CHAPTER 10

I’ve been saving these last words for one last miracle

But now I’m not sure

I can’t save you if you don’t let me

You just get me like I’ve never been gotten before

Like I’ve never been gotten before

One day in early June I get home to find Kurt in the kitchen, sketchbook in front of him, as it so often is these days, but he’s not drawing. Instead, he’s staring at the phone in his hand, a lost look on his face. I feel a pang of fear.

“Kurt, what’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“Oh, hi, you’re home. No, I’m fine. It’s just… It’s my dad’s birthday. He’s turning 50. And I’ve realized he was 46 when I last spoke to him. I don’t even know if he’s alright, I mean, with his heart and all…”

“He’s fine.” I drop on the chair opposite and steal a gulp of Kurt’s Diet Coke. Mmm, cold.

“Yeah, you’re right, they would have called me if anything happened, no matter what, but…”

“Why don’t you call him? I’d say it’s a perfect day to break the silence. I’m sure your dad would consider it a wonderful birthday gift.”

“I’ve been telling myself all day I can do it, but I just can’t press the call button. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore? What if they all just crossed me out of their lives for good?”

He looks at me with vulnerable eyes of a scared child and it breaks my heart. He might have closed the chapter called Marcus for good now, and he may be healing, but there are wounds Marcus caused that still peek from under the bandages, gaping and infected.

“Oh Kurt, of course they didn’t! They miss you!” I put all my conviction in the words, knowing for certain it’s not just an empty assurance.

“How can you know?”

Uh-oh. Confession time. I take the glass of Coke again, just to occupy my anxious fingers.

“Because I talked to them?”

“What? When?”

“Last time when I was home, for Christmas.”

“Oh.” Kurt looks at me intensely now, hopeful. “Did you run into them somewhere?”

“Um. Not really. I…” I drink some of the cold drink again, trying to cover my uneasiness.

“Blaine?”

“I went to visit them. I always do when I’m in Ohio.”

“You what?” I really don’t know why he’s so surprised. I’ve known and loved his family for years.

“I first went when I was visiting my parents a few months after you… after we…”

“After I cut you out of my life.”

“Yeah, that. I had no way of knowing if you’re alright and I was worried, so I thought maybe they would know something, maybe you had contacted them. Obviously, they knew even less than I did. But we talked a little and then I went again the next time, and it became a tradition somehow. They miss you, Kurt. They’re fine, but they really miss you.”

There’s something soft in his eyes when he looks at me, deep, unhidden affection with an undertone of regret.

“You were checking on me all this time?”

“I tried – I told you, I was worried about you. And I was checking on them too, in a way. To be able to tell you how they are if I get to talk to you again someday. And, well, because I care.”

“And how are they?” He sounds choked up.

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?” I ask softly, getting up and going to my bedroom. “And wish your dad happy birthday from me, too.” I close the door behind me to give him privacy.

When I walk out half an hour later, Kurt’s eyes are red, but he’s smiling his happiest smile as he hugs me tightly and whispers Thank you in my ear.

Five days later he flies to Ohio. When he comes back after a week, there’s a spring in his step and sort of bubbliness in him that makes me happy.

Kurt dives back into designing in a way that would be scary if I didn’t recognize it from our college days. He barely sleeps, forgets to eat and stops filling sketchbook after sketchbook with drawings only when he has to go to work. I know he will slow down in a week or two, so I stay quiet, calmly bring him coffee and make sure he doesn’t starve. Then one evening I come home to find him at the kitchen table drinking wine, the bottle already half-empty. He’s staring at the wall with blank eyes.

“Hi,” I say carefully. “Are you celebrating something?”

“The death of my dreams.”

Uh-oh. I settle across from him.

“What happened?”

“Remember that internship I started before I met Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“I went there today. Showed them my latest designs. They were enthusiastic, said they would take me back any minute.”

“Kurt, that’s wonderful!” I’m proud that he’s come so far, that he’s planning, searching, trying again. But I still don’t see the reason for his miserable mood.

“Any minute, as soon as I’m back in college.”

“Oh.” Okay, that sort of explains it.

“They said my skills have clearly developed and they are very interested, but no one will take me in if I don’t have a degree or am not at least on my way to earning one.”

“Well, say what you want, but I still think it’s great news.” He shoots me an annoyed glare and jumps up to pace the kitchen, gesticulating animatedly.

“Oh puh-lease, how can it possibly be great news? I can’t afford to go back to college, Blaine! It’s like giving a thirsty man in the desert a bottle of cold water that he has no way to open. He can just look at it, so close, while dying of thirst.”

“Come on, if he’s determined enough, he’ll find a way. And it’s great news, because now you know that there’s only one thing separating you from getting back where you belong. One stupid little barrier, Kurt, and you’re back in the world of fashion design and on your way to the top.”

“This stupid little barrier happens to be fucking huge, Blaine!” It’s like he spends the last of his annoyance with that exclamation, because he’s slumping against the fridge now, looking depressed.

