What a difference a couple of months make.

As the wedding day approached, the Andersons changed their tune about self-reliance and the cost of their son's nuptials. It happened at dinner one night, the phone ringing just while we were sitting down to eat. Carole almost didn't pick it up, but when she did, she didn't get off the phone for a good half-hour. It was Bitsy Anderson, and she had news.

It wasn't entirely clear why — Carole figured Bitsy had talked Don into it — but they'd had a change of heart about their involvement in the wedding. They wanted to host the rehearsal dinner. Maybe they feared the prospect of a backyard barbecue. Maybe they felt some guilt about not contributing to the wedding. Or maybe they'd simply changed their minds. Bitsy apparently didn't go into detail.

It would have been great if that had happened before the bills for Lima's version of the Wedding of the Century had been paid.

They offered to host a rehearsal dinner for the families and close friends of our grooms. They told Kurt and Blaine to pick someplace nice and added just one condition: “Please, not that dreadful place with the bread sticks.”

The boys selected a Japanese steakhouse and sushi bar. Sushi. In Lima, Ohio. They said it would be fun, dinner and a show. It wasn't difficult to see through Kurt's hidden culinary agenda, but I'd gotten used to that over the years. And the fact that my son still insisted on looking out for my well-being... well, I'm not going to complain too much about that — especially since I ordered the steak.

* * *

Kurt and Blaine arrived early — both dressed in summer suits and the seeming picture of decorum as they greeted guests and played host. But Burt could see it: the little touches, the lingering looks. He'd seen it before, and even though he had come to accept and even care about Blaine, he didn't necessarily enjoy watching an episode from Animal Planet play out before his eyes. The mating rituals could stay behind closed doors, as far as he was concerned.

So it came as little surprise that somewhere between the appetizer and the salad, the two grooms disappeared. They were nowhere to be found.

Burt felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Mr. Hummel?” Mercedes Jones had planted herself just to his side, leaning in for a discreet whisper. “Mr. Hummel? Do you know where Kurt went? And Blaine? We were going to start introductions and some friends were going to say a few words, but they're not here.”

Burt shook his head.

“Did anyone check the men's room? Maybe they're freshening up,” he answered, giving himself a rationalization he could live with, even if it was a lie.

Mercedes shook her head.

“Sam checked. No guys.”

“The bar?”

She chuckled. “First place we looked.”

Burt closed his eyes for a moment, and then pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the building tension in his head.

“Then I'd check the parking lot.”

Mercedes' posture straightened in response, hands shooting straight to her hips, eyes narrowing, any semblance of manners abandoned.

“Oh, hell no! Not again!”

“So this has happened before?”

“All the damn time.”

“Blaine drives a Volvo. Kurt's rented a Prius. Look for those.”

“Thanks Mr. Hummel,” she said, trying to remain calm while she was within earshot, then muttering her complaints as she huffed off.

“Always me. I always get the damn short straw.”

Burt could see her through the restaurant's windows as she reached the parking lot and looked around. She found the Volvo, locked and dark. Then she searched the disproportionate share of Toyota hybrids in the lot. The first one, in a handicapped stall, was empty. The second, near the staff door, was also locked tight.

It wasn't until she saw her fifth Prius, off in the far reaches of the lot, that she'd found them.

From a distance, it looked like the windows had grown foggy. And as she approached, the car swayed in its parking spot.

* * *

“Shit,” Mercedes mumbled to herself. “Here we go again.”

She approached cautiously, seeing movement and shadowed figures in the small hybrid. She heard muffled voices, but couldn't make out what was being said. She got closer and realized why — she heard moans, not words.

“Guys?”

The car rocked, slightly, then jumped.

“Oooh, shit! Blaine... ugh... yes...”

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

“Guys?”

“Oh god, Kurt, I love you...”

“Guys,” she said again, a little louder.

“Blaine!”

Fed up, she rapped her knuckles on the window. “Guys, I'm giving you two minutes.”

Giggling.

She heard giggling inside the car. Giggling, and moaning.

“You're not fooling anyone, you know.”

“Hurry up, Kurt, come on...”

“Now it's a minute.”

The moans picked up to a brisk tempo, with muffled cries piercing the night air.

“Thirty seconds and I'm opening the door.”

Two voices responded in unison.

“No!”

Mercedes waited as long as she dared, rapped on the door one last time, then jiggled the handle.

Moments later the door flew open, and two bodies nearly spilled out with it. Kurt's shirt was rucked up above his waist and Blaine, on his back, looked slightly dazed.

Both were struggling with their pants.

“Oh, come on guys. It's your rehearsal dinner. Couldn't it wait?”

