Chapter 4

Tofurkey, With a Side of Surprises

o0o

Thursday, 28 November 2024

Halloween came and went as ghosts, jack-o-lanterns, and scarecrows were replaced with cornucopias, all overflowing with an abundance of fresh and colorful fruits for the taking, decorating the front desk in the lobby at Kurt's apartment building as well as the desks belonging to many of the people he worked with at Vogue. His trips to the Foodex down the block were accompanied with the spicy and comforting scents of pumpkin and apple pies being churned out from the in-store bakery daily, which meant Kurt never returning to his apartment empty-handed. November flew by in a literal flurry, as snow fell from the sky with fewer days in between where the sidewalks in New York City were not completely coated in white. As much as Kurt loved it New York in the fall, the fact that it was Thanksgiving meant being able to spend time with his family in Ohio.

When Kurt arrived at the Hummel-Hudson household (late due to the awful weather and much to his dismay, as he was hoping he could help Carole with making Thanksgiving dinner), it was to be tackled in a bear hug by Finn. The last time they saw one another was almost five weeks ago at Halloween. At that time, Finn was unaware of the huge, impending change and responsibilities that were soon to befall him. Hearing his excitement on the phone the morning after Halloween could not quite eclipse actually being able to see Finn's vast grin with the knowledge about his fate as a soon-to-be daddy.

His father, as bald as ever but not looking a day over fifty despite being just two years away from the big 6-0, nearly lifted him off of his feet in his own fatherly greeting. As much as they spoke on the phone, the last time they had seen each other was Christmas the year before and his exuberance in seeing his son was not lacking.

Next came Carole as lovely and sweet as ever, kissing his forehead and touching his cheek in a motherly fashion as she told him that she made his favorite raspberry cheesecake for dessert.

Then he hugged Rachel, who stood back to avoid the commotion between Kurt and what was now their family, being mindful of her belly, which was starting to become rather apparent on her tiny frame (and he was sure the rest of the Hummel-Hudson-Berry clan would have bellies to match, once they had their dinner). After carefully embracing her, he knelt to peck a small kiss on her tummy where his future niece or nephew would continue to reside for the next seven months. Finally, he gave Hiram and Leroy Berry, his fabulous and honorary godfathers, as he called them, each a simultaneous hug. It felt wonderful to be back with his huge, happy family.

During dinner they talked about how everyone was doing in their respective careers, as well as potential baby names for the Little Hudson-Berry, how much Rachel missed the stage (though her excitement of raising a future star definitely compensated for that fact), the next issue of Vogue that Kurt was working on, and how surprisingly delicious the Tofurkey was, which only resulted in Finn staring at his plate in deceit at the fact that he had eaten soy product and not bird the entire time (prompting Kurt to exclaim how "most turkeys have wings and legs and don't come in the shape of a bowling ball, Finn"). Best of all was how everyone avoided the topic of Kurt's divorce, which he was eternally grateful for. It was when they were all contently full, nibbling on the crumbs of their slices of cheesecake that Kurt choked on his coffee while starting to fade in and out while listening to the conversations being had by Hiram, Leroy, and Carole at the opposite end of the table.

"Oh, yes… He's like a Nate Berkus of architecture, Carole. You wouldn't believe it," Leroy spoke jubilantly as he leaned forward in his chair, his gold and orange paisley ascot hovering dangerously over his half-empty glass of the sauvignon blanc that Kurt brought with him on his trip.

"Heard he's also dating the former New York Times sports columnist, Daniel… Karofsky, I think it was?" Hiram added.

Kurt spluttered, practically inhaling the dark, steaming liquid.

"Wait, did you just say Karofsky?" Kurt wiped his nose off on the napkin before the droplet of coffee could drip on to his slacks. His eyes were wide as he stared down the table. "Do you mean David Karofsky?"

