December 20, 2022

London, England

I have found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said, ''Journeys end in lovers meeting.'' What an extraordinary thought.

Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I'm more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives.

It was Shakespeare who also said, ''Love is blind.'' Now, that is something I know to be true. For some, quite inexplicably, love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then, of course, love can also be found. Even if just for the night.

And then there's another kind of love. The cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that, I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories? Those of us who fall in love alone. We are the victims of the one-sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones. The walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space.

"Excellent work, Fabray. You've officially written your most pathetic piece yet." Quinn sighed and deleted the last paragraph she'd typed. At least the beginning could be saved for an introductory piece.

Her editor, Shana, stuck her head in the door. "Have you submitted your pieces for this week's section, Q?"

"Just finishing up the last one now. Give me ten minutes and I'll have it ready for you."

Shana nodded and continued down the hall as Quinn finished typing up her final announcement for the weekend's Lifestyle section. She was attaching the file to an email to send to Shana when someone else walked into her office.

"Working down to the wire as usual, I see," a man's voice said.

Quinn didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "Noah, hi! Give me just a minute." She clicked "send" and proceeded to shut down her computer for the night. She spun around in her chair to face Noah and smiled. "Hi."

"Hey. Are you going to come out to the party?" he asked.

Quinn stood up to follow him out the door and down to the main lobby where the office Christmas party was being held. Noah led her over to the refreshment table and grabbed each of them a drink before getting caught up in conversation with another writer from the Sports section.

Seeing that she was clearly disinterested in what they were talking about, Shana grabbed Quinn's arm and led her away from the two men "Q, I thought you and Puckerman had ended things."

"We did, or I did actually, three months ago when I found out he was seeing someone else."

Shana raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that why you've been staring at him like a moon-eyed school girl since you walked in together?"

"I have not been staring."

"Of course you haven't, dear." Shana patted her arm.

The sound of someone tapping a glass pulled their attention to the middle of the room. The chief editor of the paper, Robert, was standing with a raised champagne flute and waiting for everyone to quiet down. "Your attention, please. Now, before half of you leave us for the holiday, I have an announcement to make. Is Quinn Fabray here?"

Quinn turned to Shana, who merely shrugged, and waved her hand. "I'm here, Robert."

"Ah, yes, Miss Fabray. I've just received notice of an upcoming wedding, and I don't believe any other paper in town has gotten wind of it yet."

Quinn nodded. "Excellent, sir."

"I want us to be the first to report on this one, as it is between two of our own. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the newly engaged Roxanne Reynolds and Noah Puckerman!"

Everyone applauded. Quinn felt like she was going to be sick.

===

New York, New York

"Trent! Get out!" Kurt picked up the nearest shoe and chucked it at his boyfriend's head.

Trent ducked out of the shoe's trajectory and kept walking toward him. "Kurt how many times do I have to tell you? I didn't sleep with him."

"Oh really?" Kurt laughed humorlessly. "Is there another explanation for you being out all night with Jeff and coming home smelling like his cheap imitation cologne? And really, Trent...Jeff? Really?"

"I. Didn't. Sleep. With. Him. We were out for the Warbler reunion night, which I invited you to but you were too busy to have any fun with our friends. I crashed at his place, because I know how much you hate it when I drink."

"I hate it because you turn into a slut and start hanging all over anything with a dick."

Trent bristled. "Maybe if my boyfriend could look at me for five minutes instead of his precious fucking magazine I wouldn't be looking for attention from anybody else."

"And now we get to the real issue. You hate that I work so much, but the minute inspiration strikes in that pretty little head of yours it's completely fine for you to lock yourself in the studio for weeks at a time and forget I exist." Kurt shoved him back toward the door.

Trent held his ground. "Kurt, you put out two extra issues of Closet this year. You spent at least a week of every month on another continent. You hold your iPhone closer at night than you've ever held me, and I don't even want to talk about sex, because I can't remember the last time we did it."

Kurt rolled his eyes "Please...nobody has time for sex."

"That's not exactly true."

Kurt's eyes went wide and he shoved him again. "You absolutely slept with him. Get out! I will send you your things, but I want you out of my house."

At Kurt's insistence, Trent moved toward the door. "You know you do this right?"

"I do what?"

"You push people away. You always have."

Kurt took a deep breath. "Trent, just go."

He walked out the door and down the steps, but he didn't stop talking. He stood on the sidewalk, in the middle of December in New York, and kept right on yelling at Kurt. "You know this isn't all my fault. You're an amazing man, Kurt, and you know how I feel about you. There's no one like you. I just don't think you can be what I need right now."

Growing more infuriated by the minute, Kurt opened the window and stuck his head out. "What you need? What about me? I need to be with someone I can trust to go out without me for one night and not fuck another man!" Kurt closed his eyes and sighed. "Trent, it's over. Just be honest with me. Did you sleep with Jeff?"

Trent squared his shoulders and looked Kurt in the eyes. "Fine. Yes, I slept with him. More than once, actually. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He slammed the window shut and stormed out onto the sidewalk. "Am I happy? Did you really just say that?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to tell with you. I'm sitting out here with my heart ripped halfway open and you haven't even shed one tear."