She was met with stifled giggles from Blaine and dagger eyes from Kurt as the two peeled themselves out of the tiny rental car.

“Oh, you don't give me that, Kurt Hummel. You ducked out on your parents, your friends, your aunts and uncles and co-workers to get off in the back of a Toyota? Tacky.”

Blaine bit his lip and tucked his shirt back into his pants. Kurt stood, covering himself with a jacket he had folded over his arm, annoyed.

“Now come on, zip up, go wash your hands and eat dinner with the rest of us.”

* * *

By the time they returned to the special events room at the Yamato Palace, an increasingly raucous dinner was well underway. Guests circled teppanyaki tables, applauding and cheering as three chefs flipped shrimp onto the guests' plates straight off the grills.

The room buzzed with energy.

To one side sat longtime Ohio friends who had splintered across the country over time and college coursework. These were the performers of the room, the show choir graduates and former a cappella stars who had already eyed the karaoke bar at the far side of the restaurant and made plans for a late night of vocal acrobatics.

To the other side, extended families in town for the big event and in more than a few cases, on hand out of a naive curiosity of exactly what they would do at a marriage between two men.

Blaine took Kurt's hand and walked him to the head of the center table. They sat between sets of parents: Kurt next to Don and Bitsy,

Blaine with Burt and Carole, a sign of imminent unity between the two families.

After the guests had settled into their dinners, Burt saw Don Anderson flag down a cocktail waitress, whisper in her ear and point out the entire room with his hand. About ten minutes later, she returned with a tray of stemware and reinforcements: champagne was being served to the entire room.

As the waitresses poured, Don and Bitsy stood, leading the room in a clatter of spoons clinking stemware, demanding attention of the guests.

Burt looked at Carole, a tiny facial shrug that conveyed that he had no idea what was about to happen, and handed her a glass.

“I know that the speeches are scheduled for a couple of nights from now, but there were a few words we wanted to share with you, with our families and Blaine and Kurt's closest friends gathered tonight.”

“Here comes the speech,” Burt whispered to Carole, earning an elbow to the ribcage.

“Bitsy and I couldn't be happier for our boy Blaine, and how he has found love. We have always wanted only the best for our sons, but we've also always looked to instill a strong work ethic, and we insisted that they earn their success. And we are so proud that they have both embraced that belief in their own pursuits. Blaine works hard; and he's always been an over-achiever. So when he told us that he had been accepted for the winter break study abroad program in London, we thought sure he'd come back with job offers. Instead, he came home with a fiancé.”

Blaine and Kurt held hands and looked at each other as the room filled with polite laughter, Blaine pulling Kurt's knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss.

“When Blaine told us that he'd met someone, we figured it was as good a time as any to check in on the family's apartment in Chelsea.

You know, see a couple of shows with Bitsy, visit with Blaine and, if we happened to meet this mystery man, well, so much the better,” Don continued.

“We didn't realize that we'd meet a young man as impressive as Kurt. We knew immediately after meeting him why our Blaine had fallen in love with this smart, talented, independent young man.”

Carole took Burt's hand and smiled, giving reassurance that maybe this toast was headed somewhere good.

“And while we were a little surprised at how fast this engagement happened,” Don said, pausing to raise an eyebrow at his son, “We could not be happier to welcome Kurt Hummel to the Anderson family.

“We also want to thank the Hummel-Hudsons, Burt and Carole, who have graciously opened their home to these nuptials. I think they would agree that we see the world a little differently, but we are all in the same corner supporting our sons' happiness.

“And with that in mind, Bits and I felt that something was missing from this union, something we felt was important for a newly-married couple. You see, our boys are planning on heading right back to work after they get married this weekend, and that just doesn't feel right.”

Kurt leaned toward Blaine to whisper, “Do you know where this is going?”

Blaine simply shook his head.

“Blaine, we know you're concerned about your new job, and when we visited last month, we must confess we were there for more than just a studio tour. We got a chance to meet your boss.”

Don raised his glass to a well-dressed woman in her 40s lingering near the back of the room, martini in hand.

“And it seems that Olivia is very much a romantic. She thinks it's a travesty for newlyweds to miss their honeymoon. So she's agreed to give her rising star ten days off so he and his husband can get away.”

A deep, lusty female voice rose from the back corner. “And that's all! I may be a romantic, but I'm no fool!”

The dinner crowd cheered. Kurt and Blaine hugged. Burt looked puzzled.

“So, next week, we're flying the two of you to London so you can celebrate your marriage where you fell in love.”

Bitsy Anderson leaned over and pulled a small box, elegantly wrapped in flocked ivory paper with a black silk bow, from under the table.

