The invitation arrived the next day, by courier no less, an embossed card from the House of Anderson.

Dr. Thurston ‘Don' Anderson

and

Mrs. Elizabeth ‘Bitsy' Anderson

Invite you to join us at our home for brunch

Sunday, April 14, 2013r32;   *   Noon

Westerville. The land of big houses and bigger egos. Not part of my district. Probably a good thing. If Ohio had a Beverly Hills, it was Westerville. Westerville was old money — established households with entrenched views on the world.

It was also where my son's fiancé had grown up and gone to private school. Carole said I should be glad for that. It was clear that she considered Blaine Anderson a “catch”.

But an invitation? By courier? Overkill, the Westerville way. I suspected that we were about to get a pretty good idea about this boy who wanted to marry my son.

* * *

“Haven't these people heard of just picking up the phone?” Burt said, inspecting the custom linen card stock and scratching his head.

“Thurston and Bitsy,” Carole repeated, holding back a minor eruption of giggles by biting her lip. “Oh my.”

“Thurston. Now where do you get ‘Don' from that?”

“Sweetheart, if you were named Thurston, you'd probably call yourself ‘Don', too,” Carole said, kissing Burt on the cheek and touching his shoulder. “Be sure to put it on your calendar.”

Four days later, they were slowly driving along the manicured, tree-lined streets of Westerville, a two-hour drive from their Lima home and a world away from their modest neighborhood.

It was everything Burt remembered it to be from the occasional campaign stop to help out a neighboring political ally who was trying to break through the other party's longtime stranglehold on the quaint old community.

The town, a suburb of Columbus, was best known for its northwestern neighborhoods, tree-lined and waterfront, dotted by historic storefronts and elegant mansions that had been in the family for generations. They dripped of money and Ivy League credentials, often preceded by years at the local prep school, Dalton Academy.
Dalton Academy, the alma mater of one Blaine Anderson.

It was odd, Burt thought, that a Dalton alum would end up in theatre arts. But then again, not a lot of his Congressional colleagues had sons training for a career on Broadway either.

“Which one is it?” Burt asked, craning his head over the steering wheel to try to read house numbers hidden behind walls of ivy.

“I think it's the big one,” Carole answered.

“They're all big ones, Carole.”

“There it is,” she said, unfazed. “Number 501 — behind the gate.”

“Of course,” Burt said.

He pulled their sedan into the driveway and up to a security post, where he pushed a button that he hoped would open the heavy iron gates.

They were greeted with a video screen that reflected their images, and the voice of a woman on the intercom.

“Hello? Congressman Hummel? Mrs. Hummel? Just a moment and we'll buzz you right through.”

The gate opened to reveal a lush, manicured landscape wrapped around a circular driveway. The house — no, mansion — wasn't among the oldest in Westerville. Instead, it had the look of a relatively new home custom-designed to replicate the feel of the historic mansions — without the inconveniences of old plumbing and heating.

“This isn't a house. This is an estate,” Carole said. “How did such a humble boy grow up in an environment like this?”

Burt took in the site and grunted. The front door opened and the Andersons emerged, Ozzie and Harriet style, grinning like a couple from a 1960s sitcom. They stood side-by-side, Dr. Anderson in a crisp Oxford shirt and chino slacks, his wife in a trim tailored dress. His hair was swept back to country club perfection. She was a petite, raven-haired beauty.

The home looked like it jumped off the pages of House Beautiful.

“Well, hello!” Dr. Anderson greeted them brightly. “Congressman Hummel, it's an honor to meet you.”

“Burt. Please, call me Burt. This is my wife, Carole.”

“Nice to meet you both. I'm Don and this is my wife, Bitsy.”

Introductions made, the Andersons led Burt and Carole through the foyer to the formal living room, the side tables and baby grand piano adorned with bouquets of white daffodils and bright yellow forsythia.

“How about a toast to the happy couple while brunch is being prepared?” Don asked, reaching for an ice bucket that had already been set out with a bottle of Moët &

Chandon and four champagne flutes.

“Don't mind if I do,” said Burt, despite his natural skepticism of the marriage, the mansion and the Anderson lifestyle.

Bitsy filled the glasses, each one precisely three-quarters full, and Don raised his flute for a toast.

“To the happy couple,” Don said, raising his glass. “And celebrating their choices, no matter where it might lead them.”

Carole caught Burt's eye. He was not amused, but he raised his glass along with the others. “To the happy couple,” he repeated.

“We absolutely respect our son's right to marry,” Don said, as if starting a speech.