Kurt huffed. "Why does it bother you so much that I don't cry?"

"Because I'm tired of being in love with a goddamn robot!"

Kurt didn't realize what he was doing until he heard the crack and felt the sharp sting on his palm.

Trent stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. "You slapped me."

"I want you out of here. Don't call me and don't come back for your things. I'll have them sent to Jeff's." Kurt turned on his heel and walked back into the house, locking the door behind him. His phone was ringing on the table in the entryway. "I swear to god, Trent..." He picked it up and was pleased to see it wasn't his ex.

"Hey, Isabelle."

"Kurt, honey are you okay? You sound like you're out of breath."

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just freaking out a little bit. I just kicked Trent out, and, shit, I slapped him...what was I thinking? He just made me so mad, and I can't believe he...No. I'm done with this. Sorry, Isabelle. What's up?" Kurt made his way over to the living room and sat on the couch.

"Do you want me to call you back later? It seems like this might not be a good time. Or do you need to talk?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I'm good. Just tell me why you called. Is it about the magazine?"

"I just wanted you to know I got an email from Jerry confirming that the next issue will definitely be fully printed and ready to hit the shelves before they close for Christmas."

"That's fantastic," Kurt smiled. "So we're done for the year, then. Isabelle, I think I'm going to take a vacation."

"That's a great idea, sweetie. When were you thinking you might go?"

"Christmas."

"Wow, you're planning a whole year in advance?"

"No, I mean this Christmas. I want to leave as soon as possible."

Isabelle gasped. "Kurt! You can't leave now. We're scheduled at three concerts and a gallery opening this week alone."

"I know, but we can get somebody else to write those features. Isabelle, I have to get out of here. I just kicked my boyfriend of three years out of our house because he's been sleeping with one of our oldest friends. I need a break. I need some peace and quiet, I think, or whatever it is people go away for."

"Okay..."

"You know what I want to do? I want to eat carbs without wanting to kill myself."

"Kurt-"

"I want to read a book. Not a magazine, an actual book. I want to watch a movie with actors in it that normal people recognize. I just want a break."

"Okay, honey, listen to me. Clearly this is something you need. If you can figure out the details, I'll cover for you here."

Kurt wished he could hug her. "Thank you. Call me if any major disaster comes up. Otherwise consider me completely non-existent until after the first of the year, starting now."

"Good luck. And Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Have fun. Happy Holidays."

"Same to you. Bye." Kurt hung up and reached for his laptop. "Alright...where do I want to spend Christmas?"

He pulled up a search engine and started typing in requests for "vacationing single" and "traveling alone." The beach sounded boring, and a ski resort would be too busy this time of year. He wanted to get away from people. He clicked on a link for "Vacation Rentals," the thought of hiding out in some far away house oddly appealing to him. He ruled out cities that he worked in extensively for the magazine and considered smaller towns, places where he wouldn't know anyone.

"Hm...Surrey." He clicked on the listing. The picture looked like something out of a storybook, and the description was equally enchanting. A fairy-tale English cottage set in a tranquil country garden. Snuggle up by an old stone fireplace and enjoy a cup of cocoa. An enchanting oasis of tranquility in a quiet English hamlet, just 40 minutes from exciting London. Kurt felt warmer just imagining it. There was a box off to the side saying that the homeowner was online and available for instant chat. Kurt typed out his request.

Guest: Hi. I'm interested in renting your place for Christmas. I know it's sort of short notice, but if it's available you'd be a real life saver.

Kurt waited a few minutes for a reply, thinking maybe someone had accidentally left an account signed in and wasn't actually available. He was about to go check another listing when his computer pinged with an answering message.

Home Owner: I'd love to help you out, but the house is only available for home exchange.

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Guest: "Home exchange?" What is that?

Home Owner: We trade houses, cars, everything. I haven't done it before but I know people who have. Where do you live?

Guest: New York City.

Home Owner: I've never been, but it's somewhere I've always wanted to visit. My name is Quinn, by the way. I'm a non-smoker, bit of a neat freak, single.

Guest: I'm Kurt.

"Loner, loser, and complicated wreck," he muttered.

Guest: All of the above for me as well. I live in a townhouse on the Upper East Side, overlooking Central Park.

Home Owner: Sounds perfect.

Kurt hesitated a moment before asking his next question.

Guest: Are there any men in your town?

The reply took a bit longer than the last few.

Home Owner: Honestly? None.

Well, that made his decision easy.

Guest: When can I come?

Home Owner: Is tomorrow too soon?

Kurt smiled. Less than 24 hours and he could be out of here.

Guest: Tomorrow is perfect. I'll email you my phone number and we can sort out details.

Home Owner: That's great. Thank you, Kurt. Just so you know, you're sort of saving me too.

Kurt closed out of the chat window and sent off a quick email to Quinn with his contact information. He'd never done anything quite this impulsive before, but it felt good. He'd take this break, and when he came back home he'd start putting things back together. Before that, however, he needed to pack.

===

Across the Atlantic, Quinn Fabray was dancing around the kitchen while she fed her cat, exceedingly grateful to this stranger who had just provided her with her very own Christmas miracle.