“I hope you don't mind the spoiler, son. The box contains your plane tickets and the keys to the apartment.”

Blaine wrapped his father in a bear hug, and planted a sweet kiss on his mother's cheek. He turned and kissed Kurt.

Bitsy Anderson then turned her attention to Burt and Carole, winking in their direction. They both smiled and nodded in return, but the moment Bitsy looked away, Burt's faced belied an undercurrent of panic.

“What's wrong?” Carole asked quietly, holding his hand.

Burt shook his head.

“Up until a minute ago, I was pretty proud of the gift I got those guys,” he said.

“What are you talking about? The wedding is their gift, and they've been nothing but grateful.”

“Not that,” Burt said. “I got them something else I thought they'd really like.”

“On your own? What is it?”

Burt waited a beat before answering, then stared at the table and mumbled.

“A cappuccino maker.”

* * *

Carole cornered Bitsy before dessert was served. As Blaine's mother excused herself to go to the restroom, Carole followed. Standing at the sinks a few moments later, she asked the question that had eaten at her for a couple of weeks.

“Bitsy, thank you so much for hosting the dinner. It's been a wonderful evening, and Kurt and Blaine look like they're really enjoying themselves,” she said.

“They do, don't they?”

“But I've got to ask: why the change of heart? After our brunch, I wouldn't have expected this.”

Bitsy took a moment to adjust her upswept hair.

“Carole, you and I really aren't that different. We understand our husbands, and the art of negotiation.

“After you came out to the house, we saw what you were willing to do for them, to host the entire thing at your home. And your husband — so passionate about it. I knew we needed to do more. Don and I talked about it a lot. We still believe that our sons need to earn success on their own terms. But this is a wedding, not a career, and I just wanted Blaine to have the day he deserved.”

“So it was your idea,” Carole said.

“No,” Bitsy said, adding a last touch of lipstick, then turning to Carole. “It was Don's decision as much as it was mine. It may have taken him a little time to come around, but he was on board, 100 percent.”

Carole smiled. She doubted that Bitsy was being entirely honest, that she may be protective of her husband, and she'd probably never know for sure. And she also suspected that Bitsy was well aware of her doubts, and simply didn't care.

“Shall we?” she said, opening the door.

* * *

It started innocently enough hours earlier.

Rachel saw the sign outside the bar advertising “Karaoke Thursdays,” and it progressed into a near obsession over the course of the evening.

By the time dessert was served, she had committed half of her high school friends and more than a few strangers into a round of what

Blaine's former Dalton classmates called “Battle Karaoke.”

“The theme is love songs for Kurt and Blaine,” she announced to the bar, nearly completely populated with wedding party and guests.

There was little doubt this was more about Rachel singing the Celine Dion songbook than it was about love, but they paid little concern — or attention — to her rules.

They agreed to a friendly competition — former New Directions versus former Warblers, celebrating Kurt and Blaine's engagement. Of course, the format separated the fiancés on to opposing teams, something Rachel hadn't considered. Blaine sat to on side of the bar with his former classmates. Kurt relocated to the bar at the back of the room.

Rachel stepped up first, to no one's surprise.

“I'd like to dedicate this to the grooms — my roommate and his future husband,” she said to the opening bars to My Heart Will Go On.

Kurt stood waiting for his drink and rolling his eyes. He enjoyed a good Celine ballad as much as the next guy, but Titanic? At a wedding rehearsal?

Burt pulled up alongside him, and surveyed the room.

“I think Carole and I are going to take our cues from Blaine's folks and hit the road,” he said, pausing for a moment to listen to Rachel, then cringing with recognition of the song. “Isn't that the song from when the ship sank and everyone died?”

“In her mind, it's a great romantic gesture, even if it looks like it's just an excuse to get in front of an audience,” Kurt said, nodding.

“Ultimately, she means well.”

He looked across the room, by the tables of ex-Warblers.

Several girls — including a few New Directions alums — circled Blaine, giggling and fawning, enamored with Days of Our Time's resident bad boy doctor. And while they congratulated him on his engagement, their disappointment that the young man with the matinee idol looks may play a womanizer on TV, but was a one-man man in real life was readily obvious.

Burt watched with a sort of awe.

“This happen all the time?”

“Welcome to my world.”

Blaine looked across the room to Kurt, part I love you and part Get me out of here. Kurt winked, and smiled, and didn't lift a finger to break it up.

“People are just drawn to him. Sometimes, it's attraction. Sometimes, it's the show. A lot of the time it's just him. I don't think he can really help it.”

Kurt's eyes didn't leave Blaine, or vice versa.

Rachel wrapped up the dramatic ballad, thumping her fist to her chest, Celine-style, and then beckoning the next contestant to the stage.

