I knew the day would come. I knew it from the day Kurt first told us he planned to marry someone he'd known less than a year. I knew there was bound to be trouble in paradise.

Everything had been so rushed: the relationship, the engagement, the preparations, the juggling of planning a wedding in Ohio with a graduation in New York, and the launch of careers.

It wasn't until weeks later that Kurt realized that they hadn't even started the process of combining two meager households.

When I first suspected that this engagement wasn't built to last, I expected the inevitable break-up to be good news. I expected to celebrate privately and publicly reassure my son that he'd find the right guy someday.

I didn't expect it to land like a punch to the gut.

I expected it to be over something big, like where they were going to live. Or careers. Or maybe kids.

Instead, it was over the wedding registry.

* * *

The thought struck Kurt as they packed for their first post-graduation trip back to Ohio. He would stay behind to work on wedding plans. Blaine, who was settling into his role as Dr. Ridge Rockwell, would return after an extended weekend.

“Should we register?” Kurt asked, almost absentmindedly.

“Should we what?”

“Register. We haven't made a registry for the wedding, and I've gotten a couple of messages asking where we're registered.”

“For gifts?”

“For gifts,” Kurt said, cozying up to Blaine and wrapping his arms around his neck. He nuzzled at Blaine's jaw as he let his mind drift.

“Mmm, cookware and stemware and towels and linens. Oh myyyyyy.”

“So, we could register for 800 thread count sheets?” Blaine answered, finally considering the possibilities.

“Mmm-hmm. Never hurts to put it on the list.”

“Well, then sign me up,” he said, wrapping Kurt in his arms and pulling him into the embrace.

Macy's was easy enough. It had stores in both New York and Ohio, and they could easily build a registry online, even collaborate during their brief separation.

The problem was in Lima, where Kurt decided they should also register at Jensen's, the local department store he had shopped at since the earliest of his back-to-school wardrobe excursions. The thought was that it would be good to have a local list, at a familiar store that didn't require online access or a drive to Dayton. It just made sense, or at least that's what he thought when Carole suggested it.

Jensen's didn't have online retail, let alone a virtual registry. It was done the old-fashioned way: in the store, with a clipboard-toting store clerk — in this case, Barbara, a 50-something lifetime resident of Lima with frosted blonde tips and a trail of husbands in her wake.

They knew this because Barbara shared her life story with them as she followed them around the store.

Married at 19. Oh, that was a mistake — too young, wanderlust. But husband number two, at age 23, well he was a keeper, right up to the day he fell off a grain silo just outside Findlay. Husband number three was a salvation, pulling her out of her mourning period and back into matrimony. Yes, Barbara the Jensen's clerk believed in love.

Blaine oozed his natural charm, and Barbara (“Call me Barb, dear.”) directed most of her attention his way.

“How sweet of you to start a registry for your bride. There's so much to do leading up to the wedding, isn't there? What's your bride's name, sweetheart?”

Blaine's eyes grew momentarily large. Kurt's jaw locked as he shot him a glance, and started to correct her when Blaine jumped in, politely changing the subject before Kurt could speak.

“So, we have a rough list of linens and kitchenware,” he said.

He pulled an iPhone from his pocket to show her the list he and Kurt had worked on together from the Macy's web site: the Henckels knives, All-Clad brushed stainless cookware, Le Crueset stoneware and Dutch oven, Reidel stemware, and hotel collection bedding in slate gray.

“Oh, these are very nice. She'll love this cookware,” she said. Kurt cocked an eyebrow at Blaine.

“I'm not sure we have all of this in stock. Let me go back and check. I'll just be a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Barb. We'll be nearby.”

As soon as she disappeared behind the stockroom door, Kurt spun around to face Blaine.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Kurt...”

“What the hell was that? Why did you let her do that? Why did you let that go on?”

“I just thought...”

“You thought nothing! We're here, registering for our wedding, and she asks you about the bride. Well, the groom was standing right next to you.”

“I just thought it would be easier...”

The color flared in Kurt's cheeks, his eyes narrowing.

“Easier for who? You always pass for straight, and you do nothing to dissuade them.”

“Now that's not true.”

“How many girls have hit on you in the last month?”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you. You let them. I swear, you like it.”

“I tell them I'm involved.”

“With a guy?”

“I don't act on it, so why should it matter?”

“You flirt.”

“You always said you liked that. And that's who I am, Kurt. I'm friendly. I like people. If you think that's flirting, or coming on to people, that's you, not me.”

