not any sort of supernatural event-but for once, it’s a good feeling.

~*~*~

Finn and Evie have gone home, and Blaine is upstairs on the phone with his mom, leaving Kurt and Carole alone in the kitchen. Kurt doesn’t even ask if she needs help with the dishes; he just comes up beside her at the sink, picks up a dishtowel, and sets to work drying. They fall into a rhythm, which somehow makes asking the question easier.

“Carole,” Kurt says, then hesitates.

“Yeah?” Carole says without looking up.

“Did you ever see anyone, after…like a counselor or a therapist?”

Carole stops scrubbing the pan in her hands. She says evenly, “I didn’t after Chris, because we couldn’t afford it. I did after Burt. I think it helped.”

“Oh.”

She looks up at him. “There’s no shame in getting a little help.”

Kurt can’t hold her gaze. He’s glad he’s got drying coffee mugs to focus on. “I know.”

Carole starts washing again, and they fall back into silence. As she’s draining the sink, Kurt finally says, “I think I’m going to find one. Not until we settle down somewhere-no use in finding someone and then having to start the search all over again when we move. But I think I will.”

“I think that sounds like a good plan,” Carole says. He really feels she’s being honest, and he’s very grateful she’s not pushing.

“Don’t tell Blaine, though. I’ll tell him once I make the appointment, but if I do it now, he’ll just worry and feel guilty about not having a job. Because somehow, in his mind, every problem comes back to him not having a job. Maybe-maybe you could call me once we’ve moved, remind me about it.” Hold me accountable. “If it’s a hassle or you forget, don’t worry-”

“I’d be happy to do that, Kurt,” she says, no drama, no fuss.

“Thanks.”

She stares at him searchingly for a moment, then apparently decides against a hug and gives his arm a friendly squeeze instead. She’s good at reading him, Kurt realizes. He likes to think he’s good at hiding his emotions if he needs to, but for once, he’s glad he’s not fooling anyone.

~*~*~

They’re packing in Kurt’s room. Since they have to come back to Lima after the party for Kurt to finish at the shop, they’re only taking a couple days’ worth of clothes. Blaine isn’t quite sure how he feels about this.

On the one hand, it’s nice to have a few more days planned out ahead of them. Until today, he’s been able to ignore the fact that he and Kurt are technically homeless. But now, three or four days away from having no reason to be anywhere and with no word from either university, Blaine feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.

On the other hand, Blaine really wants to get Kurt out of Ohio soon, for both their sakes. It sounds silly, that crossing state lines would make such a huge difference, but it has. In Philadelphia, Kurt had been mostly happy, with flashes of pain and grief that Blaine had done his best to comfort him through. Here, it’s as if the ratio of happiness to pain has been reversed. It’s exhausting Blaine. He can’t imagine how hard it is on Kurt.

Kurt picks through his stack of neatly-folded sweaters and pulls out another for his “overnight” bag, which is as big as Blaine’s regular suitcase.

“I don’t recognize that one,” Blaine says. “Is it new?”

Kurt freezes, staring at the garment in his hands. “New to me. It’s my mother’s.”

Blaine reaches out. “Oh, Kurt-”

Kurt puts on a manic smile and babbles, “I won’t have to do anything to it to make it into menswear. The main problem with wearing women’s knits is that breasts stretch them out. Luckily, Mom was flat-chested. I may alter it to make the neckline asymmetrical, though, just to spice it up a bit. I’m not sure about fraying-”

“Kurt,” Blaine repeats plaintively, and he can tell Kurt hears the unspoken please, talk to me.

“What?” Kurt says. They stare at each other, and though neither of them acknowledges it out loud, it’s a stand-off.

Blaine is too afraid of losing what little peace and certainty they have at this point to push. “It’s beautiful.”

A little tension leaves Kurt’s expression, but not enough. “Maybe I won’t risk changing the neckline. It’d be a shame to ruin it.”

Kurt turns back to his bag, and Blaine wonders for the thousandth time what he’s doing wrong.

~*~*~

They’re back in Westerville at Mrs. Anderson’s house the night before the party. Kurt asks Blaine to turn the light off. He untangles himself from the sheets and Kurt just enough to reach the lamp on the bedside table. Kurt tries to form the words in the dark. Even then, he only manages to get them out when he murmurs into Blaine’s shoulder.

