Work Text:
April 2020
When Dave picked up his phone in the morning, the first thing he saw was a notification from Finn Hudson. It made him blanch until he read the content. Finn had sent a message to all of his followers, inviting them to a—a campaign event?
Mostly out of curiosity, he watched the video over breakfast. Finn looked about the same as he had in high school, awkward and earnest and friendly.
“My stepdad made a difference in Ohio when he decided to run for state representative,” said his face on Dave’s phone. “He brought a much-needed voice to the table in the fourth district, supporting funding for the arts and safe spaces for LGBT kids in school. Against all odds, as a write-in candidate, he won, and for the past eight years, he’s continually had one of the highest approval ratings of any state representative in Ohio. He makes it his business to talk to his constituents, to cut through red tape, and to get things done. He’s going to do the same as your senator.”
While Dave drank his coffee, he clicked through to admire Hummel’s slick campaign website, then did a little reading about his anti-bullying program. There was information about the house bills he’d sponsored, providing tuition credits for music and theater teachers in Ohio. There was a New York Times article about his surprise political success, from 2014, and another from 2018 about Hummel’s decision to run for a fourth two-year term.
“Oh, what the hell,” Dave muttered, and made a campaign contribution.
He got a cheerful thank-you email that included a grinning Burt Hummel video clip of him doing ordinary things, including rebuilding a 1968 Austin-Healey Spring in his garage and playing with his grandkids. Dave watched the dark-skinned, curly-haired children reading books with Rep. Hummel, flanked on either side, with him in the middle turning pages and looking very young for a grandfather. It made him wonder.
At lunch, he hesitated only a moment, then sent a private message to Finn. I saw your stepdad is running for the senate seat?
He was a little surprised to get a message back. Yeah, the incumbent is favored, but that’s happened before, and Burt still won, so I think we’ve got a chance.
They talked campaign statistics for a while as Dave gathered his courage.
How have you guys been? he asked. In those campaign ads, it looks like somebody has some kids.
My mom and Burt adopted Riyann and Rilee in 2015, Finn said. They’re the best.
Not grandkids after all. Dave felt a little embarrassed that he’d jumped to that conclusion, but also relieved to hear Finn hadn’t gone the teen pregnancy route after all.
His finger hovered over the keyboard for a while before he asked, How’s Kurt doing?
Busy, Finn wrote. I don’t think he realized how much work it was going to be, running a campaign, but he’s going for it.
He was the campaign manager? Dave went back to the website and looked for Kurt’s name anywhere, but it didn’t seem to be featured, even in the About section, where he found a picture of Finn and Rep. Hummel in the garage, mugging for the camera.
Sounds like a full-time job, he wrote back finally.
Yeah, on top of his actual full-time job. I think he doesn’t sleep. Then, a few minutes later, he got, Hey, are you still in Ohio? We’re looking for some local support in a few cities.
Columbus, for grad school. I visit my dad in Lima on the weekends, though.
This felt a lot more friendly than Dave remembered being with Finn, even back in grade school when they had actually been friends. He supposed they’d both grown up some since high school.
I’ll send you the details about what needs to be done. How are things with you?
It was just the sort of question Dave avoided answering most of the time. Usually, choosing between a lie and too much information turned out to be a trap. He sighed, then replied, My dad’s pretty sick. Lung cancer.
Oh, shit, man, that’s terrible.
Thanks, he said. He answered Finn’s next couple questions with rote answers, probably a couple more months and no, it’s just me and him and I’m glad your stepdad got better, but when Finn asked, Anything we can do for him? Dave had to set the phone down and walk away for a few minutes.
He was blowing his nose when the phone rang. Dave stared at the unfamiliar number with the Lima area code, then connected the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Finn.” He sounded so apologetic. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean—I know, you’re probably not, but—I didn’t want to leave it like that. Sometimes you need to hear somebody’s voice, right?”
Dave smiled and said, “Yeah, for sure. Um… thanks. It’s been a hard year.”
“I bet. So, yeah, can we check on him or bring him food or anything? Does he have rides to doctor’s appointments and stuff?”
He was not going to cry on the phone while talking to Finn Hudson. “That’s really thoughtful of you. I’ll let you know.”
Dave knew he wouldn’t, of course, but later that day, he read Finn’s message about volunteering for the campaign, and he signed up for a shift of canvassing that weekend in Lima. He’d be there in town, anyway, and it would get him out of the house.
Two things became clear after Dave returned from canvassing. One was that nobody in Lima liked the incumbent. That was a surprise, considering how red their state had gotten lately. Nobody was thrilled to answer Dave’s knock on the door, but as soon as he said the words running against Greg Chambers, almost every person listened and took a Hummel for Senate flyer.
“That guy Chambers is a prick,” said one septuagenarian, making Dave laugh. “I’m serious. Have you seen his voting record? I’m glad Hummel is running. It’s long past time to vote him out.”
The second thing was that the whole process they’d set up for going door-to-door was monumentally inefficient. Dave crossed paths with more than one volunteer on his way through the neighborhood, and the paper checklist they’d given him with a list of registered voters was riddled with inaccuracies.
“There’s got to be a phone app for handling canvassing,” Dave said to the volunteer coordinator as he dropped off his checklist.
“There’s more than one,” the coordinator agreed. “We just don’t have anybody on board who knows how to manage it. Hummel’s campaign is kind of low-tech.”
Dave picked up a yard sign. “I could probably do that for you.”
The coordinator’s eyes brightened. “Yeah? Seriously? That would be amazing.”
His dad agreed to host the Burt Hummel for Senate sign in his front yard. He listened with bemusement as Dave described his day canvassing.
“I didn’t really think you were all that political,” his dad said.
It was hard for Dave to describe how he felt about being involved in the campaign. On one hand, it was more like helping out a neighbor than like expressing his political views. But the more he read about Senator Greg Chambers’ voting record, and Rep. Hummel’s own efforts in the House, the more obvious it was which one Dave agreed with. Maybe a change was needed.
I made a list of talking points about your stepdad’s stance on various issues, for canvassers to use, Dave sent to Finn. Can you look them over and make sure I didn’t leave anything out?
Finn’s response was immediate and enthusiastic, which seemed to be the way he did everything. Dave had to grin, imagining Finn actually pumping the air with his fist when Dave explained the canvassing app he’d chosen for the campaign.
“Maybe it’ll make a difference,” Dave told his dad at dinner that night, shrugging. “Maybe it won’t.”
His dad shook his head, smiling. “On a political level, maybe not. But on a personal level, it already has.”
Hearing his dad say that made him feel strange. Part of him felt proud, in the current political climate, to be doing something, anything. But mostly it made him realize how little he had been doing, and guilty for not doing more.
Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it? Dave asked Finn. All this work, trying to make a difference, when there’s no way you can convince people to change their minds?
No, Finn said. I never wonder. It’s worth it.
Dave went out canvassing every weekend after that, teaching their little crew of volunteers how to use the app, how to record the contacts they’d made and the information they’d gathered about how people were planning to vote. He thought he understood what Finn meant. When he got home after a long afternoon of walking through neighborhoods, ringing doorbells, being chased by dogs, dealing with technology issues, he was exhausted, but he also felt good, inside and out.
“I think I’ll go to the gym,” he told his dad one Sunday morning.
“Again?” his dad asked in surprise.
Dave didn’t think his dad was judging him, but he also couldn’t tell him this is how I’m dealing with you being sick. He just gave him a hug and offered to pick up his medication while he was out.
While he was at the gym, Finn left him a message. You should come over for dinner, he said. My stepdad’s in town. We’re grilling.
