Burt's success navigating the now-unfamiliar confines of his home did not improve with the arrival of the wedding day. He had hours to kill, and really saw no need spending all of them getting ready when all it really involved was throwing on a tux and combing what remained of his hair.

But he had little room or choice of what he could do in lieu of wedding preparations. The living room was completely devoid of furniture, his favorite chair and even his television being placed in storage over the weekend. He couldn't graze in the kitchen, as each attempt to sneak into the refrigerator was accompanied by an admonishment by the catering team, which had arrived early to begin food prep.

He couldn't even go upstairs to relax. Kurt had commandeered the bedrooms as dressing and hair/makeup stations for the wedding party.

He stepped outside and visited the reception tent — where wait staff politely encouraged him to leave while they staged tables and decorations.

So he gave up, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling the perimeter of the property to the old glider he had set up years before, a quiet place he used to use to drink coffee and read the Sunday morning funny pages.

He sat down and used his heels to push the seat back, swinging lightly and closing his eyes to shut out the hubbub that surrounded him. He finally began to feel at peace when the sound of a car driving on gravel pulled up to the back gate, music pulsing through its stereo. Burt heard one door open and shut, then another, until he saw Blaine, in jeans and a polo, suit bag in hand, beginning to scale the back gate.

“Whoa! Hold up there, son! Let me help you.”

“Ah, don't worry, sir, I've done this dozens of...” Blaine stopped mid-sentence, hoping Burt hadn't caught it, but it was too late.

“And when exactly was that, Blaine?” he asked, chuckling to himself.

“What I mean is a couple of times when Kurt and I needed to... discuss wedding plans... late at night...” Blaine stammered. “We didn't want to wake anyone, so we'd meet back here.”

“I got it, Blaine. ‘Nuf said. But why are you parking back here today?”

“I didn't want Kurt to see me, sir.”

“Burt.”

“Yes, sir. Burt.”

“And why not? Is this part of that whole ‘wedding pact' he was going on about?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“So, if Kurt's not going to see you before the wedding, where exactly did he expect you to get dressed?”

“Apparently, the Holiday Inn,” Blaine said, sounding a bit put out.

“And where were you thinking about getting ready?”

“Maybe the basement?” Blaine asked, shrugging. He clearly had already thought this out. “I figure Kurt will be busy upstairs.”

Burt laughed.

“I have a couple of friends who are coming over to do the girls' hair and makeup, and they've agreed to keep an eye on Kurt for me to make sure he doesn't go downstairs.”

“So all we have to do is get you and your tux into the house.”

“Pretty much.”

“Count me in,” Burt said.

Finally. A job. Something a parent is good at, too — deception. After all those Christmases hiding gifts and trying to keep up the ruse of Santa, this was something I knew and knew well.

* * *

Burt had it all figured out. He would distract Kurt for a wedding day chat about marriage. To be honest, it was something he had wanted to do anyway, some private time with his son before he became a married man.

The fact that it would also serve as a stealth mission to secure some private space for Blaine made it that much better, Burt figured. He enjoyed some harmless covert ops here and there, even if it was just to get a fella a dressing room.

He marched through the front door and looked up the staircase. He could hear the hubbub of chattering voices from the bedrooms as he climbed the stairs.

“Hey, Kurt! You up there? Gotta minute?”

He reached the landing just as Kurt poked his head out from his bedroom door.

“Dad? Why aren't you dressed? You're going to have hat hair.”

Burt pulled off his cap and pointed at his thinning pate. “I don't think we have much to worry about on that front. Hey, you got a second? There's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

With that, he pulled his son down the hall for a chat, ostensibly to impart a little wedding day knowledge, father-to-son.

Blaine eavesdropped from the front door. The moment he saw Burt's feet disappear down the upstairs hallway, he made his move.

He had to move fast, because Kurt doubled back toward the staircase almost immediately.

“Dad, there's a lot going on right now. Can this wait?”

“You know, this is a big day.”

“I realize that, Dad.”

“And I just think it's a good time for a little father-son talk.”