"Oh, yes. I think that's right," Hiram said, tapping his chin collectively. Finn and Rachel looked towards Kurt anxiously. It had been years since he had heard the name, but quite suddenly, and rather jarringly, all of the memories came rushing back. His brother and sister-in-law were quite aware of the past he had with Karofsky. Well… Almost all of it. And that much was evident on their faces.

Kurt turned accusingly towards Finn, who was sitting next to him.

"Finn, you're interested in sports. Why didn't you tell me Karofsky was in New York?" Finn looked mildly offended as he chewed his cake.

"Dude, I didn't know," he said honestly, shrugging. "Like I read the paper… Why else did they invent ESPN?"

Kurt sat back into his chair heavily. He didn't know why he felt so affected by the news. Hell, he didn't know in what way he was affected, period, or what he planned on doing with this information. The last time he heard from Dave was on Valentine's Day of his senior year of high school. It was a long and distant memory - one that took him the longest time to forget as he couldn't help but feel he stabbed himself with his own figurative sword after rejecting Dave. And finally, something dawned on him.

"You said former sports columnist. What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's fine." Burt spoke up. He turned his head, confused by the way his dad suddenly jumped into the conversation. He swirled his wine in his glass rather solemnly. "I saw him. No more than four or five months ago, actually." Kurt frowned

"What do you mean? He was back here? What for? Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt drilled his dad.

"Briefly," Burt said gravely, correcting him. "His dad, Paul… He passed away. Heart failure. Carole read about it in the obituaries. We went to the funeral to pay our respects, considering how hard he tried to… Help… With the two you and your situation in high school."

"Oh," Kurt said softly. Kurt had believed Mr. Karofsky to be a good man, no matter how awful Dave had treated him when he singled him out during those few weeks during their junior year. He had taken Kurt's side, much to his surprise, when it came to punishing Dave for his behavior, and he had been soft-spoken and had an air of gentleness that Kurt had been fortunate to see in Dave during that week of Valentine's. As Burt continued on, he gave his son a look that clearly said he wanted to talk later and successfully made him feel as though he was a sixteen-year-old again.

"Didn't stay long, though," Burt said, finally looking away. He took a swig of the crisp alcohol before setting the glass back down. "Must have had some family problems or something because his mom was there. Avoided her the whole time, s'far as I could tell. He left as soon as the service ended."

Kurt exhaled heavily. He felt shaky - jittery, like he had eaten too much cheesecake and it gave him a sugar rush. He knew the food wasn't responsible for the sudden queasiness in the pit of his stomach, however, as it was all cooked and baked to perfection. Though it probably would have been safer for him to stay sitting, he stood up, taking his flatware with him.

"I'll get started on the dishes, shall I?" he asked, smiling weakly and his voice was squeaky in his ears as he strode through the door into the kitchen.

Kurt set the dishes down in the sink before placing his hands flat on either side of it.

"Something you want to share with the class?" Kurt jumped at the gruff voice of his father.

"Not used to people sneaking up on me like that," Kurt explained as he swept his hair upward, attempting to retain his composure. Burt ignored his excuse, knowing that he caught his son withholding information.

"So, how long have you known this guy played for your team?" Burt asked far too casually as Kurt gave him an innocent look as he took the plate and glass out of his father's hands. Kurt was silent as he filled up the sink with hot, soapy water.

"I don't know what you mean." He turned around, leaning against the counter as the water continued to run. Despite facing his dad, his eyes stayed downcast towards the floor as he fiddled with the dish rag.

"Kurt, I'm old, but my hearing hasn't completely escaped me. I heard what Hiram said. He's dating that architect guy. Now spill." Kurt sighed wearily as he closed his eyes.

"It's complicated and not to mention so far in the past that it seems stupid to rehash it. Okay?" Kurt impressed upon him. "Whatever happened between the two of us twelve years ago was nothing so bad that it couldn't be forgiven with much needed groveling," Kurt said, recalling the day that David had broken down in the middle of the school hallway, expressing his remorse. And Kurt had forgiven him.

So why was the one feeling so guilty?