Rep. Hummel was always “your stepdad” when Dave talked to Finn, or “the candidate” when he dealt with voters and app statistics. But when Dave and his father showed up at the Hudson-Hummel house, he smiled and said, “Call me Burt.”
Finn’s mom (“Carole, please”) found his dad a comfortable chair within view of the kitchen, right in the middle of the modest family room, in the path of their two lively children. His dad smiled nonstop, looking tired, but when Dave quietly asked him if he was ready to go home, he shook his head and said, “This is exactly what I need.” He even ate a second piece of pie.
“I hear that app you got is really speeding things up with canvassers at the Lima campaign HQ,” Burt told Dave. He refused to let Finn or anybody else get near the grill, standing there patiently and checking the color of each piece of chicken. “You think you could come down to Cincinnati this week, help the organizers there implement your system?”
“I might be able to take a day off from writing my dissertation,” Dave said. He looked uncertainly at Finn, who was wrangling one of the kids—Dave wasn’t sure if it was Riyann or Rilee—and grinning at them. “If you want me to deal with the Columbus contingent, I could do that on my lunch hour.”
Nobody appeared to question Dave’s motives for wanting to help. He figured they would take what they could get, even if it was coming from their son’s former bully. Carole did ask him a lot of questions when he was helping with dinner cleanup.
“How did you find out about the campaign?” she asked over soapy dishes.
“Finn sent me an invite,” Dave said. “I saw his video ad. I donated some money, and then we just started talking.”
She nodded, handing him a towel. “You and Finn, you’re friends?”
“I—guess we are.” Dave nodded, slowly, then with more certainty. “Yeah.”
“That’s all? The two of you, you’re not…?”
Carole waited for a response as Dave stammered out a red-faced denial.
“It hadn’t come up,” he managed eventually. “I didn’t think that option was even on the table, for Finn?”
“Well, I wouldn’t make any assumptions.” But she seemed to accept his answer. “Honestly, both boys have been so busy with their own campaigns, neither of them have had much time for dating this year. I’m beginning to understand the meaning of campaign widow. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Their own campaigns?” Dave said slowly. “Do you mean… Kurt?”
“He’s running for representative in Brooklyn, 9th district, in New York.” She smiled, tipping her head. “You didn’t know? I think working on his dad’s campaigns these last eight years, he caught the bug. He made quite a stir when he won the primary.”
After Dave brought his dad back to the house that night, he went looking for clarification. Almost all the search hits for “hummel campaign” went to Burt, but with a little judicious combing through the results, Dave found an interview in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle with Kurt Hummel, the youngest progressive candidate currently running for office.
Kurt’s campaign’s social media was just as slick as his dad’s, which made Dave guess it was Kurt who’d designed his dad’s website. He spent more time than he was willing to admit watching Kurt’s Instagram videos addressing the issues of homelessness and street safety and public transportation in the 9th district. Kurt himself looked poised and self-assured and spoke cogently and with passion.
I am not getting turned on watching political ads, Dave told himself, setting his phone down. God.
That Tuesday, Dave drove down to Cincinnati and taught a large group of eager volunteers how to use the canvassing app. They were a diverse group, between the ages of fourteen and sixty-three. When Dave said, “Rep. Hummel’s sons and I went to school together,” they were even more excited.
“So many young people getting involved in politics right now,” said the Cincinnati campaign coordinator. “I really feel hopeful about the future of our nation when I look at Hummel and his family.”
When Dave got home that night, he turned on the news. It was just as depressing as usual, all reactionary commentary and arguing and impossible issues, but Dave listened just as closely to what wasn’t being said. He thought about Burt’s campaign promises, and how the fact that he’d actually kept most of them made him a unique quantity among politicians.
“It’s not that I tell people what they want to hear,” Burt said. “Because I often don’t. But I tell them what I can do, and I listen to what they need.”
Finn and Dave met for lunch on Saturday afternoon to go over Dave’s report from the Cincinnati and Columbus campaign offices. “I think most of the rest can be set up remotely,” he said.
“You wouldn’t say that if you met most of the people working on my stepdad’s campaign.” Finn snorted. “The average age is, like, fifty-eight and they can barely hook up the computer monitor.”
“Okay, okay,” Dave said, laughing. “I’ll set up a schedule to visit all the smaller cities, this week and next.”
The way Finn was smiling at him made Dave decide he’d better clear up the question in his mind.
“Your, uh, your mom thought you and me might be dating.”
Finn just nodded. “Yeah. The last two people I dated were guys. I can see how she’d wonder.”
“Can I tell you the truth?” Dave grimaced. “Back at the beginning, when I sent you that message about your dad’s campaign, I was kind of fishing for information about Kurt.”
Now Finn looked startled. “You and Kurt? But I thought he said… I mean, you guys didn’t have a thing, did you? Back in high school?”
“No!” Dave blurted. “No. He wouldn’t have.”
“Oh, he would have,” Finn said. He paused, then added, “Uh, maybe that wasn’t something I should have said.”
Dave had to run that sentence back in his head, just to make sure he was interpreting it the right way. “Are you saying Kurt… what?”
“Trust me, I was the one sharing his room until Burt finally put on that addition. I know all kinds of details about Kurt’s opinions about dudes.” Finn patted his shoulder. “You were pretty near the top of his list.”
“Jesus,” Dave whispered, blinking. “That—I should not be thinking about that right now.”
“Well, he’s been single for, what, three years?” Finn shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because he lives in New York? Because I’m trying to finish grad school, and there’s this campaign, and he’s got his own campaign, and... and my dad is dying of cancer?”
The last couple words came out a little louder and more angry than Dave meant them to. He closed his eyes against Finn’s compassionate expression.
“Look,” Finn said, “I think that’s totally valid. But it seems like that last thing, that might be a reason to act, instead of waiting. Right? Seize the day and all that?”
Dave could only shake his head. “I really can’t.”
Finn changed the subject. He told Dave all about Steve and De’Andre, and didn’t ask about the guys Dave hadn’t been dating lately. When they stood up to leave, Finn hugged him, and it didn’t feel too weird.
“You and your dad would be welcome to come over again, any weekend,” Finn told him. “Really, that was nice. I’ll make sure my mom stops asking you about whether or not we’re dating.”
After a long day of campaign work, Dave came back to the house and sorted through his dad’s pile of medical bills. After a while, he was just crying too much to read them, and he stuffed them into a manilla envelope and went to bed. Everything felt too hard to deal with, like he’d run out of hands with which to pick things up.
I’m scared, he admitted to Finn. I haven’t said that to anybody before.
Dude, of course you are, Finn said. This is the hardest thing you’re ever going to do. But you’re not alone.
That made him cry more, but he had to admit he felt better, too. Sleep came eventually. He dreamt about Kurt, and for once, they were good dreams.
The early polls continued to favor Burt over Senator Chambers, but Finn and his crew didn’t let up. Burt, who was working at the garage less and less and was on the road more and more, seemed to have endless energy, but Carole was clearly frustrated about being home with the kids on weekends.
“I’d offer to babysit if I hadn’t already agreed to help in Wapakoneta,” Dave said at dinner, which was just him and Carole and Finn and the girls.
But Carole shook her head. “Dave, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. The election is in a month and a half, and then…” She laughed, running fingers through her curls. “Either we’ll be putting the house on the market, or we’ll have a lot of free time.”
It was a sobering thought, that things were going to change radically in November, whether they won or not. He really didn’t want Finn to go to Washington, or Burt, or Carole and the girls, but losing would be so much worse.
“How does Kurt feel about the state of his campaign?” Dave asked Finn, after a late night campaign meeting at headquarters.
