Chapter 17

The motel was worse than they expected.

Although they were quite sure they didn't share their tiny room (the cheapest in the establishment) with any kind of other living creatures, there were some definite signs that some rodents or other had previously inhabited their new – and hopefully temporary – home. The wallpaper was peeling and stained with things Kurt would rather not guess the origin of. There were holes in the bedspread, and it seemed like the sheets weren't washed quite often enough. The table under the window (which had been splashed by years upon years of rainfall since the last cleaning) was greasy and sticky. The bathroom facilities were covered in a thick layer of limescale, the mirror was cracked in one corner, and the toilet seat was loose.

But it was warm, it was safe, and more than anything else, it was theirs, at least for the time being.

After they had unpacked their things into a small chest of drawers, Blaine gathered his courage to be the first one to take a shower in their not-so-clean bathroom. Someone had to.

He soon found out that the bathroom had one undeniable upside: hot water seemed to never run out.

It was after a quite long while that he finally stepped out onto the cold linoleum covering the floor, and wiped steam off the mirror. Living in the community, he didn't have many chances to analyse his features. The Amish discouraged vanity, and believed that mirrors did the opposite.

He ran his fingers over his face, his funny eyebrows, nose, chin, lips, forehead. They seemed weird, his and not his at the same time.

Then, he pulled a stray lock of wet hair that fell over his right eye. He pushed it away. He'd always insist on putting off cutting his hair shorter, even though – or maybe because – it angered his parents. It was his little way of rebelling without really rebelling, of showing he was his own person after all. But now, there was nothing to rebel against. Now, there was just this huge world that was so new, so strange, and he felt like he needed to say goodbye to what he used to be.

And he decided he didn't like the way his hair looked.

When he went back out into the room, and told Kurt what he wanted him to do, his boyfriend raised an eyebrow at him.

'Are you entirely sure about it?,' Kurt asked. 'I'm no barber, you know.'

'It's gonna grow back out soon, anyway. And yes, I'm sure.'

Kurt only nodded, and went to look for a pair of scissors.

***

Later that night, they were lying in bed next to each other, Kurt propped on one arm and running his other hand through Blaine's newly cut hair. It felt strange to the touch, his skin used to the longer curls, but he honestly thought Blaine was still just as good-looking as earlier. They didn't talk much, both unwilling to voice their worries. Kurt was trying not to panic before going back to the coffee shop in the morning, knowing how slim the chances of him getting hired were. No experience, being unfamiliar with so many things that were normal to everyone else but them – being aware of these things made it much harder to calm down and fall asleep.

'Will you go with me tomorrow? To the coffee shop?,' Kurt asked, breaking the silence after a moment.

'If you want me to.' Blaine caught his boyfriend's free hand and squeezed it affectionately.

'Of course I do. And I really could use the support, you know?'

Blaine smiled at him and shifted closer, letting Kurt's arms encircle him. They didn't speak again, as they slowly drifted to sleep. Their troubled minds and racing hearts finally found some peace, their familiar closeness giving them the semblance of safety they were so desperately craving.

***

Kurt was afraid that when he shows up at the coffee shop the next day, no one would want to hire him, and no one would even know that he was going to come. That Alan wouldn't be there and that he hadn't passed the message about Kurt along to his boss.

And at first, right after Kurt crossed the threshold of the café, Blaine following a step behind, he was quite convinced all of his worst fears had come true. Then, Alan emerged from a door that said in capital letters AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, noticing the two of them immediately. He gave them a quick wave, before heading to one of the tables by the far wall, where a busty black woman was sitting with a tall glass of coffee and a stack of papers. As soon as Alan noticed that Kurt didn't follow him, he beckoned him to join him.

'Kiara?,' he said to draw the woman's attention.

'What is it, sweetcheeks?,' she asked, without taking her bespectacled eyes off the documents she was holding.

'Remember I told you there was someone asking about the job? He just came in.'

