As the Present Now will Later be Past (3/4)
When Blaine blinks himself awake, the first thing he sees is a pair of ocean-colored eyes staring down at him.
A slow, sleepy smile spreads across Blaine’s face. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” echoes Kurt softly. “Sleep well?”
“Mm-hmm.” Blaine yawns and then lifts his head up slightly, trying to crane his neck and look at his alarm clock. “How long was I out?”
“It’s about eight now,” Kurt tells him, “and you nodded off some time before six-thirty. Are you hungry? Your mom made food for us and I told her we’d heat it up when you finished napping.”
Blaine sits up slowly. Kurt winces and rubs at his right leg, shaking it out a little. “You must be starving,” says Blaine. “You could have gone downstairs and eaten, you know.”
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Blaine. Me, your mom, and your dad sitting down together for dinner while you’re sleeping upstairs. So very not-awkward.”
Blaine glances sidelong at him and Kurt says, a little more gently, “…and anyway, I didn’t want to wake you. You looked exhausted. I know you don’t want to talk about what’s upsetting you, but is it too much to ask that you not beat yourself up over it?”
He nods. “I’m not. I mean - I won’t.”
“Good,” says Kurt primly. He stands up and extends a hand to help Blaine off the bed. “Shall we?”
Blaine takes his hand. “We shall.”
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They head downstairs to the kitchen and heat up the lasagna. Kurt eats a decent amount of the left-over salad, and he even manages to cajole Blaine into eating a few bites. Blaine feels ten times better after having slept, and he’s content now to sit back and let Kurt chatter animatedly to him over their late dinner.
Kurt regales him with tales of Finn and Rachel’s latest relationship drama (“The boy was openly weeping on my shoulder, Blaine. It wasn’t pretty.”), conveys his suspicions about Mercedes (“I think she’s hiding something. You only check your phone for texts that often if you’re in a relationship. Or if someone’s in the hospital.”), and fills him in on the progress of Pip, Pip, Hooray! (“It’s going about as well as your Six Flags audition went. Although at least I haven’t broken any furniture mid-performance.”)
When they finish eating, Blaine clears the table and Kurt loads the dishwasher. Kurt picks up the box of dishwasher tablets and shakes it lightly in Blaine’s direction. “Tell your parents that if they insist on buying this brand, they should combine it with an automatic rinse aid. Although if you don’t have Finn living in your house, it’s probably less of an issue. I was just telling Dad the other day that if Finn spent half as much time…”
Blaine can barely put words to what he’s feeling. He’s just loving everything he’s seeing right now.
He loves the way Kurt’s eyes light up when he talks about his family; he loves that even when Kurt uses that condescending oh-these-silly-people tone of voice, there’s always an intimacy to it, as though surely Blaine also understands just how silly they’re being (even if Blaine doesn’t); he loves that Kurt has strong opinions about everything under the sun, even brands of dishwashing detergent; he loves - well - he just really, really loves Kurt when it comes down to it.
Kurt shuts the door to the dishwasher and starts it on the normal wash cycle. “Are you all right?” he asks, regarding Blaine curiously with his head cocked to one side.
“I’m fine,” says Blaine. “I was … thinking about us, actually. Eating dinner with you and clearing it away together - it’s kind of domestic and…” he gestures to the kitchen and dining room, feeling like he’s not making much sense. “Being with you and looking around here makes me think of when we’ll have our own place, and it makes me wonder what our lives will be like…” Blaine trails off.
Kurt is looking at Blaine with increasing levels of alarm and oh god - he’s just come on way too strong, hasn’t he? They’ve only been dating for four-and-a-half months. It’s one thing to dream about these things, but it’s entirely another to voice them like this; it’s too much, too soon, and now Kurt probably thinks he’s -
“Blaine Anderson,” says Kurt, placing his hands sternly on his own hips, “if looking around here makes you think of what our place will be like, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. This decorating scheme …” Kurt looks consideringly around the room and sighs heavily. “Well, I’m sure pineapple-patterned wallpaper, beadboard wainscoting, and antique maple-hutches were all the rage in 1990-whatever, but I have been designing our future kitchen since you asked me to see Rent with you: Marble countertops, glass cabinetry with black trim, Asian-style wall sconces and a few hanging lamps for light, maybe a modern curio cabinet in… what do you think - the far back corner? Am I right?”