“He’s handling most of it himself. You know what a control freak he is.” Finn nudged him. “Why don’t you text him?”
Dave looked away. “You know why.”
“Come on. You’re always asking about him. It wouldn’t be so weird.”
“It would be so weird,” Dave said. “I don’t even know him. He’s, like, a mythical creature in my head, not a person.”
“All the more reason. Do I need to dare you? Come on, what’s your incentive?”
Dave realized he couldn’t think of anything he wanted. He shrugged. “Finish my dissertation for me?”
“If I could spell dissertation, I would give it a try.”
Dave grinned at him. “I think you would. You’re just that kind of guy. Like, you just want to help. You reached out to me, asking for help. Why would you bother?”
“I asked everybody I knew,” Finn said. “You were the one who did something about it.”
He nodded pointedly at Dave’s phone. Dave chewed on his lip and picked it up. “What would I even say?”
“Say, good luck in November. Or maybe, I had a sex dream about you last night.”
“Dude,” Dave said disdainfully, as Finn fell over laughing. But he sighed, staring at his phone, and typed, I hope your campaign is going as well as your dad’s is.
He put the phone into his pocket and spent a good ten minutes cleaning up the HQ before he looked at it again. There were not one, but two replies from Kurt.
Numbers and morale are high. So’s the stress. I could use a glass of wine. And, I hear you’ve become my dad’s secret weapon, Dave.
Finn raised an eyebrow at the phone, and when Dave nodded reluctantly, he did a little victory dance, making Dave laugh.
“Good luck,” Finn said. “Dinner next week, okay? Tell your dad.”
Dave didn’t exactly drive and text at the same time, but he did a lot of stopping and starting to reply and wait for Kurt to do the same. You have a really wonderful family, but I guess I don’t have to tell you that.
Finn can’t shut up about you. I swear, I had to ask him if you were a different Karofsky.
Same one, Dave said. Maybe a little older and less bitter.
I have definitely found older people to be less bitter. Remind me to tell you about Walter sometime.
It’s a deal. He drummed on the steering wheel with his fingers, trying not to feel like a kid on Christmas, but god. He let out a breath and laughed. Right now, tell me about New York?
It’s smelly and loud and the people are just as rude as they tell you, and I love it. I guess there are parts I don’t love so much, and that’s what made me run for office. Mostly I can’t believe I got this far.
Oh, come on, weren’t you senior class president? And there’s your dad. Come on, you’re Kurt Hummel, right? You can do anything.
He bit his lip, wondering if that was too ridiculous, but Kurt said, Okay, that actually really helped. Thanks.
Don’t tell me you lost your ego along the way, Dave said.
He pulled into his dad’s driveway, turning off the car, and waited until Kurt finished typing his reply. You’d think it would be a permanent fixture, considering all the crap I’ve dealt with from every corner? But there’s something about living in New York that’s really humbling. Everybody comes here to make it, and that means everybody’s already great. I’m pretty sure the only reason I made this far in the campaign is because gay is chic.
Or maybe because you’ve got some important things to say, said Dave, and you look good while you’re saying them.
Dave stared at the words he’d typed, and let his head fall onto the steering wheel, squirming in embarrassment. But, really, he’d made worse gaffes while canvassing, and he was still alive.
Why thank you, said Kurt.
Don’t mention it.
He might have gone on to say more embarrassing things, but when he entered the house, he found his father sitting on the floor by the kitchen counter, one hand resting on his chest.
Dave got down on the floor beside him, grasping his arm. “Dad? What’s wrong?”
His dad coughed weakly. “Breathing. Something.”
“I’m going to call 911.” He stayed where he was on the floor beside him, watching him anxiously as the phone rang. “Hold on.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.” His dad leaned back on the wall, his eyes closed, but he was smiling. “You know I’ve got to find out who wins the election.”
As soon as he knew the ambulance was on its way, Dave helped his father to a more comfortable seat on the couch, then went to pack a bag. When he paused to call Finn, he saw that Kurt had texted him back.
You don’t look so bad yourself.
Dave took a measured breath. I just want you to know I’m not blowing you off, I love that you said that, I can’t even tell you how much, but I’m taking my dad to the hospital, so I might be kind of busy for a little bit.
Then he called Finn.
“Dave,” exclaimed Finn, without even saying hello, “so how did it go with Kurt?”
“Good,” he said, “and—I can’t talk about it now. Something’s wrong with my dad. I’m going to follow the ambulance to St. Rita’s.”
“Okay.” Finn went from excited to worried in a breath. That made Dave tear up, but he growled at his fears, and they receded. He didn’t have time to deal with his own feelings at the moment. “Call if you need anything, okay?”
“I will.” This time, Dave had no doubt that he meant it, or that Finn meant it, too. Anything meant you would do what needed to be done. “Thank you.”
Dave knew, also, that there would be a lot of waiting involved with the hospital. It felt a little awkward to stare at Kurt’s flirtatious response and wonder where it might have gone if he hadn’t ended up in the cancer ward’s family lounge. He sent emails to his dissertation committee, explaining the situation, and another one to Carole, and that was all he could do. There was nobody else to tell.
Except Kurt. Kurt had replied: Of course, I hope he’s okay.
Waiting sucks, Dave told him.
It felt impossibly rude to put Kurt in a position to provide emotional support for a guy he hadn’t spoken to in almost eight years, but maybe a little less rude than it would have felt four months ago.
I remember that experience, said Kurt. I was eight when my mother died of cancer. I got really familiar with holding it all inside and hoping for the best.
It’s not the kind of waiting I would wish on anyone, Dave agreed. I bet that was especially hard when you were little, though.
I think it prepared me to make the best of a selection of bad options.
Or get creative? Instead of lemonade, make cocktails.
Dave had to assume Kurt, with his earlier request for wine, would not be offended by the idea. He gazed hopelessly at the commercials on the hospital television and wished he was better at witty banter.
I try not to drink alone, Kurt said. Not that I’m anywhere close to alone.
Where are you?
Saturday night, are you kidding? I’m working, of course. Campaign headquarters is hopping. That would be my living room. I’ve got four would-be staffers here and far too many containers of Chinese takeout.
Would you be this much of a workaholic if it weren’t campaign season?
“Mr. Karofsky?” The nurse standing in the doorway was smiling, but he knew better than to trust that. “Your dad’s resting comfortably. Would you like to see him?”
His dad looked tired, but otherwise the same as he usually did, stoic and patient and ready to argue with most everyone. Dave went right over and hugged him.
“Hey,” his dad said. Dave thought he sounded more pleased than annoyed. “I think you’re leaning a little sentimental, here.”
“Yeah.” Dave wasn’t going to deny it. Everything felt a little more possible now that Kurt had told him you don’t look so bad yourself.
His dad’s condition didn’t change much over the next week, but the hospital also wasn’t willing to send him home. When Dave took a break from keeping his dad company to run some numbers for the campaign, Burt grabbed his arm and sat him down.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” he said, “because that’s the only way I know how to be. Cancer’s not an easy or quick end. Now, I’m prepared for you to stop working for this campaign—“
“No,” he protested, but Burt cut him off with a look.
“Dave, if your father needs you, you will be there. It’s not a question. I don’t think you’re going to be able to predict how this will end, except that it will end.” He was not looking away. “Do you know what your father wants?”
“He wants to watch you win,” Dave said. “But if it comes down to it, he’s not going to let me spend any more of our savings on prolonging his life. We knew he wasn’t going to recover from this.”
“Yeah.” Burt sighed, his eyes focused on something long ago and far away. “Nobody would fault you for wishing it was different.”