“Oh, yes, absolutely. We just want him to be happy,” Bitsy echoed.

Burt nodded, and sipped at his drink.

“And our boys clearly seem very happy together.”

“That they do,” Burt said cautiously.

“Though I must admit I'm concerned for their future, what with both of them wanting to be actors,” Don continued. “I mean, I know our Blaine has talent — the music and whatnot — but I was really hoping he would follow me into medicine instead of the performing arts like his brother. We hoped it was just a passing fancy. He really is an outstanding student and could have had a serious career.”

Burt and Carole looked at each other briefly.

“His brother?” Burt asked.

“Cooper,” Bitsy said. “He has quite a career in commercials in Los Angeles. I think Blaine saw that and just decided...”

“Of course, Blaine is absolutely stuck on this idea about New York, for some reason,” Don interrupted.

“Well, he did get that role on Days of Our Time,” Burt said.

“Yes, that,” Don said. “He did get a job, at least.”

Bitsy leaned in toward Carole. “He's such a handsome boy,” she said. “The camera loves him.”

“But he had so much promise in school,” Don continued. “I thought he would continue with a serious education. But I guess this makes him happy. It is about happiness, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Burt said cautiously.

Don, already near the bottom of his flute, refilled their glasses.

“And they do seem to be happy.”

“Yes,” Burt repeated.

“But they are just so determined to be married, and so soon,” Don said.

“Oh, Don!” Bitsy said. “Please. This is a nice sociable lunch, for the parents to get to know each other.”

She turned to Carole. “That's so important, don't you think?”

Carole nodded in indeterminate agreement, smiling and raising her eyebrows.

“You know, it looks like brunch is ready to be served. How about we take it out on the veranda? It's such a lovely day.”

They migrated to the porch, a social perch overlooking the countryside and a garden beginning to bloom with spring flowers. An outdoor dining set had been set with a floral arrangement and place settings, along with a brunch of quiche, lobster and salads. More wine sat, chilled and ready, at the table.

“Burt, I know your stance on this issue, and I just want you to know that we're behind our sons' right to marry whomever they choose — 110 percent,” Don said, uncorking the wine.

“That's terrific,” Burt said.

“I mean, this wasn't the future we envisioned for Blaine when he was a boy. He was always bright and talented, and we knew he was drawn to the arts, but we didn't know about... well, about...”

“His sexuality?” Burt prompted.

“Um, yes... until he started high school. When the trouble started, and we enrolled him at Dalton. We should have done that from the start, I guess, but we thought public school would keep him grounded and give him a chance to experience the world.”

“I'm not sure I follow you.”

“He was very young when he told us he liked boys. We wanted to give him time to be sure.”

Burt felt Carole's eyes on him, and decided to keep his mouth shut. These people would soon be relatives, and he'd promised Carole he'd behave. Instead, he took a long sip of the freshly-poured Riesling.

“Of course, after a few years had passed, we knew this was his path and we support him completely, and Kurt's a delight. Such a bright young man, and he seems to make our son very happy.”

“Yes, they do seem to love each other very much,” Carole said, watching Burt carefully.

“But I have to say, I'm a little concerned about how fast this has played out, and whether they really know what they're getting into.”

Thurston Anderson, MD had finally said something that connected with Rep. Burt Hummel, family man.

“You think so, too? I was just telling Carole that I don't understand why they don't date a little longer.”

“It's such a short engagement,” Bitsy chimed in. “That usually only happens when someone is, you know... pregnant.”

“Well, that's not a worry here, dear,” Don added, sipping at his wine. “I think it's just all their excitement over the gay marriage laws being passed. Now that it's legal, they want it — now.”

“True. This feels a little rushed, but a lot of people have been waiting a long time for marriage equality,” Burt said. “I think it's understandable if it motivates couples to get engaged.” Burt couldn't believe what he was saying. His reaction to Don Anderson was to make a case for Kurt and Blaine to be married. He took another drink, hoping to slow down the thoughts spinning in his head.

“Oh, of course! And I'm not saying they shouldn't marry — someday. This just feels awfully sudden.”

“Don, I couldn't agree with you more that it has happened fast, and that speed certainly wouldn't be my first choice for my son's engagement. But I will say this. I know my son. He's strong-willed. He also doesn't jump into things without thinking them through first. So this engagement? I take it seriously, and I'm sure that Kurt does, too — and nothing is likely to change his mind about it.”

Don nodded his head, and stirred at the Waldorf salad on his plate.