Blaine bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning. He tries to nod as seriously and knowledgeably as he can throughout Kurt’s impassioned soliloquy on the merits of bamboo floorboards, but it’s hard because he just - god, he really, really loves Kurt.
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“So what did you and Mercedes do last night?” asks Blaine, holding his bedroom door open for Kurt.
“We helped Rachel narrow down her audition repertoire for Juilliard,” Kurt replies breezily, crossing the room to sit on Blaine’s bed. “Or, to be more accurate, Rachel picked out her song selections, asked Mercedes and I for our opinions, and then discarded them like stray chewing gum wrappers.”“Ouch,” says Blaine.
“Oh, no, not really,” says Kurt with a wave of his hand. “It’s Rachel. I’d expect nothing less.”
“What did she end up choosing?”
“Well, she wants to lead off with ‘As Long as he Needs Me’ from Oliver, which is a tragic choice of song for several reasons.”
“Do tell,” says Blaine, amused.
“First of all,” says Kurt, pursing his lips in irritation, “it’s just a tragic song in general, which will inevitably cause Rachel to do her infamous singing-crying-hybrid-thing that is in no way flattering. Secondly, she’s a mezzo and that song is clearly meant for a soprano. Thirdly, while it’s no surprise to me that Rachel wants to musically express her complete and utter emotional dependence on men… somehow I don’t think it’s the best idea.”
Kurt shrugs. “But she won’t listen to me or Mercedes. Rachel sounds - well, actually, I can show you because she uploaded one of the many versions we heard last night onto her Myspace page,” says Kurt, easing himself off the bed and walking over to the laptop on Blaine’s desk. “Do you have the sheet music for it? If you play along with it on the keyboard, you’ll hear how sharp she sounds in comparison, especially on the bridge.”
“I think I do have it,” admits Blaine. “Just give me a minute to find it.”
Blaine removes The Best of Broadway: 1950-1969 and Broadway Songs of Past and Present from their respective positions on the third shelf of his bookcase, and he’s skimming through the index of the first contender when he hears the unmistakable sound of Kurt’s footsteps.
“Kurt?” he asks, glancing up suddenly.
Kurt’s back is already to him; he’s making a beeline for Blaine’s door. “Restroom,” he says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.
Blaine frowns in concern. “Kurt, are you - ?”
But Kurt has already rounded the corner of the doorway. Blaine considers going after him - it seems strange that he’d left so abruptly - but decides against it. He finds the song in question, brings the piano book over to his keyboard, sets it on his music stand, and heads over to his desk. The laptop is open to his default homepage, which is the Bing search engine. The letters “Rach,” are typed into the search engine box, but Blaine’s eyes are quickly drawn toward the column on the left side of the screen, as Kurt’s eyes must have been.
Recent Search History
And underneath it:
bisexuality
male bisexuality
coming to terms with being bisexual
bisexual self-acceptance
resources for people questioning their sexuality
resources for bisexual men
Blaine stands there frozen, his right hand pressed to his mouth, for several seconds. Then -
“Anderson, you idiot!” he hisses, running for the door. The upstairs hall bathroom is only three doors down from him and he can see the light spilling out from beneath the door. He knocks loudly. “Kurt, it’s me. Listen, I know what that looked like, but - ”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” comes Kurt’s voice, sounding falsely bright. “Just… go wait in your room for me, okay?”
“Kurt, come on, let me explain. ”
“Blaine, no, just…” This time there’s a perceptible quaver in his voice. “C-can we please do this in your room and not in the hallway? I just… need a minute to think.”
He hears Kurt inhale sharply, a wet, half-hiccupping breath that’s nearly a sob. Kurt’s crying. Blaine buries his face in his hands. Fuck. This was not supposed to happen…
He walks back to his room on autopilot and sits on the edge of his bed, his stomach twisting itself into knots. Why hadn’t he just told Kurt everything? Even if they’d fought, it would have been better than this. He hears the bathroom door open and Blaine panics for a second; Kurt could easily choose to bypass his bedroom, walk down the staircase, and head out the front door.
Blaine's fear subsides slightly when Kurt steps into the doorway a few seconds later. Kurt's face is whiter than normal and his eyes are noticeably red-rimmed, but everything from the way he’s standing to the set of his jaw tells Blaine that Kurt is resolved - he’s determined - to do whatever it is he’s about to do.
“Kurt,” says Blaine quickly. “Listen to me. Don’t - ”
“Just let me get this out,” says Kurt forcefully. “I have to get this out, Blaine. It’s hard enough for me to say, and I need you to just… sit and listen. Can you listen?”