“Someone called him an ‘attention whore' once, but they had it all wrong. Blaine doesn't seek this out, any more than any other performer does. He just has that thing, that combination of looks and personality and talent and gravitational pull. And you know what, Dad? It's real. It's just who he is. Don't get me wrong. He's not perfect. He has his moments.”

“So do you, Kurt.”

“Exactly. We balance each other out. But everything you see, Dad? It's real. It's Blaine. I know I lose patience with it sometimes. I can get frustrated. But when it comes right down to it, it's one of the reasons why I love him.”

“So women...?”

“Love him.”

“And men?”

“Love him,” Kurt said with a hint of a sigh.

Burt assessed his son with a Does that mean what I think it means? look.

“... Both straight and gay,” Kurt added, anticipating the response. “The gay men want him, the straight men want to go to a ballgame with him. Maybe they figure they'll get all the women who get discouraged.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Burt said, looking at Blaine, who continued to look over to Kurt, even as he answered the girls' questions.

“He only has eyes for you.

“Hey, enjoy yourselves tonight, and try not to stay out too late.”

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him.

“Point taken,” Burt said, patting Kurt on the back and waving goodbye to Blaine.

Kurt listened to another love ballad before walking over to Blaine and making excuses to the impromptu entourage. “If you'll pardon us for a moment, ladies, I'd like a word with my fiancé.”

Blaine's face lit up with relief as Kurt pulled him towards the bar. Meanwhile, Rachel took the stage again, acting as a de facto emcee for the evening.

“Have we got a Warbler who can top a Celine Dion love song? Hmmm?”

“We have got to do something about this,” Kurt whispered in his ear. “She's going to kill the party.”

Blaine gave him a sideways glance, followed by a smirk.

“I may have an idea,” Blaine said, and walked over to Wes, the former Warbler leader and one of his closest friends. He tapped Wes' shoulder and leaned in for a brief conversation.

Wes soon stood up and, taking a couple Dalton alums with him, headed for the stage. Blaine walked back to Kurt near the back of the room.

“This should do it,” he said.

Rachel reluctantly turned over the mic, unhappy that the men would not tell her what they planned to sing.

She stepped aside, and a medium-tempo disco beat burst from the speakers. 

I believe in miracles
Where you from?
You sexy thing

Kurt looked to the side of the stage where Rachel stood, jaw dropped and locked, looking appalled.
Blaine's face had the satisfied look of victory. He began to shake his ass, dancing in place and singing to Kurt.

Kiss me, you sexy thing
Touch me baby, you sexy thing
I love the way you touch me darling
You sexy thing

The song finished, ex-Warblers slapping each other on the backs as Rachel marched back to center stage.

“Well, that was interesting. Maybe a love song next time.”

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other. She wasn't going to stop.

“Maybe what we need is a little side bet,” Kurt told him. “Five bucks to whoever silences her with song.”

“You're on.”

Blaine immediately headed to the stage, a man on a mission, to the cheers of his friends.

“Ah, here we go!” Rachel said, clapping her hands. “Now we'll get a love song.”

Blaine smiled politely and walked over to the control station, making his song request. He stepped to the mic and introduced the song.

“This is a very special song that I want to sing to my future husband,” he said, winking at Kurt. Blaine set his vocal tone to growl. Most anyone in the bar could name that tune in two notes. 

I've been really trying baby
Trying to hold back this feeling for so long
And if you feel like I feel baby
Then come on, come on
Let's get it on

He set the mic stand aside, and started to move to the thumping beat, grinding his hips, bobbing his head and letting out an occasional guttural “Ooowww” as the song crescendoed.

To the side stage, Rachel stood with arms crossed, her face a crimson red.

As the song ended, the bar crowd roared its approval, and Blaine set the microphone back in the stand with a little bow and the smile of a five-year-old who just snuck a cookie out of the jar behind his mother's back.

But it did not deter Rachel, who stormed back on stage.

“I think it's time for me to sing another love ballad — since that's the theme tonight.”

“Wait up!” Kurt called out from the back of the room. He raced to the stage. “My fiancé just sang to me. Since we're competing — just for this one night — I think it's my turn.”

The look on her face made it clear that Rachel now knew what to expect. She shook her head and walked off the stage just as the speakers started to pound.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled as she left the stage. “Heavy metal.” It was absolutely the last straw.

By the time the chorus rolled around, the entire crowd was on its feet, singing along with Kurt, who shimmied along as he sang.

Pour some sugar on me 
In the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon bind me up
Pour some sugar on me
I can't get enough

Blaine took his wallet from his jacket pocket, and pulled out a five-dollar bill.

* * *