“Okay, let’s think. Your family won’t be able to help you?”

“No. With Finn’s wedding approaching they don’t have a penny to spare. And I wouldn’t dare to ask them anyway, when it was my own fault I didn’t finish in the first place.”

“Student’s loan?”

“I don’t qualify. I checked.”

“I can lend you money.”

“No.” It’s said with a finality that precludes discussion. I try anyway, of course.

“Why? You really should use any chance you have.”

“Not like this. I already feel guilty – you took me in without a word after I’d hurt you and left you for two years. You let me live here, fed me, helped me, you support me every single day and now you want me to owe you even more? I feel like I’m using you.”

“I don’t feel used.”

“You know what I mean. I have no idea when I will start earning anything even if I graduate, and I can’t have a debt to you on my conscience for god knows how long. I already have to live with the fact that I’ve hurt you, I can’t add any more to that pile. No, just no.” Kurt sits back on the chair and pours more wine into his glass.

“Okay. So we’ll figure out something else then.”

“There isn’t anything else.” He drinks the wine in one go. Clearly, it’s not about tasting it tonight.

“Kurt. We’ll figure this out somehow. And now, I have an idea. We could both use some fun. Let’s make it a date week, what do you think?”

“A date week?”

“Yes. Our Wicked night was amazing, I think we should do it again. Let’s go on a date, as friends, every night this week. Anywhere we want. Movies, eating out, a concert or show, a bar, karaoke maybe, a club, a walk in a moonlight… Whatever we consider to be a great idea for a date. We could take turns deciding. We’ll have all the fun of a date without the nerves, expectations, awkward silences, getting to know each other…”

Kurt’s sullen face brightens a little.

“You know what? It’s actually a great idea. But I want to go first. I have the perfect place in mind.”

“Great! Tomorrow then.”

It’s a huge success. We have so much fun! There are new restaurants we try, an open mic night at a cozy little bar, there’s Broadway and an outdoor concert, sunset watching from a roof, even a club where we dance until we can barely move. Each of our little dates is spectacular – we have so much in common and know each other so well that there was never really any question about it. We come home late every evening for a week, laughing and talking happily, and finish each date with a chaste goodnight kiss – Kurt’s idea from the first evening – before going into our own bedrooms. The only clouds that mar the fun are the moments when I catch myself longing for these dates to be real, not just pretend. But I push these thoughts away quickly enough. As the week comes to an end, we decide we need to do this at least once a week, and the idea of weekly date nights is born.

Tonight’s not it, but I’m in a great mood anyway. Tomorrow I go to work for a half day, to sit in some stupid workshop, and then I have a week off. I’m going to spend it with music and Kurt, and it is going to be awesome. A full week without entering a bank!

I’m in the kitchen, preparing pasta and a salad. Wine is already breathing on the table and my Disney songs compilation is playing in the background. Kurt should be home in half an hour. Maybe we could decide something for tomorrow’s date night. I’m dancing around the kitchen, singing along with the music.

Life is a road and I want to keep going

 Love is a river I wanna keep flowing

 Life is a road now and forever

 Wonderful journey

 I'll be there when the world stops turning

 I'll be there when the storm is through

 In the end I wanna be standing

 At the beginning with you

 I knew there was somebody somewhere

 Like me alone in the dark

 Now I know my dream will live on

 I've been waiting so long

 Nothing's gonna tear us apart

Still singing and grinning, I turn to take plates out of the cupboard and jump a little in surprise. Kurt is leaning against the doorframe with his hand pressed against his mouth and his eyes wide, as if something has scared him.

“Kurt! You’re early. The dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes. Are you alright? Did something happen?”

He seems to gather himself together and smiles easily. “No, nothing, I just remembered something. I’ll go change and wash up, okay?”

“Sure.”

Kurt is quiet as we eat, but I’m enthusiastic enough for the both of us. He keeps looking at me strangely. Maybe I’m being too much of a puppy again. I bring up tomorrow’s night and we decide to plan the evening when I come home around two. 

As I lie in bed later that night, for a moment I think that I hear sobbing on the other side of the wall. But I must be mistaken. It’s quiet after that. And why would Kurt cry anyway?

In the morning, as I’m about to leave, he hugs me tightly, longer than usual, and kisses my cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just… everything.”

I laugh and go to work, in high spirits.

I come home two hours earlier than I thought I would, almost skipping with excitement. The apartment is empty – Kurt doesn’t work today, so he must have gone out for a while, maybe to run some quick errand. But as I look around, I notice that something seems wrong. I can’t see any of Kurt’s things anywhere – his sketchbooks, the book he left on the table yesterday, his jacket on the hook by the door; they’re all gone. Chills are running down my back as I peer into the bathroom. Only my things are left. With my heart in my throat I open the door to Kurt’s room. Except it’s no longer his room. It’s just my guest bedroom. There’s no sign of my friend left but a single sheet of paper on the bed, folded in two. I pick it up with trembling fingers.