“Y-yes, but…”
“Good. Okay. So… here’s the thing,” says Kurt. Blaine can hear Kurt fighting to keep his voice steady, and he can tell that it’s a losing battle.
“This?” says Kurt, pointing to the computer monitor. “This is my problem. It’s my issue, my… hang-up, my… whatever you want to call it. I know it’s stupid, I know it’s juvenile and offensive, and fuck, it’s just plain shitty of me to think the way I do. It’s - it’s something I need to get over and I will get over it, starting now.”
Kurt takes a deep, shuddering breath and his determined expression fades into something softer, more vulnerable. “I can’t believe I’ve done it again,” he says, almost to himself. “I made myself so unapproachable that you had to deal with this on your own. I’m sorry I didn’t see it, but you just seemed so sure that you were gay, Blaine. You seemed sure and we seemed happy together, so even when you called me, it never occurred to me that you were having these…” Kurt closes his eyes. “…doubts or… questions. And I can’t be mad at you for not telling me, because clearly you tried yesterday and I said… well, you know what I said to you.”
“Kurt,” says Blaine, appalled. “I’m not - ”
“Blaine, wait, please, I’m almost done. I just need to explain - well, I need to make sure you know - that whether you’re gay or bi, I love you and I want to be with you. I can’t say that it doesn’t matter to me, because for some inexplicable reason it does matter… but I won’t let it affect us, I promise. And if you think you need a break from me, either because you’re pissed at me or because you need to…” Kurt looks vaguely ill. “…figure some things out…”
“No - god, no,” gasps Blaine in astonishment. “Kurt - ”
“Oh,” says Kurt faintly, the surprise and relief in his voice nearly palpable. “Well, that’s… good. That’s good.”
Blaine had spent nearly the whole course of that speech trying to interrupt Kurt, but now that Kurt has stopped talking, he finds himself at a loss for what to say. On the one hand, it’s gratifying to hear that Kurt loves him no matter what. On the other hand, Blaine has no clue how to respond without the whole story spilling out. Is that something he can do? Will Kurt understand?
He glances up at Kurt, who is chewing on his lower lip and looking expectantly at Blaine.
Wordlessly, Blaine pats the empty space next to him on the bed and Kurt crosses the room and sits down next to Blaine.
“Are we okay?” asks Kurt nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“Yes. But there’s something I need to tell you,” says Blaine firmly. “And I need you to stop trying to stay one step ahead of me, Kurt. In won’t work in this case, and it’s going to make things harder for both of us. So… can it be your turn now to just sit and listen?”
Kurt nods, looking a little chastened.
“Okay then,” says Blaine, letting his fingers brush lightly against Kurt’s. “So let me tell you what I know. And then I’ll tell you what I think, based on what I know.”
Kurt curls his fingers around Blaine’s hand, until their palms are tightly clasped.
“All right,” he says softly. “I’m listening.”
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It doesn’t take long - there isn’t much to tell, really.
But judging from the spellbound expression on Kurt's face, his theory is definitely plausible to an outsider.
“Blaine,” whispers Kurt in a hushed, awed tone. “That is just… I mean... You really think - ?”
“I really think.”
“But that would mean… all those times you thought he was trying to turn you straight - ”
“This is just a theory,” cautions Blaine, “but I think he thought I’d be able to have the same life he has now. I don’t know that he’s ever thought about the nature of one sexual orientation versus another - in fact, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s spent as little time as possible thinking about it.”
“He’s not stupid, Blaine, I’m sure he knows the difference between gay and bi.”
Blaine looks down at their joined hands. “I know some very smart people who still have a hard time with it.”
Kurt looks stricken. “Blaine, I never meant - ”
“No, Kurt. Look… maybe this is me being a jerk; I don’t know. But I spent last night doing a lot of research and I feel like - basically, I need for you to understand just how wrong you are, or at least how wrong you were. Bisexuality is real, Kurt.”
“I know that. I do. But Blaine, will you at least admit to me that a lot of gay guys pretend to be bisexual in order to - ?”
“No."
Kurt gapes at him. “Yes, they do.”