“What were you going to do when she filled in the name of the couple on that registry, hmm? Change my name to ‘Kate'?”

“You know I wouldn't do that.”

“Did you see that form? It doesn't ask for the names of the ‘registrants', it asks for the name of the bride and groom. So, who's the bride?”

“Kurt, it doesn't matter. Make me the bride, I don't care. I just want to marry you.”

“What do you mean, it doesn't bother you? It should. It should bother you every day.”

“That's not what I mean. I just, I'll fill my name in under ‘bride','' Blaine said.

“You're missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“It's everything. It's cake toppers and traditions that don't quite fit and the people of Lima who aren't quite used to this yet and wedding rituals that are about fertility. Fertility rituals, Blaine. And it's store clerks who want to meet the bride.

“You say you're out and proud, and in New York, it seems like you are. We're a couple there and everyone knows it. But we get to Ohio and suddenly I feel like I'm being dragged into the closet with you. And it's easier for you because people think you're straight — and you let them believe that. Why don't you stand up for us here, Blaine?”

“I'm just trying to keep everything as easy as possible.”

“We're supposed to be getting married here in a few weeks. What's the problem?”

“This isn't New York.”

“It shouldn't matter where we are, Blaine. And the fact that it does, and that you wouldn't stand up for me and that you just don't get it makes me wonder why we're doing this at all.”

“Kurt, no! Where is this coming from? This is such a little thing.”

Kurt shook his head, no. His eyes were starting to well with tears and he couldn't meet Blaine's eyes. He looked around the store, saw

Barbara starting to approach and finally looked at Blaine.

“I can't do this,” he said, turning his back and leaving.

Blaine stood alone in the middle of the linen department as the clerk walked up, clipboard in hand.

“Where did you friend go?”

“He's not my friend,” Blaine responded in monotone.

“He's my fiancé.”

* * *

Kurt hurtled his rental car into the driveway of his parents' home, slamming the driver's door shut and stomping toward the house. He had left Blaine behind at the store. He could fend for himself, Kurt decided.

The front door got the same treatment as the car, slamming shut, causing Burt to look up from the sports section of the Columbus

Dispatch, a reading ritual he had been looking forward to all day.

“Whoa, whoa there. What was that?”

“Nothing!” Kurt cried, making a beeline for the staircase.

“Kurt! You get back down here. What's going on?”

Kurt paused for a moment, staring at the floorboard.

“The wedding's off,” he said.

Carole had heard the commotion and clambered down the stairs, heading straight for Kurt and wrapping him up in a hug.

“Oh, Kurt, what happened?”

“It's off. It's...” Kurt buried his head on her shoulder. “He...”

“Come here,” she said, steering him toward the living room. “Let's sit down and talk about it.”

Kurt started slowly, but eventually poured it all out, sort of, through sobs and gasps and the repeated refrain of “He doesn't care,” he tried to explain why it was absolutely, positively necessary for him to break off the engagement — no ifs, ands or buts.

Carole hugged him sympathetically, and assured him that everything would be all right.

Burt cocked his head to onside and scrunched his forehead like a confused Labrador Retriever.

“Tell me again what the problem is? He offered to be the bride?”

“He passes, Dad, and he doesn't do anything to correct it.”

“Passes? Afraid I'm not following you, Kurt.”

“People think he's straight, Dad.”

“Okay...”

“And he doesn't correct them.”

“I see.”

Burt scratched his chin for a moment, sizing up the argument and Kurt's complaints, which he didn't have a complete grasp of. Then he scooted forward in his chair, folding his hands together in much the same way he did when the Bengals were fourth and goal.

“Kurt, let me ask you something. You're upset because people think Blaine's straight, and because he just lets it slide? Right?”

“Yes.”

“I assume some of these people are girls?”

“They hit on him all the time. And it doesn't help that his character on Days of Our Time is a womanizer.”

Burt wrinkled his brow.

“He's a playboy doctor who slept with two nursing students in his first episode. Girls love him,” Kurt said.

“Girls love you.”

“When I design their clothes or go shopping with them.”

“I see. Blaine — how does he respond to the attention? Does he respond? Do you have any doubts about his, um, fidelity?”

“Oh, no! No, Dad. He's not interested in girls, not like that. I mean, he kissed Rachel once, but that was an accident.”

“I'm just going to let that one pass. No pun intended, son.”

Kurt looked up at him, a little annoyed, but eventually amused.