“You've already given me the sex talk, Dad. We're good.”

“You know that's not what I'm talking about,” Burt said, a little chagrined. “Marriage, it's a big step, Kurt. It's the rest of your life, or at least it's supposed to be.”

Kurt stopped for a moment and considered his father's words, then looked him square in the eye.

“Do you have reservations about this? I thought you liked Blaine.”

“I like Blaine plenty, Kurt. He's family. It's just after today, everything changes.”

Kurt smiled — a slight, simple up-tilt at the end of his lip that only hinted at how deeply the words had connected.

“I know, Dad. I know.”

He gave Burt a hug, then dashed back into his room. A moment later, he popped his head out the door.

“Dad?”

“Yes Kurt?”

“Blaine should be here pretty soon. Could you make sure he stays out of the house? We're not supposed to see each other until right before the ceremony.”

Burt chuckled.

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

Kurt started to close the door again, then stopped suddenly.

“And Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't worry. We'll have lots of time later today.”

* * *

But that was the point — we wouldn't. I'd been through this before, twice. And once that ticker is running, there's no squeezing in anything other than what your schedule and your wedding planner tells you.

It was the day I'd dreaded for 21 years, the day that Kurt was no longer my little boy, that he moved on — the day he left me for someone new. And by the end of the night, it would be too late. He'd be half of a married couple, and learning these lessons for himself.

* * *

The wedding would be held in the back garden, freshly spruced up with potted roses and freshly planted ranunculus and daisies. Two aisles of white folding chairs were neatly arranged for the guests, separated at the center by a white runner that led to a rustic arch Kurt had rented, then festooned with summer blooms and tea lights.

He had strung paper lanterns from the trees in an array of shapes and bright summer colors, looking for like an airborne field of summer wildflowers. Each lantern was lit by a tiny electric candle, the type that could be triggered by remote control. Kurt reasoned that it would not only guard against fire, but also allowed the lanterns to light simultaneously, just as the judge declared them married.

A musical trio set up to the left of the proceedings — keyboards, guitar and a bass — serving as little more than accessories to Mercedes' soulful voice. She had quickly agreed to sing the processional, Ribbon in the Sky, prompting a minor eruption by Rachel. Kurt had anticipated this from his diva-esque roommate, even planned for it.

“That's fine, Rachel. You can sing at our wedding,” he had said to his one-time roommate. “But if you do, you can't also be my ‘Best Girl'. It's one or the other, and I'll let you choose.”

As he expected, she huffed and glared, but ultimately choose to stand at his side in the ceremony, seemingly deciding that the “Best” of anything was better than being a simple wedding singer.

Besides, she fully intended to grab the mic and sing a few songs at the reception.

* * *

If the guests expected to see the moment when the grooms saw each other for the first time on their wedding day, Kurt and Blaine had other ideas. Despite the wedding pact, they also knew that they wanted to reserve that moment exclusively for themselves. It was a departure from tradition, but neither wanted to suggest parallels with a wedding between a man and a woman.

“We're equals,” Kurt had said, explaining the plan to Burt. “Both going into the wedding, and coming out married. Besides, we're making our own traditions here.”

The pact was detailed on this point. When the rest of the wedding party gathered before the start of the ceremony, Kurt and Blaine would meet on the front porch, each approaching from opposite sides of the house. No one else would be there. Not family, not friends, not photographers. This was their moment and their moment alone, and Kurt was insistent that they would not see each other until that very second when they exchanged simple, white Freesia boutonnieres.

As confounding and downright silly as it felt to Blaine leading up to the wedding day, it all washed away the moment they saw each other.

Blaine had kept his promise, and adhered to his usual fashion sense: a traditional Hugo Boss tux, trim cut and tailored to accent his slim waist. He wore a crisp white formalwear shirt with French cuffs and black buttons, tailored to fit like a second skin, and accented it with a slim bow tie. With the help of stylist friends who had offered their help for the wedding, his sometimes-unruly mop of curls had been swept into a soft pompadour. He looked like a Hollywood icon on Oscar night.

As promised, simple and elegant.