That was what caught her attention. She straightened in her chair, taking a glance around the shop. Alan didn't have to point Kurt out to her, as he was already standing a few feet from her with a shy nervous smile. She smiled back at him, showing off nicotine-stained teeth with a prominent gap between the upper front incisors. (But it was a nice smile; not the fake kind that Kurt was used to seeing on Ruth's face). She extended a hand for him to shake, which he did without hesitation, but held it for a moment too long; he wasn't sure he was in full control of his motor functions, due to the nerves.

'I'm Kiara Ferrell,' she introduced herself.

'Kurt Hershberger,' Kurt choked out. 'It's really nice of you to talk to me. I wasn't sure if-' He paused; he'd rather not jeopardize his chances any further by saying a word too many.

'If?,' she prompted.

'Well, I haven't really-'

'If we'd want someone without work experience or anything like that?,' Kiara guessed. 'You clearly don't know how few people are willing to work for the minimal wage. 'Cause, I'm sorry to say, that's what we're offering here.'

She invited him to sit down opposite her at the table, so he perched on the edge of the chair she'd pointed out to him. He wouldn't dare sit more comfortably, in case he was going to be rejected within the following two minutes.

'I don't mind that. I don't need a lot of money, I just need a job,' Kurt hurried to say. His eyes drifted for a moment to Blaine, who settled at one of the tables by the glass walls separating the café from the walkway and was trying to listen in on the conversation. That made a corner of Kurt's lips twitch up, despite his nervousness.

Kiara was nodding, her hair, woven painstakingly into a thousand thin braids, bouncing off her shoulders in sync with her head, as she watched Kurt with interest.

'What's your life story, then? You don't look like your run-of-the-mill white boy out there.'

Kurt let out a high-pitched laugh.

'I guess I'm not. There's not much of a story, I just- I'm pretty much on my own now, I mean, I don't really have a family or anything. I have to take care of- myself.' His gaze darted again to Blaine, and Kiara's eyes followed in the same direction.

'Doesn't look like you're on your own.' She smiled, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

'I meant I have no family,' he mumbled in reply.

He was convinced this was it. Obviously, this wasn't a place where he would be shunned by everybody for being gay, but by now, he'd learned a lot of people would see it as a vice.

'You two got kicked out? If you don't mind me asking,' Kiara added hastily.

'Something like that.'

She bobbed her head up and down, her mind clearly drifting off temporarily in a different direction. Kurt kept his eyes glued to her, looking for the slightest hint of what her thoughts could be, but they remained a mystery to him for the next few minutes. Eventually, Kiara's black eyes met his again. There was no hostility in her expression, and a gentle smile softened her features.

'I have one question for you, Kurt.'

He swallowed, panic making his heart pound deafeningly.

'Yes?,' he managed.

'Are you a quick learner?'

All of Kurt's tension rolled away from his muscles in a second and he slumped in the chair. The worst could've come and didn't.

'Yeah, I guess I am.'

'Then welcome aboard.'

***

The following week was exhausting for Kurt. Every second he spent at the coffee shop was filled with learning every detail of coffee-making that he could ever use – from getting to know the beans and blends, the various methods of preparation, to the intricacies of working the complex professional coffee machines (those terrified him the most at first, but he soon became quite adept at operating them). There was also some red tape to deal with, as well as going through the awkward "Hi, I'm Kurt, I'm new here" stage (made much more awkward by the fact that Kurt's co-workers were raised in an entirely different world, and he wasn't sure he always got what they said – and he'd had enough of barista lingo to memorise as it was to try and work out the minutiae of their speech).

When he was away from work, he was trying to keep Blaine's spirits up. His boyfriend was searching for a job in all the long hours he was forced to spend alone, and was becoming more and more drained of hope and cheerfulness, even when he finally got a job interview for a part-time job unpacking and shelving goods at Walmart. As much as Kurt had wanted to accompany him, like Blaine had done for him, it was impossible due to his own working schedule. So Blaine went alone, putting all of his efforts in making the best impression; he didn't know how, but he got the job.

