September 2012 Part 1

Kurt, Rachel, and I got along well, meeting up after my class that Rachel teaches twice a week at first. Sometimes we would go for coffee, sometimes a late lunch or early dinner. But Rachel was always there, never letting Kurt and me be alone. I don’t know if Kurt asked her to or if she sensed the tension that would crop up and the awkward silence when she would go to the restroom. Don’t get me wrong, Kurt and I got along like we had been friends forever; every time we were alone, however, we tensed up. I always started recalling pieces of that night in June we had together and Kurt avoided my eyes. Rachel was loud and obnoxious and always tried to focus the conversation on herself. Kurt however always would pull her out of her self revolving world, and let her know that other people are in this world too. It was entertaining to watch the two of them interacting. They always seemed to pull me into the conversation without effort, no matter what it was about. It could be about the backstage of Broadway, where I had never been, and I still was included in the conversation. Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry quickly became my best friends.

Around a month after our first coffee rendezvous, Rachel talked us all into meeting Friday night for dinner at this new Italian place she knew of. “Everyone’s talking about it and I haven’t been yet! I can’t be a part of these conversations until I’ve eaten at Giovanni’s. We have to eat there, but they’re only opened Fridays and Saturdays. I’m busy Saturday, so we need to go Friday. I’ll give both of you the address and we will all meet there. Eight o’clock, this Friday, Giovanni’s. I’ll text the address later on. I have to go now. Previous engagements and all. Ciao!”

“Well, I have to go. I’m working with an Off-Broadway producer on some costumes and they don’t just design themselves. I’ll see you Friday?” Kurt questioned, gathering up all his stuff before looking at me hopefully.

“Yeah. Friday. I’ll be there.”

-*-

That Friday, I found myself standing in front of my mirror at 7 staring at myself and wondering how I was going to pay for my dinner at the posh restaurant Rachel picked out. I Googled the restaurant and took a quick peek at their online menu and gasped when the appetizers were $30 alone. I might live in New York, but almost every penny of my money goes to my apartment rent, college tuition, and food. I could always use the credit card my father gave me, but I had been living on my own for 4 years and had yet to need to use it. I didn’t want to start now. I glanced behind in the mirror glancing at my savings jar. My savings jar was where every penny of my tips got put when I played guitar at a venue or on the street. It was my savings for a rainy day, for when my phone got stolen and I needed a new one or when my refrigerator stopped working yet again and all my groceries ruined. It was emergency money and I hated dipping into it.

I make decent money, don’t get me wrong, but I use every penny I earn. When I have extra money left over, it goes in my savings jar. I had more than enough money in that jar to go out to eat on, but the aspect of taking money out to pay for a frivolous dinner at a restaurant I could care less if I ate at sounded ridiculous to me. But Kurt would be there. So I grabbed enough money to pay for my meal and a little extra, straightened my bowtie and headed out the door.

-*-

I got to the restaurant at five to eight and found Kurt waiting outside smoking a cigarette to my surprise.

“You smoke?” I questioned walking up to him.

“Only when I’m stressed or drunk,” he replied, taking another drag off the cigarette. “Rachel set us up.”

“I…. What?”

“Rachel set us up. She apparently never planned on showing up. She could ‘sense the sexual tension’ between us and decided we weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. She meddled in things that shouldn’t be meddled in. Come on, I’m starved. Let’s eat.” With that, Kurt dropped his smoke onto the ground and stomped it out before grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the restaurant.

“Where are we going?” I asked. I had so many questions running through my head but picked the most immediate questions to ask.

“We’re going to a bar. I need beer and food.” I stopped walking and when Kurt tugged on my hand, he looked back at me. A confused look crossed his face before he said “If you want to that is?”

“Why are you so against a date? You said you wanted to get to know me, and you do that on a first date. Sure, we hang out all the time, we talk about things, but we never talk about ourselves because Rachel and you both know each other so well. You wanted to get to know me, eat at Giovanni’s, call it a date, get to know me. We can tell Rachel we did the date but decided not to go on another one. We’ll satisfy her and get to know each other.” By the end of my mini-rant, Kurt was staring at me opened mouth. He mimicked a fish for a minute or two before finally gathering enough sense to reply to my proposition.

“You’re right. But we only call it a date to Rachel. This. Is. Not. A. Date,” he ended, punctuating every word towards the end with a poke on my shoulder.

“Good. Let’s go get a table,” I simply stated before turning around and heading back towards the restaurant.

-*-

Kurt had a few glasses of wine with dinner and suggested going to the bar he was heading us to earlier when the waiter started glaring at us for staying so long after we finished eating. We had been talking about ourselves for a few hours already and had covered everything from favorite color and date of birth to religious and political views. Neither of us was ready to separate yet, so I agreed to Kurt’s bar idea. Somewhere around his last glass of wine at dinner, he cheeks had flushed and he had become a bit gigglier than before. When we arrived at the bar, Kurt immediately ordered a shot of tequila to be followed by a gin and tonic.

“You’ve been acting off all evening Kurt; what’s wrong?” I questioned, ordering a Coke from the bartender when he looked at me expectedly.

“Add some rum into it!” Kurt shouted to the bartender before he turned to look at me. “Can’t I just get drunk on a Friday night with my friend?”

“Kurt, you’ve forgotten I’ve heard Rachel complaining about how you will never go to the bar or the club with her. I’ve heard her talk about how the few times she’s convinced you to go out, you refused to drink. So, tell me. What’s wrong?”

The bartender placed our drinks in front of us and then stepped away to mix other drinks. Kurt quickly downed his shot, grimacing at the burn and then gulped down a quarter of his gin and tonic. Kurt set his glass down then leaned over to me and slotted his mouth against mine, kissing me.