Kurt did not feel so constrained.

Working with his contacts at Vogue, he designed the tux himself. He wanted — no, insisted — that this suit be one-of-a-kind, as was appropriate to the occasion.

He started with a traditional base — a narrow box-cut tuxedo jacket — and added the Kurt Hummel touch. From a distance, it looked like brocade, but on closer inspection it became clear that he had made two jackets, overlaying a thickly woven black Venetian lace on top of a base of stiff black taffeta. Beyond that, he remained fairly conventional, with traditional tuxedo slacks and a bow tie of black silk — one dramatic piece, set against a neutral background.

It was everything Blaine loved about him, wrapped up in taffeta and lace: adventurous, daring, chic, bold, handsome.

Blaine's breath hitched, just for a moment, as he approached. Kurt kicked lightly at the ground like a soft-show routine, swaying softly from side to side. Blaine simply stared with wonder. Kurt looked away, bit his lip momentarily, and then looked up, a grin spreading across his face. He knew he looked good. The custom tux, the time with the stylists, the secrecy — it had all accomplished its purpose in those few seconds.

He looked Blaine up and down, and reached up to brush away a small leaf that had blown on to his shoulder.

“You look like a modern-day Cary Grant, with a little young Elvis thrown in,” he said.

Blaine leaned in closer, brushing his nose against the curve of Kurt's ear.

“You look like a once-in-a-lifetime Kurt Hummel.” 

* * *

The guests made their way to their seats just as the sun prepared to set, and the wedding party took its place.

First, the parents: Bitsy and Don to the left, Burt and Carole to the right. Both women wore colors of the summer season, as Kurt had requested. Bitsy in softly flowing lemon chiffon and Carole in a classic A-line of embroidered tangerine charmeuse.

Cooper and Rachel moved next, walking slowly together to the music. Rachel maintained a poised if not slightly rehearsed smile all the way to the arbor. Cooper grinned and nodded at friends.

After an intentional pause, the music trio relaxed. The guests stood and turned toward the top of the aisle, where Kurt and Blaine stood, side-by-side.

Blaine looked over to the audio-visual support tech at the soundboard — a cue for his surprise, a gift for his husband-to-be.

The sound of trumpets filled the darkening sky: Trumpet Voluntary. 

Kurt looked to Blaine, a smile creasing his face with recognition of the music that had accompanied royal weddings.

“You didn't!”

Blaine leaned in to whisper in his ear, a sly smile gracing his face.

“Happy wedding day.”

Kurt took his hand and they walked together, paced in time with the regal trumpet flourishes, to the altar.

* * *

When it came right down to it, the ceremony was pretty much to the point. My job was simple, and I was determined not to screw it up.

The officiant was an old friend, a local judge who had supported me when Kurt's mom died, and who supported me again when I ran for Congress. He had one question for me: “Who presents this man, Kurt Hummel?”

It was my only job in the entire ceremony.

“I do,” I said, and stepped back from the altar, my job as father complete.

Who presents this man? This MAN. But he's just a boy, the boy that I taught to ride a bicycle; the boy I took to ballet class; the boy I raised after his mother passed.

Kurt and Blaine exchanged their own vows, with words that were something borrowed and something new. Both said a few words they had written about their relationship and about love, and then recited something special to them. Blaine recited Shakespeare's Sonnet 91.  

Kurt used a passage from Love, Loss and What I Wore as the theme for his moment. I wasn't too sure about it when he first told me his plans. I mean, I had no idea what it was, but from the love-struck look on Blaine's face, it must have hit just the right note. 

No doubt about it, that boy was smitten.

They only stopped holding hands long enough to exchange rings. From time to time, I saw Blaine rub his thumb over Kurt's knuckles, something I had seen since the first night he stopped by for dinner. Yet it was the first time I'd really noticed it. It seemed to steady Kurt rather than distract him, and inevitably caused him to turn and look at Blaine with such... love. I have never seen his face look so warm, and so at peace.