“Blaine is just the opposite. He's a very bright kid, but he can be impetuous. When he gets something in his head, he tends to act on it very quickly. That's one of the reasons I'm concerned.”

“One of the reasons?” Burt asked.

“They're just very young,” Don said. “There's so much ahead for both of them. And people change with time.”

“And you think they'll change... how?”

“I think I know what you're inferring Burt, and that's not it. I'm just saying that people change and marriages fail.”

Burt swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp, and reached for the bottle for more. Carole tried to delicately block his hand, but he would have nothing of it.

He refilled his glass and pulled himself forward in his seat, much as he would on the House floor when he was concentrating on Congressional testimony, or at family dinner night when Kurt was inspired to tell him about his week.

“Don, I think we're both going to have to come to terms with the fact that our boys intend to get married. And as Carole said to me last night, the big questions are how and when. They apparently were going to try to host a wedding themselves in New York, but it was just too expensive.”

“Yes, I know,” Don said. “I told them that they needed to take responsibility for their actions, and that included the cost of a big wedding if that's what they wanted to do.”

It was Carole's turn to look like she was about to implode. Ever since news of the engagement had broken in the Hummel-Hudson household, she had been planning ways to host or pay for the nuptials.

Burt could see it building. It was subtle but unmistakable, and he'd had ample experience learning to spot the signs that Carole was about to let someone have it — politely, professionally, definitively.

“Don, I understand that you want Blaine to stand on his own two feet, and I respect that, but let me ask you something. If you had a daughter in college and she had just gotten engaged, would you tell her to pay for her own wedding?”

Dr. Thurston “Don” Anderson was silenced, at least briefly. He looked at Bitsy, then to Burt, and finally back to Carole. He lifted his glass, took a sip and cleared his throat.

“That's different,” he said.

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Carole said.

“I think it's obvious.”

“Maybe you can explain it for us,” she said, not budging an inch.

“There are traditions,” he said. “The bride's parents pay for the wedding.”

Burt had heard enough. “Let me get this straight. If Blaine had been a girl, you would have paid for the wedding. But because he's a guy, marrying a guy, you tell him to pay for it himself?”

“It's uncharted territory, Burt. I'm just saying that it's a bit difficult to determine what our role is supposed to be here, so I think that the boys need to handle that.”

“But they haven't even graduated college yet,” Carole said.

“Maybe it will make them re-think this rush to the altar.”

Bitsy Anderson sat silently through the exchange, looking at her wine glass and avoiding eye contact.

“Bitsy, you can't agree with this. I saw how excited you were about the wedding. Don't you want to help your son?” Carole pleaded.

The perfectly petite, perfectly polite doctor's wife, silent and supportive until now, finally spoke up in a tone that unexpectedly took on authority.

“Carole, I love my son. We love our son, and we support him, we do, even if it doesn't sound how you expect support to sound. People see this neighborhood, and Dalton, and they think, ‘silver spoons'. We've always made Blaine earn everything. It made him stronger, and he needed that. You ask what we'd do if we had a daughter getting married, but it's not a fair question, because that daughter wouldn't have been beaten up for dating a boy.

“Kurt's told us he was bullied in high school, but he didn't end up in intensive care,” she continued. “That's why Blaine went to Dalton, after all. He didn't start there. It wasn't about status or community or prospects. It was to protect him when public schools wouldn't. It gave him the chance to rebuild his confidence.

“Now, he wants to jump into marriage so young, just as he's starting his career. And this is all brand new, at least here in Ohio. It's easier when you have traditions to fall back on, Carole, and there are none here. So we advised him to stand on his own two feet. We turned to the way we raised our son, and I think he turned out pretty well.”

Carole nodded. “He did, Bitsy. He did.”

“You see, Burt, it's not that we don't support our son, or Kurt,” Don added. “But not everyone in the world does. And sometimes, it pays to be prudent. We're just saying that if they want to take this dramatic step so soon, then they should consider the consequences, and own their choice. Because not everyone is so accepting of two men marrying each other.

“We're not monsters, Burt. We just don't want to see him hurt again.”

The four parents looked at each other, and with little more to say, Burt stood up.

“Thank you for the lunch, and I'm glad we got a chance to meet, but Carole and I need to be on our way.”

Carole stood up and took his hand. They started toward the door, but then Burt stopped and turned around.

“I understand what you're saying, but I also have a son who has been planning his wedding day since he was six years old, and if you don't mind — and if the boys approve — we're going to host this shindig.”

* * *