“Kurt says it’s—”
“Kurt says?”
Dave smiled at Burt’s expression. “Kurt says it’s about making the best out of a selection of bad options.”
“Those are my words, actually. Maybe he said ‘em too.” He shook his head. “Kurt’s mom, she wasn’t a voter. I fell into a pattern of not showing up because she convinced me it wasn’t important. Carole’s the one who changed my mind about that.”
“I think she did a pretty solid job,” Dave said, and Burt chuckled.
“You know it.” Burt smiled kindly. “You, too, Dave. You’ve been a hell of an asset to this campaign.”
Dave looked at his lap. “Your secret weapon?”
“Oh, Kurt’s telling tales out of school, is he?” But he could tell Burt wasn’t upset. “I’m just saying, if we win, I’m going to need some of those on my side. Washington’s not exactly going to be a cakewalk for a guy like me. You want a job, you’ve got one. But you put your father first, you understand? We’ll be here, no matter what, me and Finn and Carole.” He looked amused. “And, it seems, Kurt, too. I think I’m out of the loop. When did that happen?”
“Three days ago,” Dave admitted. “But, uh, it’s been coming for a long time.”
“How about that.” Burt reached out and gripped his shoulder. “You’re going to have to keep me updated. Kurt doesn’t tell me anything anymore.”
It did feel a little like his and Kurt’s long-distance interaction was being observed by several parties, but none of them were interfering. In fact, Dave was pleased to notice they were providing a little cheering section for him, which provided a nice distraction from his dad’s frustrating waiting game.
Kurt’s race looked to be running a lot closer than anticipated. Kurt wasn’t letting it get him down.
Ageism and homophobia, Kurt said to Dave, and I’m not likely to be able to change their minds, but just by being me, I’ll change somebody’s.
Dave hadn’t quite gotten to the point where he would fawn over Kurt where other people could see him doing it, but he did have moments when he would stop what he was doing and ask himself is this my life? He made an effort to take a deep breath every time someone else walked in the room, because he was sure everybody would be able to see how he was feeling.
Except he forgot about his dad.
Dave was sitting in the chair beside his dad’s bed, waiting for him to wake up, and he got a single text from Kurt, detailing the hilarious failings of one of his campaign staffers. He hadn’t even had a chance to reply yet before his dad stirred and cracked a smile.
“Somebody special, David?” he murmured.
Dave, caught in the act of being in love, froze. He eventually looked up, wondering what to do, but his dad’s eyes were already closed again.
“Maybe,” Dave said.
He nodded his head. “That’s nice. It’s not good for you to be alone so much. You get caught up in the minutia.”
“I kind of like the minutia?” His dad’s eyes opened again, and he offered the most sardonic, critical frown that Dave immediately said, “Never mind.”
“There’s no good way to decide what kind of person you should live your life with, but here’s what I think. You’re going to need a partner to help you see the big picture.” He reached out and took Dave’s hand. “And you need friends, to be there for you, no matter what.”
Dave just nodded. Listening to his father was the least he could do.
“I wish I could have been around to see you have kids, David.”
He closed his eyes, still nodding.
“Okay, maybe I still will be, but chances are pretty good it’ll be a while before you do that.” His dad tried to lean forward, but it was too much effort, so Dave moved a little closer. “Please, promise me one thing. Put your career first. Finish your dissertation. You’ve got a good committee. And this campaign…” He paused as he saw Dave was laughing. “What is it?”
“Burt made me promise I’d put you first.” He laughed harder at his dad’s exasperation. “Honestly? I think he wins.”
“That’s ridiculous,” his dad grumbled. “Look, it’s not an either-or. Listen to both of us.”
Dave did his best to follow through, but the closer things got to the end of the campaign, the less time he had to volunteer.
“I can’t make it today,” he told Finn one Saturday in October. “The hospice nurse wants to meet with me, and something’s going on with my car—“
“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Finn said. He never sounded mad, no matter how many things he had on his plate. “What do you mean, your car? Let me take a look at it.”
Dave sighed. “Who’s too busy now?”
But he did bring his aging Chevy Malibu to Hummel Tires and Lube. Burt was in Washington, but the guys said they’d find a way to take a look at it that afternoon. They treated Dave like a minor celebrity.
I still don’t understand most of the people in that town, Kurt told him later, but I’m glad they’re taking care of you.
I like Columbus a lot more, he replied. It’s a small step, compared to moving to New York, but I really needed to do it.
That weekend, it felt like Kurt’s constant text reassurance was the only thing keeping him sane. Dave sat with his laptop in the family waiting room of the cancer ward and tried to focus on his dissertation topic, but he couldn’t keep from checking the poll data or the campaign’s tech support tickets every fifteen minutes.
“Go home, David,” his dad said on Sunday afternoon. “You need a break from this place.”
It was the logical choice, but Dave couldn’t bring himself to do it. How do I tell my dad I’m afraid to leave because I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him while I was gone?
I think you just say you’re not leaving, Kurt said. That’s all.
Every time a staffer showed up at St. Rita’s with food, or an update on the campaign, Dave would send Burt a text with a goofy “Campaign Power” image. Burt hardly ever sent texts, but he saw them, and Finn had told him how much he appreciated them.
“He gets validation from his constituents every day,” Finn said, “but that’s not who you are. You’re in a different category.”
“Secret weapon,” Dave said.
But Finn shook his head. “Family.”
Finn took a day off from the garage to help Dave pack up his apartment in Columbus and drive it back to Lima.
“You have a lot of airplane models,” Finn said, looking around Dave’s room at the house.
“It was something my dad liked. Likes. He wanted to do it with me when I was a kid, so we did.” He shrugged and set the last box on his bed. “I never had the heart to tell him it was kind of boring. I’d rather write code than wait for epoxy to dry.”
Dave’s dissertation committee didn’t object when he told them he was going to defer his defense for a year. It was a bigger relief than he’d realized to set it aside without guilt.
I don’t even know if I want a Ph.D. anymore, he told Kurt. It seems stupid not to finish, though, when I’m so close.
You can figure out priorities later, when you’re not dealing with grief, Kurt said.
Grief was something Dave hadn’t expected to have to deal with at all. Every now and then he would find himself sobbing for no reason. Sometimes he would text Kurt and tell him about it, but sometimes he would just remember that Kurt understood, and that was good enough.
Hospice sent Dave’s dad home, helped him get comfortable, and provided some context for what would probably happen next. Everybody who came to the house was nice. Dave wasn’t quite sure how that could be, but it was.
“It’s like having my own campaign staff, in a lot of ways,” his dad noted on one of his more lucid days. “There’s a lot of balls in the air. Sometimes one or two get dropped, but there’s usually someone who’s willing to pick them up.”
Burt’s campaign went on without him, but luckily, the systems and technology Dave had put into place carried them through to Election Day without him physically there. He answered occasional texts, but the process wasn’t the thing he missed. He missed being part of the team.
There was something else he was missing, too, but it had nothing to do with the campaign. He wasn’t sure what to do about it.
I really don’t have time to date anybody, he told Kurt, I mean, really, I don’t, but sometimes I miss physical contact. Like, I would kill to play hockey, or get into a wrestling match with Rylee and Riyann.
I miss partner dancing, Kurt told him. Not ballroom, but ballet. Of all my classes at NYADA, my dance classes were both the hardest the most satisfying.
Do you miss performing? Acting?
Less than I thought I would, said Kurt. I feel like this has some of the best elements of performing, without the parts I never liked. I get to be myself.
Yourself is pretty great, Dave said. It didn’t feel like a risk to say things like that anymore.