Blaine shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Honestly, I have no idea where you even came up with that. If you'd said, 'a lot of gay guys pretend to be straight,' I'd agree with you. But bi? What high schooler thinks coming out as bisexual will be easier than coming out as gay? Who thinks 'Oh, well, I'm not quite ready for the amount of bullying I'd get if I came out as gay, so I'll just say I'm bisexual and maybe they'll only beat me up half as much.' Does that sound remotely plausible to you?"
Kurt still looks unconvinced. "I can see your point, but...it's also true that there don't seem to be very many bisexual men out there as compared to gay men. You never seem to hear about them - "
"No, but why would you?"
"What?"
"I said, why would you? If you're equally attracted to women and men - and especially if you tend to be more attracted to women - then what's your incentive for coming out?"
Kurt looks outraged. "Incentive? What about increasing visibility? Showing solidarity with the gay community?"
"Right," says Blaine smoothly. "Because as you know, the gay community displays no prejudice or distrust toward bisexuals. We're all very accepting."
Kurt tries to hide his slight wince but Blaine catches it out of the corner of his eye.
Blaine tightens his grip on Kurt's hand. "I'm not trying to make you feel badly, Kurt, I swear. But... prejudice is just ignorance, you know, and that works both ways."
He looks over at Kurt, who appears to be weighing Blaine's words carefully. After a short pause, he stares down at the floor and says, "I can’t help how I feel, Blaine. What… what do you want me to say?”
“Kurt,” says Blaine wearily, “right now, I just want you to admit that there’s a lot you don’t know about this issue and that you could stand to learn a little more about it before you go making sweeping pronouncements.”
Kurt glares at him. “Fine. Ready? Blaine Warbler: Despite popular opinion, your stunningly handsome, brilliantly talented, and impeccably dressed boyfriend doesn’t necessarily know everything. Happy?”
Blaine rolls his eyes. “Ecstatic.”
"And speaking of knowing things," says Kurt, taking a deep breath, "let's do this."
Blaine arches an eyebrow. "Let's do... what, exactly?"
'
"Let's find out who our mystery guy is. Come on, aren't you curious? I'm dying to know."
He shakes his head. "I can't ask my dad about this. Can you imagine how he'd react if he knew what we - ?"
"Well, obviously, you can't ask him. We need to figure it ourselves," he says, standing up and walking over to... Blaine's laptop.
"Oh,” says Blaine dumbly as Kurt's thought process clicks into place. "Oh. I guess I never thought... I mean, I don't know how comfortable I am prying into - "
Kurt waves a hand dismissively. "It's not prying. We're not hacking into government files, Blaine, we're just poking around a little. Anything we'll find on here is public knowledge." He sits down on the bed again, laptop resting on his crossed legs. "So what do we know?"
Blaine shrugs. "Not much. I just know my dad knew him in college, he was gay, and now he's dead."
"What year did your dad graduate?"
Blaine wracks his brain for the answer. "Uh... 1985, I think?"
"And where did he go?"
"OSU."
"Main campus?"
"Uh... I assume so?"
"What did he major in?"
Blaine shrugs. "Something... business-related? Probably?"
Kurt side-eyes him. "Well, aren't you just a font of information."
"It's not my fault," Blaine protests. "He never talks about his college days."
"I guess maybe now we know why," says Kurt quietly.
Blaine sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, maybe."
"Well, did he say when he died?"
"I'm telling you, he didn't say anything at all about him. He just said he was gay. That's it. And then I asked where he was and my dad said - oh - " says Blaine, eyes widening in realization. "He said... Southview Cemetery. He said he was in Southview Cemetery."
"Where's that?"
Blaine shakes his head. "I've never heard of it."
Kurt's fingers fly quickly over the keyboard. "One word or two?"
Blaine huffs in annoyance. "He didn't spell it for me, Kurt."
"Sorry, dumb question. You're sure he said Southview, though?"
"I'm not sure of anything. But I think that's what I heard."
Kurt stares intently at the screen. "Okay, well, according to GoogleMaps, there are eight in the U.S. And four of them are in Georgia for whatever reason - in Augusta, Moreland, Thomaston, and Atlanta. Sound familiar?"
"No. And my dad told me once that the farthest south he's been is Virginia - although he could have been lying, I guess."
"He also hasn't necessarily been to this cemetery," points out Kurt.
"I guess that's true," says Blaine slowly, "but it seems like if he cared enough to remember the specific name, he's probably been to the grave."
"Well, we'll go with that assumption for now. So we'll knock the Georgia cemeteries off the list, and we'll knock off the one in Kinston, North Carolina. That leaves three."