“What?” Blaine asks, voice already sleep-heavy.

“You’re not allowed to die first,” Kurt repeats.

“What?” Blaine says in a completely different way, shifting down so he’s eye-level with Kurt. Kurt can see the outline of his hair and a glimmer in his eyes reflected from the street light shining in through the blinds.

Oh god, here come the tears. At least they’re not the sobbing kind, so the darkness hides them well.

“I can’t go through this again. It just…it hurts so much, and for so long. And I’m so scared of…”

He can’t finish the sentence, but somehow, Blaine hears everything he doesn’t say. He cups Kurt’s face, thumb gliding through the tears on his cheek-so much for hiding them. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

He shakes his head and presses his cheek into Blaine’s palm in the process. “Most of it is that I really, really miss my dad. But I keep…remembering how he was when my mom died. I don’t know if I ever even thought about it that way before, because I was so caught up in how much I missed her…. I don’t know.” He sniffs, and Blaine half-crawls over him to get him a kleenex from the bedside table. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all.” Blaine cups his face. “The thought of you…I don’t even have your frame of reference, and it still scares me. But Kurt, you were so right about not arranging our lives based on fear.”

Kurt feels something break free inside. Blaine is right, but that part is almost irrelevant-Kurt had never seriously considered letting this ache change his life. It’s the part about Blaine being afraid, too, that helps so much more than Blaine can know. It feels good to not be alone.

There’s no holding back sobs now. “I still miss him so much.”

Blaine wraps him in his arms, kisses his hair, and mumbles what might as well be nonsense for as much as Kurt processes it. At some point, he thinks he hears Blaine say, “I wish I could do more for you,” but this is enough.

~*~*~

Blaine hands Kurt a mug of coffee when he shuffles into the kitchen that morning. Not surprisingly, he looks very tired. Blaine wants to ask if he’s okay once more, but there’s a lightness and relief hanging about Kurt that Blaine’s instincts tell him not to disturb.

Kurt takes a sip before he says, “How did you ever manage to sneak coffee into the house past your mom?”

“You know those little coffee packets they give you in hotels? Turns out they’re not as bad as you’d think. It helps that she’s distracted today. Carole got here early, and they seem to be keeping each other busy.” He gestures with his cup at the view out the French doors, where his mother and Carole are already at work.

Kurt’s jaw drops. “Is that a chuppah?” he asks.

“That was my first guess.”

By all rights, the two of them assembling the four poles, lintels, and canopy should be worthy of the Three Stooges, since Carole’s not exactly tall and his mom needs a footstool to get at even some of the lower shelves in the kitchen cabinets. And yet, it’s…not. Carole appears extremely adept at handling power tools, and his mom is binding long-stemmed flowers, vines, and reeds to the uprights with an efficiency and ferocity that sets even Blaine aback.

“I thought your family was Catholic,” Kurt murmurs, transfixed by the sight.

“Me, too. I kind of figured if you were Jewish, you would’ve mentioned that to me at some point.”

“And if not, Rachel most certainly would have,” Kurt says. “This is not boding well for a simple, non-ceremonial fete, Blaine.”

“She promised no religion or ceremony,” Blaine says. “My mom may have really wanted a wedding, but she’s a woman of her word.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Kurt says. Blaine leans against Kurt's shoulder as they contemplate the scene outside. Eventually, Kurt adds, “It is pretty.” Another long silence. “It must be for the doves.”

“Huh?” Blaine lifts his head.

Kurt doesn’t bother answering. He just sits down at the table, sips his contraband coffee, and watches the show.

~*~*~

His mom sends Blaine out to direct traffic when the table-and-chair rental company arrives. The workers are so efficient that there’s really not much to oversee once he gives them a general idea of where the buffet table goes versus the tables for seating. He does his duty as assigned, though, so it’s quite a while before he goes back in the house.

When he walks into the kitchen, he discovers a lot has happened in his absence.

About a dozen women are bustling about, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and unwrapping tinfoil and cellophane from pre-cooked dishes. Around three-fourths of the women are Asian. The food is much more of an eclectic mix. At the center of it all, Kurt is peeling carrots and holding court.

The two women standing on either side of Kurt ‘aww’ at something. Kurt blushes. “If you can believe it, it took a long time after ‘Teenage Dream’ before we actually dated. But he was so sweet.” Kurt is looking at him as he says the last part, and Blaine feels a little embarrassed but mostly warm and in love.