I wonder what it would have been like to know you like this in high school, said Kurt. But, then, I think I really wasn’t ready for it yet. So much of me was wrapped up in surviving. Both of us.
Most of the first three years of graduate school had felt like that to Dave. He’d spent a good deal of it alone, but that hadn’t seemed strange, because even when he’d been with friends, they’d never understood him.
Survival’s the primary goal, he said, but it’s a lot easier when you’re not doing it by yourself.
Suddenly, there were two weeks left, then one. On the weekend before the election, Burt came home. He met at the Lima headquarters with as many campaign organizers as he could lure away from their day jobs.
“No matter what happens on Tuesday,” Burt said, “we’re going to have a big party afterwards. And you’re all going to be there. But we’re not done yet. The campaign is only the start.”
Dave wondered when it had gone from feeling like so much empty rhetoric to something he could actually believe in.
“I think it was when he made that barbecue chicken, in your backyard,” Dave told Finn. “He wasn’t going to let it go. Not in a perfectionist kind of way, but like… it was his responsibility, and of course he was going to follow through.”
“Kurt’s like that, too,” Finn said. He gave Dave a sideways look. “You know he’s still got a thing for you.”
Dave did know. It was hard not to notice the way Kurt’s voice sounded when they talked, or all the little ways he encouraged Dave, every day.
“It’s mutual,” he said. “It’s also not a priority right now. This is where I want to be.”
On election night, after the polls closed, Dave hugged his dad and went to Burt and Carole’s house. Most of the campaign staff were at Fat Jack’s, but he wasn’t really interested in parties at the moment. While the television provided live coverage of the results of the presidential campaign, Dave had three different screens set up to keep an eye on the House, the Senate, and several key judicial nominees.
“Kurt’s early numbers look positive,” Finn told him.
“I’ll hold out for something solid,” Dave replied. But on Dave’s phone, he continually refreshed the results from district 9 in New York. The tension in his guy was nauseating.
I know you won’t get this until later, Dave texted Kurt, but break a leg.
The moment they saw Burt’s face on the screen next to that long blue bar, and the announcer said, “They’re calling it for Burt Hummel in Ohio,” Carole let out a little scream and dropped the popcorn bowl on the carpet. It was as unreal as anything Dave had ever experienced.
“How are you ever a Senator?” Finn demanded, with the biggest, stupidest smile.
Every news network wanted to get Burt on the phone for the next couple of hours, but Dave was ready for that, handling the incoming queue over voice IP. Burt mostly stayed in the kitchen, emerging every now and then into the dining room as he paced back and forth, speaking to reporters.
“I’m going to have to head down to HQ,” he said eventually, putting on his jacket and kissing Carole. “Too much to do. Finn, let me know the minute you hear about Kurt. And you…”
He grasped Dave’s hand and shook it, wearing Kurt’s smile. It was almost too much for Dave to deal with.
“You earned it,” he told Burt. “Every vote.”
Dave went home and helped his father shift from his recliner to his bed, making sure he’d actually taken his meds before returning to the television. It was impossible not to watch, even though they’d never report the results of Brooklyn’s house race on any of the national networks.
He knew at some point, somebody was going to ask him, what are you going to do next, and the fact that he had no idea was kind of wrecking him.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, he woke up on the couch with a start. The television was still on. His phone was ringing. It was Kurt.
“Hey,” Kurt said, sounding breathless.
“Hey.” He blinked, feeling muddled. His dreams were still present, and it was hard to reconcile Kurt’s voice being right there next to him on the couch. “What’s up?”
“I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh.” Dave sat up. “I guess I’d better talk, then. I’m guessing you saw the Ohio results.”
“Yeah, I called my dad a couple of hours ago. He sounded happy. Congratulations on a good campaign.”
“It was—really great.” It was so many things, Dave wasn’t sure where to start. “What about your seat? What happened?”
“I lost. I just gave my concession speech.” He sighed. “Who would have thought there’d be so many Republicans in the ninth district?”
“I’m sorry, Kurt.”
“Well, the advantage to house races is they’re every two years. I know exactly the pacing, when to start the engine for the next campaign.”
In the background, Dave heard a voice over a loudspeaker.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m heading home. It’s late, and I thought…”
Dave waited impatiently to find out what Kurt thought, but all he did was sigh again.
“It’s late,” he said again. “Good night, David.”
“Good night, Kurt.”
He turned off the television and checked on his dad once more before going to bed. The election was over, and they had won, but Kurt had lost. What was he supposed to feel about this?
In the dark, Dave pressed redial on his phone. After three rings, it went to voicemail.
“I know we already said good night,” he said, “but—there were a lot more things I wanted to tell you. Which is stupid, considering we talk every day. I guess the main one is that I love you. I hope you’re not mad I said it to you like this, when you couldn’t answer.” He swallowed, then added, “I’m really proud of you. And the rest, I don’t know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Dave slept fitfully. Every time he woke up, he went to check on his dad, who was sleeping peacefully. He also checked his phone, which was still blowing up with campaign results and tweets and texts and voicemails, but no call from Kurt.
It was just after seven in the morning when Kurt texted him. Are you awake?
Kind of, he replied.
Would you mind some company?
Dave sat up in bed. Sure, you can call any time.
I had a different venue in mind, but I didn’t want to ring your doorbell if your dad was still asleep.
His heart thudding, Dave grabbed his robe, running a useless hand through his hair. When he opened the front door, Kurt was standing there in his long coat, looking sheepish.
“Going home,” Dave said. “Last night. You were in the airport.”
Kurt nodded. “The campaign was over. There was no reason for me not to.”
He made room for Kurt and his suitcase to come inside, and even managed to get the door closed before Kurt kissed him.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” Dave protested.
“I don’t care,” Kurt said, “and I love you, too.”
Kurt in his arms while Dave was in his robe was compelling, but in the end, Dave decided making out with a guy while his dad was sleeping in the other room was a little too edgy for him. Thankfully, Kurt was—eventually—willing to listen to reason.
“My dad’s house feels even farther away from you than Brooklyn,” Kurt said.
“I’d say I would come with you to your dad’s, but that might feel even harder. More difficult.”
“Just come when you’re ready.” He touched Dave’s cheek. “I don’t think anybody’s going to be surprised.”
Kurt stayed for the rest of the week, helping with campaign cleanup. Dave got a much clearer sense of just how effective Kurt was at a job like this.
“It’s better I don’t work on his campaign full time,” he told Dave over lunch. “We get on each other’s nerves. We’re just too much alike. Finn is much better at keeping dad calm and positive.”
“I thought more than once that you did the same for me during this campaign,” Dave said, and he was delighted to watch Kurt get immediately flustered.
“Well, now you know how I reacted to every text you send me,” Kurt muttered, glancing away. “Much harder to hide that in person.”
“Trust me, I had the same problem. Although I think my dad was the only one who really noticed.”
Carole paused beside the table and set a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “We noticed,” she whispered, eyeing Kurt.
“Oh, my god,” Kurt moaned. “Remind me why I came home again?”
Spending time alone with Kurt at his dad’s house was no better, and in many ways worse, considering Kurt didn’t even have a bedroom there anymore.
“You guys can use my room,” Finn said, but Dave just cringed.
“I know you’re trying to help, but this thing with me and Kurt, it’s going to take a little time,” he said. “I am seriously in no headspace to figure out a relationship right now.”
Even so, being in the same room with Kurt, hearing his voice, feeling the touch of his hand, that was already so good that Dave could ignore the indignity of having no privacy. Every time he caught Kurt smiling at him, it was like they’d won the election all over again.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win,” Dave told him, “as much as I was glad to see you on my porch. But you’re not planning to work for your dad.”