"What are they?"
"One in..." Kurt scrolls up. "Randolph, Vermont."
"Doesn't sound familiar," says Blaine. "And I have no clue if my dad's been to Vermont or not."
"There's also one in North Adams, Massachusetts."
Blaine frowns. "Well, I know he's been to Boston on business meetings, but other than that..."
"This is nowhere near Boston. It's the complete opposite side of the state, way up near the Vermont and New York borders. Looks like a tiny little town."
"Probably not, then."
"Okay," says Kurt. "That leaves us with one more, and it's in..." He inhales dramatically. "Sullivan, Ohio."
"Ohio?" asks Blaine breathlessly, his heart beating a little faster.
"Yeah."
"Where's Sullivan?"
Kurt zooms in on it. "Up near Akron. About a 90-minute drive from here. What do you think - road trip?"
Blaine breathes out shakily. "Oh, god. I don't know. I mean, we don't even know what we're looking for, do we? A man who was probably born about the same time as my dad - although we're not even sure about that - and died at some point past childhood? We don't even know that he's buried there, although it does seem likely."
Kurt nods. "You're right, we have to narrow it down. I think you might need to do some reconnaissance."
Blaine gapes at him. "Like... how do you mean?"
"Well, there’s a phenomenon I’m aware of, but am only just now starting to experience for myself since Carole’s moved in. What does every father in the world say when there are questions he doesn't want to answer?"
"I have no idea," he admits.
"Four words, Blaine," Kurt informs him. "Go. Ask. Your. Mother."
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He hopes it’s not too much of a gender-normative cliché - the fact that long discussions with his mother tend to take place in the kitchen. It’s always been this way; something about the room just lends itself to unfettered conversation.
The Anderson kitchen is bright and cheery, and there’s always something to keep Blaine’s restless hands occupied - dishes to be washed, silverware to be put away, vegetables that need to be peeled or sliced, or sauces that can be stirred. The setting also gives Blaine and his mother the comfort of being in close proximity without the pressure of having to maintain eye contact.
Sometimes they don’t talk at all. One of them will turn on the radio and they’ll work separately while singing or bopping lightly to the music, each of them focused on their separate tasks but always calmly aware of the other’s presence. And when they do talk, the words seem to flow more freely; Blaine has found over the years that some things are just easier to ask or confess while staring down into the depths of a mixing bowl - or while shelling peas or squeezing lemons or spicing tomato sauce. Blaine’s not a particularly gifted or innovative chef, but he can follow his mom’s directions easily enough; in fact, he’d go so far as to say she brings out the best in him.
It’s for this reason that he waits to talk to her until she’s started preparing dinner the next evening.
She’s at the sink, rinsing vegetables, as he enters.
“Hey, mom,” he says, his insides already twisting with guilt. I’m not doing anything wrong, he tells himself stubbornly. These are perfectly valid, innocuous questions and she can choose to answer them or not.
“Hey yourself,” she says brightly. “Did you have a good day, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Mom, can I… ask you a question?”
She doesn’t look up. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“I was actually wondering if I could ask you about… how you and dad met? I mean, I sort of vaguely know, but…”
His mom turns around. “Dad and I?”
Blaine nods. “Mm-hmm.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Blaine, please tell me this isn’t a summer assignment for school where you’re supposed to interview an old person about what life was like when they were young. That will not endear you to me.”
He laughs shortly. “No. It’s just for the sake of my curiosity, I swear.” He really can swear to that; it’s completely true.
She continues to regard him curiously. “And just how many re-runs of How I Met Your Mother have you watched so far this summer?”
Blaine laughs again. “A fair amount.”
She smiles. “Well, I’ll advise you right now that our story isn’t nearly as involved or convoluted. But if you’re sure you want to hear it…”
“I do.”
“All right. Well… stop me if there’s something specific you want to know. We met in the spring of 1987 and it was through a mutual friend, Meg Allard. She worked with your dad and she knew me through school. Meg introduced the two of us at a party, we talked and hit it off, and he asked me out to dinner.”
“And how old were you when you met?”
She frowns in concentration. “I know your father was twenty-four. And I was… was I twenty-one? No - oh, you know, now that I’m thinking about it, I had just turned twenty-two a few days before our first date. I remember because at my family party, all my aunts and uncles kept asking me if I was seeing anyone and I kept saying, ‘Well, no, but I do have a date this Friday.’”
“And the date went well?”