And suddenly, as if no time had passed at all, it was the moment, the moment it became official. The moment I had braced myself for:

“Under the power vested in me by the state of Ohio, I now pronounce you legally married. Misters Hummel-Anderson, you may kiss.”

They held hands, and just... stared at each other for a moment. Carole reached her hand through the crook of my elbow and rested her head on my shoulder.

Then they kissed. It was over.

Kurt beamed. Blaine smiled, and looked down for a moment as if self-conscious about the attention. Then he looked at Kurt, and took his arm, and they walked together back up the aisle.

Our guests — all 165 of them — stood and applauded, and I did my level best to take a deep breath, smile, and keep it together.

* * *

The party quickly converged on the reception tent, really more of a giant tented gazebo. Draped with wide swaths of tulle and what must have been thousands of twinkle lights, it looked like a children's garden fantasy come to life.

The guests lined up for their seating assignments almost immediately. They were organized in rounds of eight, each table dressed in white, but decorated with sprays of summer flowers, following the brightly hued theme of the wedding.

And while Burt didn't get his barbecue dinner, Blaine did convince Kurt to scale back his original menu plan and serve a simple, elegant — and affordable — chilled poached salmon with a salad of baby field greens. The meal was complimented with pink sparkling wine, a blush much like the one across Kurt's cheeks.

The grooms disappeared with the photographer after the ceremony, taking advantage of the last remnants of rich color in the twilight summer sky for wedding day portraits.

When they arrived at the reception, they were seated at the head table overlooking the reception, along with the rest of the wedding party.

Only part of the party was missing. Burt got caught up in the crowd, and had yet to make it to his seat.

* * *

It was unbelievable. I'd never seen a line form so fast.

It was as if they knew what the food was costing me.

I finally made it into the tent only because the boys showed up. Their appearance was like the parting of the Red Sea in the crowd at the rear of the reception area, and it finally gave me the chance to catch up with Carole and maybe get some dinner.

* * *

The meal finished, the toasts completed — Rachel had cried telling a meandering tale of their close-but-competitive relationship; Cooper had embarrassed his mother by sharing a decidedly R-rated story of brotherly antics — and attention shifted to the dance floor.

Instruments lined the center stage, with a deejay rig to the side. The grooms had not intended to hire a band, but with so many friends in entertainment — and so many egos at stake — there was no way they would get away with recorded music alone.

So they simply let it evolve, and old friends shared the stage, pretending not to try to show each other up, singing a range of love songs, show tunes and pop classics. During breaks, a deejay took control, luring guests to the dance floor with thumping beats.

Burt caught only the occasional glimpse of Kurt throughout. He was determined to share the experience, but whenever the grooms moved to a designated corner of the tent for another “moment” — the slicing of the cake, the joint tossing of a summer bouquet — Burt would find himself pushed aside by a crowd of enthusiastic guests.

It was only in one of those moments when the deejay took control, and urged the crowd to “make room for the wedding party” that Burt found himself face-to-face with his bright-eyed son.

“And now, let's welcome the Hummel-Andersons for their first dance as husbands,” the deejay said. Mercedes stepped to the mic, and the simple piano intro of Whitney Houston's I Believe in You and Me filled the warm night air. 

The grooms smiled, Blaine dusted his fingertips over Kurt's collar. Then they pulled each other close, Blaine tucking his nose into the base of Kurt's neck.

I believe in you and me
I believe that we will be
In love eternally
As far as I can see
You will always be the one
For me

As he watched the men sway, oblivious to the crowd watching them, Burt felt a hand weave its way into his.

He looked down.

Carole stood by his side, a tear rolling down her cheek.

The song drew to a close, and the deejay urged the parents and “best people” to the floor. Blaine took Bitsy's hand and steered her to the floor.

He pulled his mother into a proper waltz hold, just as he'd been taught in cotillion years before.

“Do I get to see that ring now?” Bitsy asked, smiling. He pulled his arm from around her waist, giving her a little practiced twirl in the process.

As she faced him again, he held out his left hand, ringed finger on display.

“A puzzle ring...”

“I'm sorry about keeping it a secret,” Blaine said. “We just wanted to keep a couple of things to ourselves.”