“I’m a New Yorker now.” Kurt looked a little wistful. “I suppose I could take a couple of years off from Vogue.com and move to Washington, but that’s not really what I want to do. Anyway, he’s got you.” He paused, searching Dave’s face. “Doesn’t he?”
“I’m not leaving my dad, Kurt.”
Kurt nodded slowly. “Well, that puts a different spin on things. I’m pretty sure Finn is going to stay here, too. Somebody’s going to have to run the garage.”
Dave and Kurt were both in the room when Burt told Finn he wanted him to keep the house in Lima. Finn was completely against it.
“There’s no way you can afford a place near DC if you don’t sell this one,” Finn insisted. “We looked, remember?”
“There’s no way I can afford one even if I do sell it,” Burt said firmly. “I’m taking out a second mortgage on the garage. We’ve got the equity; we can take the risk. Four years isn’t so long. Our family is going to need a place to live when we come back.”
Dave took Riyann and Rilee outside while Burt and Finn argued.
“Why is Daddy mad?” Rilee wanted to know.
“He’s not mad,” Dave assured her. “He’s got a lot of decisions to make.”
Kurt watched him in silence as he set up a frisbee game with them, tossing it across the yard and letting them run screaming after it before bringing it back for him to toss again.
“You’re good with kids,” Kurt said softly. “I don’t really feel like an adequate big brother to these two. Hardly even an uncle. But you…”
“I think it’s because your dad made space for me to learn how to do that.” He accepted the frisbee from Riyann and threw it toward the maple tree. “Nobody’s ever said of course you can handle a political campaign to me before, but your dad did, every day. He said the same about the kids.” He smiled. “Kurt, of course you would be a good dad.”
“I didn’t say that,” Kurt whispered, his eyes wide. “I didn’t say I wanted that.”
“That’s okay. But—you would be, if you decided you did.”
He let out his breath slowly. “That’s scarier than politics.”
When Rylee brought the frisbee back this time, Dave handed it to Kurt. He smiled tentatively at his sister and threw it. It hit the picnic table.
“Good try,” Riyann called, and scampered off.
He looked at Dave, and they cracked up.
“I think I’ve found the one thing you really aren’t good at,” said Dave. “And I’m not talking about kids.”
Kurt slid an arm around his waist. “I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Dave went with Kurt to the airport. They had such a long goodbye in the car that Dave started to worry Kurt was going to miss his flight.
“It’s the last chance to see one another for a while,” Kurt said, tucking his shirt back in. “You’re not going to deny me whatever I can get.”
“I kind of did, though,” Dave said. “I hope you don’t hate me for asking you to wait.”
He rested a hand on Dave’s chest. “I am one hundred percent not going to hate you, Dave, no longer how long you make me wait for sex. I will try my level best not to pressure you into it.”
They held hands walking through the Allen County airport, which did draw some stares, but Dave just ignored them. Kurt smiled.
“I got used to how ordinary being gay feels in New York.”
Maybe a reason to consider living there, Dave thought, but he didn’t say it.
“Text me when you get home,” Dave said. “New York. Whatever. I don’t know where you consider home to be.”
“I don’t really know either. I love New York, though.” He leaned in and gave him a slow kiss. “This week has been magical. You completely took my mind off the election.”
“Thank god for small favors,” Dave whispered. He stepped back reluctantly, nodding at the gate. “You’d better go.”
Kurt tilted his head. “Or what?”
“Or I’m going to try to convince you to reschedule your flight.”
“How about I just plan on coming back next weekend?” He gave him a little finger wave, and added, “No pressure.”
Dave managed to make it back to the car without stumbling into anything. He stared at everything around him, wondering when he was going to stop feeling like nothing was the same.
I really hope that didn’t feel like too much pressure, Kurt sent as he drove away.
He wanted to tell Kurt, yes, of course you should come back next weekend, but—well, he was driving, so it made sense not to. And whatever he did want, maybe that would become more clear once he got home.
He was halfway through a text to Finn about packing up HQ when he walked into his dad’s bedroom and stopped. Dave’s favorite hospice nurse, Jody, was sitting beside the bed, holding his dad’s hand.
“He’s having more trouble breathing,” she said. “You want to come sit here, too?”
Dave seldom had the experience of feeling panic, but for a moment, he imagined himself dropping his phone right there on the floor, running back out the door, and driving away. Then he thought, I can’t deal with this right now, dad, this guy wants to have sex with me, and the absurdity of that statement helped him get a hold of himself.
“Dad?” He sat on the other side of the bed, and gathered his dad’s hand in his.
“He’s not going to be able to respond very well,” Jody said. “But you, being here, he’ll be able to tell. It’s okay.”
It is so not okay, Dave wanted to shout. He watched his dad’s face for signs of recognition, but he was just quiet, his eyes half-lidded.
“Is this the end?” Dave whispered. It felt so terrible even to say that aloud, like Dave had already failed him.
“It’s hard to be sure,” she said. “I know you said you were his only family, but is there anybody else you want to call? For you?”
Dave wiped his face and nodded. “Is that okay? To have people here for me?”
“Yes,” she said. She reached across and took his other hand. “Of course. You get to have what you need.”
Whatever that is, he thought. But it was easier to figure that out than it had been six months ago. He picked up his phone.
Finn was there within fifteen minutes. “Mom’s finding somebody to cover her shift at the hospital,” he said when Dave answered the door, “but she’ll be here as soon as she can.”
“Thanks.” He accepted Finn’s hug, and maybe held onto him a little while. “For coming over.”
“Dude.” Finn laughed through his tears. He didn’t say anything else, but Dave knew what he meant. Of course; you’re family.
Kurt came back to Lima three days later to help with the funeral.
“I would have just turned around and come back as soon as I got your call,” he said, “but my campaign staff planned this whole party. I didn’t want to let them down.”
Dave didn’t really like having so many people around the house, but he couldn’t think of a tactful way to tell them to leave, considering how helpful they were being. Somebody brought him food and somebody else dealt with the funeral home and a third person helped him look at the estate. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to deal with any of it on his own, and yet he just wanted everybody to go away.
Carole was the first person to notice. “Dave, we’re going to take these medical bills back to our house, okay?” She didn’t reach out to touch him, but she stood very close, and that gave him a moment to breathe and nod. “I didn’t want you to worry if you realized they were gone. Can you please call if you need anything?”
He nodded again, watching everyone filing toward the door. Kurt was last out.
“I’m going to ask you for something,” Dave said. “And you can say no.”
To his credit, Kurt just stood there, nodding. “Okay.”
“Would you… come back here tonight? I’m not saying in my bed, I’m saying…”
“Yes.” Kurt took his hand. “Yes. I’ll stay in the guest room.”
Dave spent most of the rest of the afternoon crying, then going on with whatever he was doing, and then crying some more. It was exhausting. He wondered what it would be like to cry in front of Kurt, if he could even do it. He’d done it once, in the McKinley High hallway, for all of three seconds, but this wasn’t like that.
Maybe you should just stay at your house tonight, he told Kurt. I’m not really feeling very pleasant to be around.
Dave, I’m not looking to be entertained. I want to be there. I’ll see you around ten.
He was hovering by the door by nine-fifty-eight. Kurt didn’t even have time to ring the bell before Dave was letting him in.
“Detail guy,” Kurt noted. He beckoned Dave closer. “C’mere.”
Crying in Kurt’s arms was a million times more satisfying than he’d expected. Every time he took a breath, Kurt was there to hold him up.
“I think I might fall asleep like this,” Dave mumbled.