“So let me get this straight. You're upset because when this happens he doesn't stop the person and say, ‘No, I'm gay'?”

“Dad, I was standing right there when this sales lady asked him about the bride. The Bride, and he just changed the subject.”

“Look son, I'm not saying you're wrong, but Blaine strikes me as a very... polite... young man. Is it possible, just possible, that he was trying to save embarrassment for that store clerk — and maybe for you?”

“I'm not embarrassed about being gay, Dad.”

“I know that. And I'm proud as hell of you because of it. But maybe Blaine read it as an awkward situation that he was just trying to avoid. He grew up here, too, son. And like you said, Ohio is not New York. This marriage thing is still new here. People are just learning to adjust. And there's a helluva lot to learn.”

Kurt looked down at his hands, rubbing them together in concentration.

“I don't want to spend a life where I feel I'm being pushed back in the closet.”

“And that's valid, Kurt. I'm just saying, maybe you should hear him out.”

Just then they heard a car pull into the driveway. Burt looked between the curtains to see Blaine paying a cab driver.

“He's here.”

“I don't want to see him,” Kurt said, rising and heading toward the stairs. “Tell him to go away.”

The doorbell rang — once, twice — and Burt rose to open the door.

“Blaine?”

“Mr. Hummel, I need to see him.”

If there were ever a time to ensure that this marriage didn't happen, or at least got postponed, this would have been it. Kurt had doubts and Blaine had the dumbfounded look of a kid who'd just been picked last for the dodge-ball team.

The boy looked distraught, lost. Kurt had a similar look on his face, but with a dash of his patented anger thrown in. This was that moment I knew would happen, that I planned to take advantage of, and when it finally arrived... I caved.

One glance at the mopey look on Blaine Anderson's face and I knew I had to do something.

“C'mon, son. How's about you and me go get a beer or something?”

“But I need to fix this. I need to talk to Kurt.”

“Listen to me, son. I know my boy. By the time we get back, Kurt'll have calmed down, and then you two can talk. It's gonna be okay.

Trust me. Come on, let's go get a drink, just the two of us.”

Burt drove him to Lucky's, a neighborhood bar a mile or two away — a dark, old-time watering hole with brightly-hued neon signs of beer bottles, brand logos and mascots lining the walls. A couple sat at the bar, eating burgers and drinking Bud. Burt pointed Blaine towards a corner booth.

“Barkeep, can we have a couple of beers here?” he called out to the bartender.

For the next 90 minutes, Blaine poured his heart out, sipping beer and occasionally sobbing, the crux of the message being he loved

Kurt, he didn't mean to hurt him and he would parade around Lima wearing a sandwich board declaring his undying devotion to Kurt Hummel if he needed to.

“Mr. Hummel...”

“Burt...”

“I appreciate this, but I need to get back to Kurt. I need to apologize. I need...”

“Sloooooooow down there, Blaine. You know what we're doing here, right?”

Blaine looked up from his beer with blood-shot eyes.

“Um, talking?”

“No kid. We're buying time.” Burt sipped at his beer, the hint of a grin on his lips. “Kid, let me tell you something about my son. Now,

I'm not saying that Kurt's a hothead. Let's just say he can be a little passionate when he gets worked up about something.”
Blaine gave him a half-smile, and nodded.

Progress.

“And when Kurt gets worked up about something, the best thing to do is leave him alone for a little while to work it out. He will. Don't you worry. But you can't just force the issue. He has to sort things out on his own for a bit before he sees what's right in front of his face.”

“And when do you think that will be, with this?” Blaine asked quietly.

“After another beer,” Burt quipped, hailing the bartender for another round.

“So, tell me about this character of yours. Kurt tells me he's a lady killer.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, and told his future father-in-law about Dr. Ridge Rockwell, bad-boy doctor of Days of Our Time.

* * *

We spent another hour in that bar, talking about Blaine's job and his plans for the future. Most of it revolved around Kurt.

I also discovered that my future son-in-law was a bit of a lightweight in the drinking department. One beer and he became chatty. Two beers and he was an emotional wreck, hell-bent at getting home to Kurt.

And when we walked through that front door, Kurt showed up on the staircase as if on cue. Blaine called him “Baby”. Kurt swept him up in a hug. It was about that time I excused myself to the den, but I'd seen enough to know that this argument was over.
Carole and I decided to spend a couple of hours watching movies on cable. Loud movies. We didn't see the boys again that night.

The wedding was back on.

* * *