“It's lovely,” she said. “And Kurt's?”

“Matches, just with the pieces inverted.” He looked down at his mother, and saw tears starting to form in her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Sweetheart, I'm better than okay,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I'm just so proud of you. And I'm so sorry about any doubts...”

“Don't apologize, mom. If I'd been on the outside looking in, I would have felt the same way. But I knew, almost from the moment I met him. He's such a good man, and it's just so... right.”

“I know, baby. I know. We see it, too. I promise you, we do.”

* * *

As Blaine danced off with his mother, Kurt approached Carole, but he wasn't seeking a dance. “Would you mind...?”

“He's all yours, Kurt,” she answered.

Kurt took Burt's hand, letting his father lead. It was his boy band song, the one Burt had heard Blaine tease Kurt about that night weeks ago. 

You'll never know
What you've done for me
What your faith in me
Has done for my soul...

The grin spread wide across Kurt's face.
He had selected the N-SYNC song specifically for Burt.

Through the days ahead
I think of days before
You made me hope for something better
And made me reach for something more

Don Anderson invited Carole to the floor, and led her in a friendly waltz. They were soon joined by Cooper and Rachel, the entire wedding party now on the floor.

Kurt began to sing along, sweetly serenading his father.

What you taught me
Only your love could ever teach me
You got through when no one could reach me
Cause you always saw in me
All the best that I could be
It was you who set me free

Burt felt tears building in his eyes, and then a tap on his shoulder. Blaine was waiting, Carole by his side. Don and Bitsy were now dancing together, and his new son-in-law was asking to cut in.

It was the last moment of privacy he would have with his son that night, but it wasn't a request he could decline.

“Here you go, son,” he said to Blaine.

“Thank you, Burt.”

* * *

The ceremony of the reception largely concluded, the guests soon took over the dance floor. This was a group that had come to party.

True to expectations, Rachel grabbed the mic partway through the evening and to sing the “wedding-appropriate” love songs she'd hoped to hear at karaoke night.

There was more patience for the toned-down ballads at the reception than there had been at the restaurant, especially with the deejay filling in the musical gaps with Bruno Mars and Beyoncé.

As the evening grew late, Blaine — tie loosened and draped along the front of his dress shirt — took the stage.

“We're going to have to hit the road soon, but before we do, there was something we wanted to share with everyone,” he said, Kurt joining him at his side. “In fact, this was going to be a surprise for my husband, but he found me out. So instead, we thought we'd sing this together as a way of saying thank you to everyone here to celebrate with us today, and especially to Burt and Carole for making this night possible. Without them, this reception might have been dessert at BreadStix.”

Burt knew the song instantly, not because it was one of his favorites, but because it was from a film Kurt had watched ceaselessly as a teenager, before he was comfortable in his own skin, before he became the confident leader in his circle of friends. Before he fell in love.

When Kurt watched Moulin Rouge on an endless loop as a teen, and Come What May represented all that Kurt hoped for one day. Today, singing it as a duet with his new husband, it was a song of dreams fulfilled.

The crowd was silent, nearly breathless until the song's end, when the guests erupted in applause. The grooms waved, blew kiss or two, and left in a chauffeured Town Car that was waiting to take them to the airport.

* * *

I had tried — and failed — to position myself close enough to the risers to say goodbye, to have one last moment before Kurt and Blaine left for their honeymoon. 

But people kept pressing forward, and other stopped me to say congratulations and say what a beautiful wedding it had been — and it had. But I didn't have time for that, not right then.

I was nearly blinded by the glitter being tossed from the staircase, and couldn't seem to find my way to where I needed to be.

I got there too late. I was too far from the small staircase leading up the risers to say goodbye to the boys before they caught their flight to New York.

He was gone, my Kurt was gone, and I was too late to say goodbye.

Carole tried to make it better by telling me how happy he was going to be, what a good man Blaine was, how they're so in love.

She was right, of course, and there was little doubt we would hear from Kurt while they were away. He always stayed in touch, even when he was on the road.

* * *