“That’s okay too.” He kissed Dave’s wet cheek. “Whatever you need.”
It switched over to gratitude-crying for a little while, but Dave figured Kurt didn’t need to know that. Or maybe he could tell? It didn’t matter.
Whatever I need, he thought, and closed his eyes.
The funeral was small and only just religious enough for Dave to feel like he’d given his dad what he wanted. He could tell Kurt was uncomfortable being in the church at all, but he didn’t say a thing about it.
“I would have been happy to sing something,” Kurt told him.
Dave shook his head emphatically. “And then I would have bawled all over you. No, this was about the level of public grief that I could handle.”
After Kurt returned to New York, Carole worked her nurse administrator magic on Dave’s dad’s medical bills and showed him the payment plan. “The insurance will kick in this amount,” she indicated, “and you’ll only pay this much. It won’t start until you are done with graduate school. There might be other ways to defer payment, and there’s always bankruptcy, but I don’t think you’re there yet. Either way, they won’t take your house.”
“I don’t really want to keep it,” Dave said. “Putting it on the market would feel better.”
All the neighbors stopped by over the next couple of days, a few at a time, to tell Dave how nice his father was and how much they would miss him. Dave thought they were probably telling the truth, although he wondered how many of them had even bothered to talk to his dad in the past year.
Finn was clearly uncomfortable with talking about Dave’s dad’s passing. Whenever Finn fell into an awkward silence, Kurt nudged him, but Dave thought that made things more awkward, not less.
“Hey,” Dave said at last, when Finn looked particularly miserable. “What’s going on? Do we need to drink about this or something?”
“My dad died when I was a kid,” he said. “I didn’t know him, so… I can’t really say I get what you’re going through, can I?”
“You don’t have to get it,” Dave told him. “You’ve been here this whole time. My dad thought you and your family were great. Letting him be part of it, that made the last six months of his life so much better. He told me, and believe me, my dad didn’t say much.”
That seemed to help a little. Finn stopped wearing that pathetic constipated deer look, and started making jokes with him again.
“You up for company tonight?” he asked on the phone one afternoon.
“I guess?” Dave looked around the house, at the halfhearted effort he’d made to pack away his dad’s stuff, before abandoning it in favor of easier tasks.
“Maybe we do need to drink,” he said. “About your dad, but other stuff too.”
He grinned. “As long as you’re not trying to seduce me.”
“Uh… last I heard, you and Kurt…?”
“Kind of. Maybe. I mean—yes, and no.”
“Dude, that’s, like, every possible answer.” Finn sounded legitimately baffled, which made it easier for Dave to explain.
“I really like him. I mean, I’m in love with him. And he feels the same way, and… that’s about it.”
“What do you mean, that’s about it?” Now Finn sounded annoyed. “Who says you need anything more than that? That’s pretty great.”
“More than pretty great.” He sighed. “Okay, come over. You bring the beer. Anything but MGD.”
Finn turned out to be a good drinking buddy. He didn’t talk too much, but he listened to the things Dave said and formulated a response for all of them, even the non-sequiturs. And, unlike Puckerman, he didn’t turn everything into a dirty reference.
“You really like Kurt,” Finn said, after they’d consumed enough beers that they’d stopped counting. “And you think he’s, you know, hot.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Dave agreed.
“Well, me, for one, but I don’t think he holds that against me anymore. But I do think he thinks you’re pretty hot.”
“He’s said as much.”
“So what exactly is stopping you from being his boyfriend?”
“Aside from the fact that we live in two different cities?” Dave had not calculated the exact number of miles between them, but it was more than he wanted there to be. “I guess I just want it to be right. There was the election, and school, and my dad—“
“Hold up.” Finn put forth a wavering hand. “You guys haven’t had sex?”
“No.” He thought about the things they had done, and shook his head again. “No.”
“But you have had sex with a dude before, right?” Dave stared at the coffee table while Finn waited, aghast. “Never?”
“For various values of sex, no.”
“Well, jeez. I’m pretty sure he would?”
“I know he would. You don’t think we’ve talked about it?” Dave tried not to get lost in ten years of well-curated fantasies. “I’m the one who said no. Because—because I want there to be some kind of agreement about what’s next.”
Finn sat on that statement for a while, sipping his beer.
“Look,” he said, wrinkling his brow, “when I was with Rachel, everybody had this idea about what how it should go. It was something like: first we date, then we get serious, then maybe fool around but not have sex, and then we commit. Then sex, except for a while I thought she was telling me to wait until after. Then we get married, get a house, have some kids, and grow old together. Right?”
Dave frowned. “You don’t think guys should do that too?”
“No, I’m saying when I started dating other dudes, that wasn’t the expectation. We were, like, free of that. We could make up our own rules, our own path.” He gestured vaguely at the door. “It’s like with Burt, being a senator. Nobody would have expected it, but he didn’t have to take the lawyer path or the political science path or anything. He just… did it.”
“So you think me and Kurt, we should just… do it.”
They both snorted with laughter for a while, because they were drunk, but also because it was funny.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” Finn said, when they calmed down. “I’m saying forget about whatever you think is supposed to come next. You don’t have to want to get married and have a bunch of kids.”
“Okay,” Dave said. He bit his lip. “Except I do want to. That’s kind of exactly what I want to do with Kurt.”
“Oh.” Finn stared at him. “I—okay. I guess I thought you were saying you weren’t sure what you wanted.”
“I’m not sure what he wants.”
He nodded, still staring. “So ask him.”
“Dude, we’ve been together for, what, a month and a half?” Dave knew exactly how many days it had been since Finn had persuaded him to send Kurt a message, but it didn’t matter. “You don’t ask a guy you’ve been dating for less than—“
“Except you’ve known him for ten years.” Finn’s eyebrows went up. “And come on, Dave. Do you really, think if you asked Kurt to get married and have a bunch of kids, he would say no?”
“He might.” He shot Finn a look of desperation. “He’s got this whole life without me. I don’t want to mess it up. And if he said no… I don’t know what I’d do then.”
The silence went on for a while. Then Finn set his beer on the table loud enough to make a clunk.
“I think if you don’t ask him, he’s not going to think about it when he makes his next plans. And you don’t have to say let’s get married tomorrow, but…” He gestured at Dave with both, like he was serving him something magnificent. “Say something, now.”
Say something was enough to keep him from texting Kurt for the next couple of nights. The political transition team helping Burt move from Lima to Washington was doing most of the heavy lifting, but Burt didn’t want to replace any of the databases Dave had put into place during the campaign.
“Mostly because I already know how to use them,” Burt said, “and I don’t really want to learn new ones.”
“That’s fair,” Dave agreed. “I can talk them through it online.”
“I was thinking more like you come out to Washington.” Burt was watching him. “I mean, if you feel ready for something like that.”
Other than that night of drinking with Finn, Dave hadn’t been doing much except packing and crying for the past couple of weeks. He blew out a breath. “To be honest, I think I could use a distraction.”
Burt bought him a round trip ticket to DC. Dave didn’t argue about the campaign picking up his travel expenses; even with Carole’s help, he was more in debt than he’d ever wanted to be.
“Sign the lease on the condo,” Carole said to Burt, counting off on her fingers, “train your staff on Dave’s databases, check out that school for the girls, and come home. That’s it.”
“What does she think you’re going to do other than that?” Finn asked in confusion. “Is this wild party weekend or something?”
“She thinks I’m going to get caught up in committee work while I’m out here and extend my stay,” Burt said, looking a little embarrassed. “Which, okay, I might do. But I know you guys will keep me on track.”