"Okay," Burt said finally as Kurt turned around to turn off the faucet. He dunked his hands into the water, the scalding liquid upon his skin distracting him just enough from the thoughts plaguing his mind. "I trust you to make the right decisions, Kurt. You know that." Kurt couldn't help but chuckle.

"I also know that I'll be turning thirty-two next year," Kurt said, giving his dad a small smile, for real this time, as he turned his head while scrubbing the plate.

"And yet you still manage to forget that you're still my son." Burt ruffled Kurt's hair good-naturedly and Kurt pretended to act scandalized before his dad turned around to return to the dining area.

The smile lingered on Kurt's face after his dad left with the knowledge of two things.

One… David Karofsky was in New York—or at least he might be. And two… David Karofsky managed to find the happiness that he had both assured of him and wanted for him on the night of Valentine's Day more than ten years ago.

And if Dave was able to find happiness after all of the denial, fear, and pain that he had subjected himself to in high school, then perhaps his own version of happiness was just around the corner.

o0o

This was the first Thanksgiving in years that Dave was not looking forward to. Well... Holidays were not something he generally looked forward to or considered to be fun since he was about fifteen years old. When he was still in high school, he dreaded the family get-togethers—the constant badgerings of "'Do you have a girlfriend?', 'How are your grades?', and 'What are your plans for the summer?'" He was able to easily answer those questions with a "'No, but there's this girl in my third period', 'They could be better', and 'Hang out with my friends'," while thinking all the while, "'No, and it's probably because I like dick', 'I'm failing practically everything... Maybe if I didn't constantly feel on the verge of a panic attack I would do better', and 'Jerk off to SeanCody until the wee hours of the morning.'" But since his father's passing, he was painfully reminded that he would no longer have a chance to visit him during the holidays. No more watching the NFL while they were still in their pajamas on Turkey Day weekend. But it had been years since they had participated in their once-cherished traditions, and Dave couldn't help but feel regret for leaving Ohio so young, even if it had been for the best, anyway.

After keeping his secret a, well, secret all through high school, going to live with Evelyn, his Uncle Peter, and Aunt Paola had been strange, to say the least, and finishing his last semester at Evelyn's high school had been weird. Not having to hide who he was and the outpouring of acceptance from his schoolmates as well as his family took him a while to get used to but was a blessing in disguise. He was finally able to be himself without the fear of judgmental looks or alienation. It was hard to believe that a high school in a city like Lima could be so much different from his high school in Manhattan.

As Dave got ready for Thanksgiving with Evelyn, her husband Brian (who had become like a brother to him over the years, despite the amount of flack he gave him for his name, Brian O'Brien), and their son Aidan, as well as well as his aunt and uncle and Brian's parents, Travis's presence in the other room, however, was a constant reminder of how he was stuck in a relationship that was going nowhere.

Travis had not invited him to Thanksgiving at his parent's house, but at the same time, he knew better than to ask Travis to go with him to Evelyn's for dinner, or else Evelyn would have his head on a silver platter next to the amazing, creamy, Orecchiette his Aunt Paola made every Thanksgiving. And he knew exactly why Travis's parents wouldn't care to have him dining with them that evening. His current employment, or lack thereof, was bound to be the black mark upon their meal.

Dave heard his cellphone ringing in the living just as he finished shaving. He wiped the small patches of shaving cream off on his towel before passing Travis, who was putting on his shiny black dress shoes, to go pick it up. When he found it sitting on the coffee table, he glanced at the name, pressing the "answer button", and greeted the person on the other line.

"Hello, Evelina," Dave said jauntily, knowing just what buttons to push when it came to his cousin.

"Don't call me that," Evelyn grunted dangerously. Dave chuckled softly at her annoyed tone. He could hear an array of pots and pans being banged in the background, and he couldn't decipher whether his Aunt Paola was cooking up a storm or if Evelyn's rambunctious three-year-old had somehow gotten a hold of the cookware. 'My mother's here, remember? She calls me that enough for the both of u—Yes, Mamma! Aspettare!" Dave had to move the phone away from his ear as Evelyn shouted. "God. She wants to know when her favorite nephew will be here."