“There he is!” the woman arranging brownies on a platter says when she sees Blaine. The rest of the room’s attention turns to him as well. She scurries over to give Blaine a hug, awkwardly holding her one frosting-smeared hand out to keep from getting Blaine dirty. “You’ve grown up so much! I shouldn’t be surprised, I know. It’s been, what, fifteen years, maybe more?”

He stares at her for a long moment before the memory clicks. “Mrs. Luzon, it’s so good to see you.”

Once Mrs. Luzon breaks ranks, a line forms to hug Blaine. (He can see Kurt chuckling to himself over the carrots.) He connects more faces with names, sort of: Elizabeth Hao’s mom, Hunter Tan’s mom, Maria Santos’s mom…a sizeable percentage of the mothers of his First Communion class.

“Blaine, there you are. The tables are all set up?” his mom asks. She didn’t intend to sneak up on him, but Blaine flinches anyway.

“Yes. Uh…” He tries to subtly indicate his confusion over the influx of not-quite-strangers in the kitchen. His mom catches it.

“I told you I had a Plan B after the caterer didn’t work out,” she says. “You remember the Rebecca Circle from St. Francis?”

“We were an Elizabeth Circle first,” the woman on Kurt’s right explains to Kurt, though Blaine is even more appreciative to her for it. “All of us had little children about the same age, so we met up and did mom-things at the church once a month. Then our babies grew up, but we still liked meeting, so we stole an idea from the Methodists and turned into a Rebecca Circle.”

“That means we make food for funeral receptions,” the woman on Kurt’s other side says. She elbows him playfully. “This is a lot more fun than usual.”

Blaine still feels slightly overwhelmed, so he’s grateful when his mom takes his elbow and leads him out of the room. “I have errands for you to run,” she says loudly, then adds at a whisper, “I probably should have asked your cousins to do this, but the Rebecca Circle are better cooks.”

“That’s a lot of work for them to do,” Blaine says, not able to think of anything more intelligent to say.

His mom shrugs and looks more disappointed than he’s seen her in a long time. “It wouldn’t have been if they’d all come.”

The darkness only lasts a moment before she snaps back into Sergeant Party-Planner mode, but what matters is it was there. Blaine had always wondered why his mom kept going to church social functions long after they stopped going to Mass. It had seemed backwards. Now he not only understands, but perhaps for the first time, he gets the feeling that his mother has given up a lot more for his sake than he will ever know.

He also knows why she’s only got the Rebecca Semicircle here rather than the complete three hundred sixty degrees. Considering the Pope’s stance on homosexuality, Blaine supposes he should be surprised his mom got even this many Catholic mamas to make so much food for them. As big an accomplishment as that is, Blaine can still read the defeat on her face.

In the middle of her rattling off a to-do list, Blaine pulls her into an embrace. He has to bend his knees to rest his chin on her shoulder, but it’s worth it.

“What’s this for?” she asks, flustered and pleased.

“We’ve never needed reasons,” he replies, “but if you want something more specific, it’s because you’re amazing.”

“Oh,” she says as she pats his back. She’s happy, but puzzled. “I love you so much, baby,” she says, and Blaine is happy, too, because to him, there’s no such thing as an inopportune time to say ‘I love you.’ “Now go up in the attic and find that extra box of silverware we never unpacked when we moved. I knew I kept it for a reason.”

Blaine lets go and gives his mom a goofy salute. She doesn’t look quite as amused as he’d hoped-a bit like Kurt when he’s in his serious business mode, now that he thinks of it-but that doesn’t dampen Blaine’s spirits.

“Mama?” Blaine asks before he goes. Might as well sate his curiosity. “One more thing. Don’t take this the wrong way, but…what’s with the chuppah?”

Her face lights up. “Carole and I were going to put up a plain one with an old tablecloth for the canopy, but then I saw a picture on the Internet of one with the flowers. It looked like something Kurt would do. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful. It’s just…what’s it for?”

“For the doves,” she says, as if that’s obvious. “To keep their cage in the shade.”

Blaine processes that for a moment, then nods. It is very Kurt. He has a fleeting but near-shiver-inducing thought of how Oedipus complexes might work for some gay men, but he manages to shake it before it scars him too deeply.

~*~*~

On to Part 4