It didn’t take long for them to sign the lease on the condo in Springfield. They figured out the timetable for the Manassas train line, but since it didn't run as often on the weekend, they took a taxi into DC. Dave watched out the window as they neared the complex, feeling the excitement coalesce around them. Senator Hummel, he thought, and watched Finn's expression mirror his.
Visiting the senate chamber in the north wing of the Capitol building was even more thrilling. Burt’s office was in the Russell building, although everybody seemed to call it “the old Senate building” instead.
“I remember when they used this as the set for the Six Million Dollar Man,” Burt said, grinning bigger than Riyann.
They made their way across Constitution Avenue. As Burt introduced Finn and Dave to his new team and led them around the office, Dave made an effort to listen hard to everything the staffers were saying, in order that he could ask good questions later. He took notes, because he knew at the moment his short-term memory was pretty crappy. It’s grief, he reminded himself. It’s not because you suck at this. You’ve got this.
The staffers were savvy, and picked up the details much more quickly than Burt or most of the Lima volunteers had. They even asked a few questions that gave him ideas for how to improve the databases. By the time they were done with their tour, Dave’s mind was entirely focused on writing code. That was, until he saw who was joining them for dinner.
“Thanks for the invitation, dad,” Kurt said. He accepted hugs from all of them, then took a seat at the table across from Finn. Dave thought he looked especially good in his olive green suit. “Three hours on the dot from Penn Station, and I got all tomorrow's work done on the train. I'm ready to relax. Pass the wine list.”
The dinner conversation centered on the election, the recent upsets in the house and senate, but Dave could tell Burt had something on his mind. Once the server had taken their order, he set his napkin down and faced them, all together.
“All right, boys, now that I have you all here together, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Dave listened just as attentively as he had in the office as Burt outlined his distribution of labor. But when Burt turned to him and said, “Dave, I want you to be my chief of staff,” he almost fell off his chair.
“Wait, hang on,” he said, “you what?”
“You’re the detail guy,” Burt said patiently. “And you know exactly what to do. I’ll tell you up front, the salary looks like a lot on paper, but when you take into account the cost of living in Washington—“
Dave glanced around the table wildly, waiting to find glares from either Finn or Kurt, and finding none, found himself even more off balance. “But what about Finn?”
“Dude, I’m not a politician.” Finn shrugged. “Let me handle the garage. In three years we’ll be running for election again, probably, and fundraising for that will keep me more than busy enough.”
Kurt was nodding. “Everything you want me to do, I can do remotely, except for the committee work. Legislative assistant, right?”
“Until you decide you’re too busy, and then I’ll have to hire somebody else. But at least that’ll give us a start.” Burt nodded at Dave expectantly. “I can’t promise you’ll have a ton of time to work on your dissertation, but…”
“Yes,” Dave interrupted. He laughed, and knocked over Finn’s water glass in his effort to shake Burt’s hand. “Yes. I accept.”
Burt took Finn with him back to the office for a while, which was clearly an effort on their part to give Kurt and Dave some time alone. Dave couldn’t complain. They strolled along Union Square, admiring the reflecting pool, while Dave attempted to collect his thoughts.
“You’re quiet,” Kurt said, swinging his hand.
“It’s a lot.” Dave gazed at the Lincoln Memorial, feeling the weight of more than the construction materials. He took a long breath. “So I’ve been thinking about… everything.”
Kurt looked like he was trying not to smile. “Yeah. Me, too. You want to go first, or shall I?”
“Uh—you can, if you want?” Then he said quickly, “Actually, no. I want to go first.”
He stopped, facing Kurt, and took both his hands. They were nearly the same height, which should have made it easy for Dave to look into his eyes, but he kept losing purchase on them, his gaze sliding to the pavement.
“Finn told me losing my dad was going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And he was right, but… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy. Because I am. For so many reasons.” Dave shook his head. He couldn’t have stopped smiling if he’d tried. “You know, it’s funny. I always knew it would be easy to fall for you. I never thought I’d fall for your family first.”
Kurt laughed. “I’ll try not to be jealous.”
“It’s just part of everything. The campaign, and becoming friends with Finn again, and your parents, and… my dad. All of it.” He could feel his fingers growing sweaty, but Kurt wasn’t letting go. “So, it made me think about all the things I want, and that was kind of scary. But Finn reminded me that all I have to do is tell you what they are, and then you get to decide which of them you might… also want.”
Kurt nodded. “How about a job on Capitol Hill?”
“Yeah, see, that was never on the list, but I’m not turning it down.” He took another breath. “You. I love you a lot, Kurt. I want to spend more time with you. I guess being three hours away by train might make that more possible.” He waited while Kurt nodded again. “And, I feel a little inadequate around you sometimes—no, just, hang on. I’ve never really, uh, had a boyfriend before.”
“Oh.” Kurt’s smile dropped away for a moment, replaced by surprise. “I didn’t realize that. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Dave insisted. “Because, really, I always… I just wanted you. Which, I know, is a lot of pressure, so… I’m sorry about that.”
Kurt’s eyes were glistening, but he didn’t cry. He just shook his head. “Not sorry.”
“Yeah. Okay.” It was a little easier to breathe now. “I had the feeling when we were throwing the frisbee in the backyard with your sisters that you were still trying to figure out if you wanted to have kids or not. But I want you to know, I really do, and I hope we can figure that out someday. Not now, because… well, the Senate.”
He had to stop and laugh at himself for a moment, looking around at the Washington Monument, the dome of the Capitol across the grounds. Kurt hadn’t tried to get away, at least, so there was that.
“I never want to make you feel like you don’t get to decide,” Dave said. “Or that what I want is the only option. What I do want is for you to know how important you are to me, Kurt. I know your career might come first, and I’m okay with that, but I want to work hard at this relationship. You deserve to have somebody who will do that.” He offered a tentative smile. “Um, okay, you can go now.”
In lieu of words, Kurt kissed him soundly. If Dave hadn’t already been so worked up, he probably would have been embarrassed to be doing that in the middle of the Capitol complex, but at the moment, he was having a hard time feeling anything but good.
“You didn’t say one thing that scared me off,” Kurt said breathlessly. He kept his hands on Dave’s face. “Three hour train ride every weekend, yes. Time together, hell yes. First boyfriend, I can work with that. Kids…” He laughed brokenly. “With you, someday, yes, please.”
“Yeah,” Dave whispered. “That… that’s great.”
Dave kissed him back, then hugged him for a really long time, letting all those yeses chase themselves around inside his head.
“I didn’t buy you a ring, or anything,” he said, and heard Kurt’s breath catch. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s because the practical thing to do is to wait a little longer, and I’m…”
“You’re the detail guy,” Kurt said. “I’m not taking it personally. And, well.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a small box, gazing at Dave through his lashes. “I think you can count on me for the sweeping romantic gestures.”
“Holy shit,” Dave yelped. He fumbled the box open and stood there, staring at the ring nestled inside the black velvet.
Kurt laughed, the tension evident in his voice. “I hope what you just said doesn’t mean you’re going to say no.”
Dave didn’t say no. He didn’t say anything, at least not anything he remembered later. There was a third kiss, one for the memory books, and more hugging, and maybe some clapping from spectators, although he’d try to forget that part. And he felt extremely self-conscious letting Kurt put the ring on him, but only because it was so fucking beautiful, and he was sure he’d never owned anything as beautiful as that in his life.
It was later, as they were walking back toward the taxi stand in front of the Capitol, that Dave realized he had no idea what was going to happen next—and he wasn’t even a little bit worried.
“Where to now?” he asked Kurt.
“I think we take the train back to my place,” Kurt said, “and we do our best to celebrate everything we have. And then we get back to work.”