"Doesn't she have, like, four nephews in Italy on your side?" Dave questioned in amusement as he sat down on the couch.

"Yes, but she said none of them are as appreciative as you. Nor love her cooking as much as you. Or take the time to call her as you do."

"Well, she did give me a place to stay, after all." Dave frowned at the magazine he saw sitting on the coffee table in front of him and he carelessly picked it up. It wasn't Travis's usual Architectural Digest, but a copy of Vogue, which he knew for a fact he wasn't subscribed to. He listened to Evelyn over the phone as he scooted towards the edge of the couch to flip through the magazine, looking at all the crazy outfits worn by the models on the shiny pages.

"She's your family, whether you're blood or not. We all are." Evelyn reminded him. Sometimes he forgot that it was his Uncle Peter that he was actually related to, and not his aunt. "Now you better hurry up. I need someone to occupy Aidan while I deal with my mother and her constant 'Oh, Evelina! You're too skinny! How are you going to give me any more grandbabies when you have hips like a twelve-year-old boy?" Dave cracked up at Evelyn's accurate impression of her mother - thick, Italian accent and all.

"Crap, she heard me. Okay. I've got to go. Sbrigati! David!"

"Leaving in thirty," he said before hanging up the phone before looking back down at the magazine in his hands.

"Hey, Trav?" Dave called to Travis in the other room.

"Yes?"

Travis came out of his bedroom, looking tall, willowy, and dapper dressed in a navy blue tux that made the freckles - enough of them on his face to make him look tan from far away - pop. His coppery-brown hair was swept upward.

"Is this your magazine?" Dave held the booklet up, not that there was any other magazine there on the coffee table that he could be referring too.

"Yeah," he waved his hand around nonchalantly as he went into the kitchen. "It has an article about Daniel Romualdez's Connecticut home that I've wanted to read." Dave had no idea who that was and could only assume he was another architect. Travis definitely had more style than he did, but he couldn't imagine Travis buying Vogue for a bit of light reading. He flipped through the magazine and froze - his blood running cold - when he flipped to the back of the of the inside cover and a name caught his eye.

Kurt Hummel, Associate Editor

Dave dropped the magazine on the glass top of the coffee table and slammed it shut as if he was just looking at something indecent.

"Um, I'm going to have to get going, Travis." Dave stood up, trying not to notice how the room was spinning, and he rubbed his suddenly clammy palms on his pants as he moved to the kitchen where he picked up his keys off of the bar. He spared a glance at Travis, who was flipping through his planner, his nose practically an inch away from the page as he filled in some dates or appointments with potential customers or contractors. "I've, uh, got to pick up some wine on the way over there."

"Yeah, that's fine," he murmured shortly, his gray eyes scanning over the page. Dave wished he cared enough to look up from what he was doing - to notice his obvious and sudden distress - but then again he didn't exactly expect more from him.

"'Kay. Have a good time with your parents. I'll see you tonight," Dave said faintly. He let out a breath as he walked out the door, and after he shut it behind him, he fell back upon it, covering his face with a hand. An act that had nothing to do with the overall lack of caring on Travis's part, but the name he saw in the magazine—a name he thought he left behind him in Ohio almost twelve years ago.

And suddenly all the memories that he attempted to move past from—memories that no doubt helped him become the better person that he was today—came crashing around him. It was like a chain reaction... a domino effect... each memory triggering the next.

The kiss. His expulsion. The meeting in the principal's office. Prom. Valentines Day. The reason for moving to New York, as well as what he attempted to do right before in the hopes of finding a permanent solution to all of his problems.

But the most startling fact of all was how he would pass the Vogue building every day, to and from work. It was only a block away—a simple fingernail's width on the map. He must have been no more than minutes away from one Kurt Hummel, for years at least, this entire time.

And that, alone, was a thought that could drive the sanest of men mad.