She smiles reflectively. “You know, it did, or at least I thought so. But then it took him five days to call again.” She shakes her head. “God, that was a nerve-wracking time. I can remember having lunch with my girlfriends and agonizing with them over why he hadn’t called yet.”
“But he called five days later?” Blaine prods.
“Yes, and we went to the movies that weekend and saw Raising Arizona. After that date, he started calling and asking me out regularly; by that point I suspected he was seriously interested in me, but I wasn’t sure.”
“How did you find out he was interested?” asks Blaine.
“Well… we’d been dating for a month or so, but we hadn’t been dating exclusively. But then your father went back to Illinois to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for some sort of family reunion weekend. I hadn’t been expecting him to call while he was away, but he did. He called me long-distance - which I know means nothing to you, but back then it was very flattering - from his parents’ house, just to say hello and tell me that he missed me.”
“Uh-huh?” says Blaine, trying not to sound too impatient.
“And I heard him tell your Uncle James, who was talking loudly in the background, to be more quiet because he was on the phone with his girlfriend. It was the first time he’d said the word and I was… well, you can imagine. I was beyond thrilled.”
Blaine takes in that information, feeling somewhat surprised by what he’s just heard.
He knows intellectually that his mother and father hadn’t just met and gotten married right away. But he’d assumed that they must have known - that they’d looked at one another, seen which way the wind was blowing, and started planning their lives accordingly.
But obviously they hadn’t always known. There had been a time before they were married, engaged, or even seriously committed to one another. They’d been boyfriend-and-girlfriend which, when he thinks about the nature and the intensity of his relationship with Kurt, is just… a shockingly intimate notion.
And even those titles hadn’t been automatically granted; there had been a time and place in which his parents hadn’t yet worked out what they were to one another. Blaine can relate; it hadn’t been long ago that every flutter of Kurt’s eyelashes, every tilt of his head, every sigh, and every laugh had burned the same question across Blaine’s mind: Should-we-or-shouldn’t-we?
But now he’s gotten off-track.
“So,” he says as casually as he can, “when you first met dad, where were you living? With roommates? Alone?”
“I was in my senior year of college then. I lived with my friend Kitty in an off-campus apartment and Dad lived in a very small condo by himself. Why?”
“Oh,” says Blaine, caught off-guard. “No reason. Dad just… I mean, I’ve heard you mention Kitty before, but Dad never seems to talk about his college friends. I was curious.”
His mother frowns thoughtfully. “He is exceptionally private about that time in his life, and since he’d already graduated by the time I met him, I’m afraid I can’t help you much. I know he studied very hard and didn’t socialize as much as most students. But he stuck it out, so I assume he liked OSU better than that other place.”
Blaine looks up at her in surprise. “Other place?”
“Yes, he transferred from another school. Halfway through his sophomore year, I think.”
“Wh - are you serious?”
“I’m telling you, Blaine, you have a lot more in common with your father than you think,” she tells him fondly. “I have no idea what happened to him there. I know he had a very rough time of it - for some reason I think it was socially rather than academically. He refuses to talk about it; I’ve only broached the subject a handful of times, and he's always been very defensive.”
“What was the school he transferred from?” asks Blaine, trying not to sound too eager.
She sighs. “Oh god, what was the school? It was a very small college; I know I’d never heard of it before. The only reason I’d know the name is because we occasionally get alumni letters from them begging for donations. I swear, Blaine, those people can track you down anywhere.”
“Do we have any now?”
“I certainly don’t save them and I highly doubt your father does. God, I can see the envelope. What was it called?”
She looks lost in thought and Blaine drums his fingers nervously on the peninsula countertop.
“MCLA,” she says finally. “I can’t remember what it stands for, but I can picture the insignia on the envelope. It’s MCLA.”
Blaine can barely suppress his sigh of relief. Finally, they’re getting somewhere.
“Thanks, Mom,” he says. “Listen, you don’t mind if Kurt comes over this evening, do you?”
“Not at all.”
“Great. You’re the best,” he says, jumping out of his seat to kiss his mother on the cheek.
Feeling both elated and anticipatory, he exits the kitchen and texts Kurt. Break-thru, he says. Can you come over?
Blaine bounces on the balls of his feet waiting for Kurt’s reply. Fifteen seconds later, his phone beeps: Leaving ASAP. See you soon.
He pockets his phone and heads out the front door. A quick walk might do him some good right about now.
Part Four