Burt toed off his dress shoes and collapsed in a folding chair, no substitute for his favorite easy chair, but it would have to make do this one time. He looked around, stymied and silent, surveying the damage: napkins on the ground, wine bottles stacked high in recycling bins and glittery confetti spilled across tablecloths.

Blaine had warned him about the latter. “It could have been worse, but I talked him down,” he had said one day, as the two sat watching baseball. “He wanted exploding balloons full of glitter.”

Burt's moment of silence was interrupted by the harsh ring of the telephone. He picked it up and heard the din of voices in the background.

“Dad?”

“Where are you?” Burt asked.

“We're at the airport. Our flight's going to be leaving soon.”

Burt couldn't find the words, any words, so he stayed mute.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Dad. Thank you for everything. It means so much to us, and to me.”

“You're welcome, Kurt.”

“And, Dad?”

“Yes, Kurt?”

“I love you.”

Burt choked down tears.

“I love you too, Kurt.”

“They just called our flight. I have to go.”

“You be safe, okay, buddy?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Burt heard a click, but held the phone to his ear for long seconds after the call ended. He felt a hand cover his around the receiver, and gently pry the phone from his hand.

Carole set the handset back on the phone, then rested both hands on Burt's shoulder, and kissed his forehead.

“You know, we hardly got a chance to dance tonight,” she said.

Burt sat still for a moment, stoic, before allowing a grin to slowly creep across his face. He looked up, then rose, turning to face her.

“May I have this dance?” he said, holding out his hands in invitation.

Barefoot and glittered, Burt took his bride into his arms and began to sway to the sound of an imagined song.

* * *