"Hey, Dad. How are you?" Kurt asked when he walked in the door of his childhood home. Burt was sitting on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and a book in his lap.
"Hey, kid. I'm fine. How are you? Did you look at the house?" His eyes were wide, curious and hopeful, as he watched Kurt kick off his shoes and sit down beside him on the couch.
"I did. Yeah. It was exactly what I thought it would be like. Old, dirty, and in need of a lot of repairs. I still love it. It's got a lot of charm, and I'm excited to get her fixed up and beautiful again."
Burt beamed at that. "I bet you are. She'll be perfect, kid, something you can be proud of because you restored her with your own two hands."
"Well, I can't do it alone, but I will do as much as I can," Kurt replied, wrapping an arm around his dad's shoulders. "Whatcha readin'?"
"Do you remember those old horse books I used to read to you when you were a kid?" Burt asked, glancing down at the novel. "The Black Stallion and all those that went with it?" At Kurt's nod, he said, "Well, this is one of 'em. I saw them sitting on the shelf in my closet this morning, so I thought I'd pull one down and give it a read. It's still good. I'm enjoying it." He seemed almost sheepish, and Kurt could tell he really was having a good time reading it.
"I'm glad you found those, Dad. Maybe I can add a few of them to my library when I get the house finished," Kurt told him with a grin. His stomach growled then, and he couldn't hold back his giggle. "Are you as hungry as I am?"
"Sure, kid," Burt told him. "What were you planning?"
"Salads. Some fruit. One single cookie for dessert if you eat all your salad."
"Spoil sport."
"Yeah. Until we know exactly what's going on with your heart, we don't want to risk it, Dad. You know that." Rising from the couch, Kurt walked into the kitchen, staying close enough to the door so he could hear his dad talk as he so often did when Kurt was making him food or bringing him something he needed. Burt hated being sick. Kurt knew that, yet there was nothing he could do about it. His dad's health was just poor, likely genetics if the stories Burt told about his father were true. And the doctors had told them that they didn't think the lay up was permanent. Just temporary, something in his heart that a medication could likely solve. They just needed to find out exactly what it was. Until then, he had to take it easy. No changing oil or working on house projects, nothing like that, until he'd been cleared. It was hard, but Burt had already admitted that he was enjoying the downtime, getting to do things he didn't normally do because he was altogether too busy.
"Hey, Kurt?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Do you ever regret that you didn't have a mother in your life?"
"Not for a second." This was a topic that had come up many times over the last few weeks, and Kurt's answer was always the same: not having had a mom growing up didn't bother him.
For as long as he could remember, it had always just been him and his dad. Burt didn't like to talk about his mother, and Kurt didn't know if that meant she'd died, abandoned them, been too scared to be a mom, or any other number of possibilities that could have provided an explanation. As a young kid, going to daycare at ages three and four, he'd sometimes wondered why he didn't have a mom at home, but he'd never felt like he was missing out. He got to do everything with his dad, and he'd heard a lot of other kids complain about how they never got to spend time with their dads or moms. So, he'd always felt like he was pretty lucky.
Whenever Burt had offered to tell him about his mom as he got older, Kurt had always declined. He knew she had an identity, that she was a part of him, but he didn't really want to know more than that. He was happy, content with just the two of them. He didn't need to know about the woman who'd never been present in his life.
"Do you regret that I didn't get married?"
"No."
"I'm disrupting your life, kid. Pulling you out of—"
"Dad, no you're not," Kurt said, coming to stand just inside the living room, hands on his hips. "You're not disrupting or ruining or hurting anything. I'm your son. It's my job to take care of you when you're not feeling well, and I'm happy to do it."
"But—"
"No." Kurt came to stand in front of the couch, deciding to tell his dad something he hadn't shared yet so far. "I wasn't happy out there, Dad. Sure, I had opportunities and a social life, but I wasn't really me. I was someone else that I wasn't sure I wanted to be, and I was losing track of the kid you raised. When shit hit the fan, I knew it was time. It's been the biggest blessing for me to come back here and buy that old house. I'm starting to feel like me again, Dad, like I'm the person I was meant to be in the place where I belong. So, I'm happy to be here. Thank you for trusting me to take care of you."
Burt sniffled, holding out his arms. "Come here, kid," he said, reaching out and pulling his son in for a hug. "You're the best kid a dad could ask for. I'm one lucky guy to have such a wonderful son."
"Yeah. I'm pretty great," Kurt told him with a grin when they pulled away. "Now, let me finish those salads so we can eat. I've got to be down at the newspaper in, like, half an hour."