They both hated that they had to spend so much time apart, when so recently it had felt as if they were alone in the world.

So they used all the time they had to catch up, just like they used to back in the community. They lay in bed each night, wrapped up in each other's arms, talking about their day, and gathering the strength to go through the next one, until they fell asleep, never having let go of one another.

***

The second week of Kurt working at the Lima Bean began as ordinarily as any other day before. He was beginning to grow accustomed to the pace of the coffee shop, and knew the types of coffee and all the prices by heart. That morning Kiara implied she was quite satisfied with his work, which made him smile to himself for a good hour (he didn't even stop when a particularly annoying client kept on bothering him about not putting Splenda in his coffee and to remember that it had to have a double shot of espresso in it, and not to mistake his coffee for any of the de-caf crap).

It was a good day. Not in an outstanding way, everything was simply going perfectly normal. Customers came and went, coffee was poured, and tables were wiped. The employees busied themselves with work and friendly chatter, sometimes even including the newest addition to the team – and to Kurt's contentment, they didn't try to make him talk about himself this once (he'd rather not confess all his secrets to a bunch of, well, strangers).

And then came lunchtime.

That was one of the busiest times of day in the coffee shop. People rushed in for another dose of caffeine and a snack to get them through the remaining hours at the office or wherever else they were hurrying back to. Kurt had already found out how crazy it could get at times.

He was working the cash register, ready to take orders and pass them to his co-workers manning the coffee machines, with a stack of paper cups and a permanent marker on the counter to his left.

He was busy putting money neatly into the register, when one of the last people of the lengthy line of customers reached him.

'Welcome to the Lima Bean, what can I get you today?,' he said, as his head jerked up.

The man in front of him was middle-aged, kind-eyed, and cursed with a fashion sense that apparently didn't extend beyond baseball caps and flannel. He smiled back at Kurt.

'It'll be one tall non-fat, de-caf mocha and one tall white chocolate mocha with whipped cream and a double shot of espresso for my girl,' the man replied, pointing vaguely in the direction of an attractive middle-aged woman sitting at a nearby table and staring adoringly back at him.

'Anything else?' Kurt's grin widened; they were such a lovely couple.

'Nah, gotta be careful with all the sugar, y'know? The chocolate in the coffee is the only treat I'm allowed to have anymore.'

Kurt nodded pleasantly.

'Could I get your names, please?,' he asked, grabbing a cup and putting the tip of the marker to it.

'Uh, the white chocolate one is for Carole, just make sure you spell it with an "e" at the end,' the man said, and Kurt scribbled the name on the cup, before passing it along to the baristas and taking another one. 'And the regular mocha's for Burt.'

For a split second Kurt felt like someone suddenly immersed him completely in water. Everything became dull and sharpened somehow at the same time. Sounds came to him as if from outside of a fishtank and he was the goldfish, staring blankly at the surrounding world.

Burt.

As in Elisabeth & Burt.

Kurt's eyes unconsciously focused on the man's face. There was something vaguely familiar about it. The eyes, the nose... There was even something in it that he could link back to himself.

Could it be?

Was this really the day he met his father? It was nothing like he used to imagine, but what he imagined was never a realistic vision. It was no more than a romanticised story he'd made up in his mind as a child.

And this was reality.

Reality. It was real.

It was happening and he was standing there like a complete idiot, squeezing the paper cup unknowingly out of its shape, the marker almost falling out of his hand.

'You okay, buddy?,' Burt asked, concern showing in his expression.

'I- I'm sorry,' Kurt stuttered. He forced a casual smile on his face, trying to pull himself together on the inside. 'Your order will be ready in a minute.'

And he wrote his father's name on the disposable coffee cup and handed it to Alan who, despite staring curiously at his new workmate, took it without question.