For Keeps

22. This family is never going to be the same.

On the way to Jon's parents' house, Kurt hugged a brown-paper wrapped bouquet of flowers to his chest, tucking his fingers into the pocket of Jon's jacket and finding the warm curl of his bare hand. Carols played muzzily out of the old truck speakers and Kurt hummed along, comforting himself with the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath filling his chest.

This evening felt like a mix of dangerous things; Kurt wasn't afraid to cry but crying hadn't been allowed for boys in the home where he grew up. He wasn't sure of himself with Jon's family, and especially not Jon's dad.

"Hey, um," Kurt began uncertainly. "Jon, am I gonna embarrass you if I cry at this thing?"

Jon flashed him a puzzled glance. "No. Not at all." His hand squeezed Kurt's fingers in his pocket. "Probably everybody's crying but me."

"Even your dad?" Kurt asked. "Not just the girls?"

Cary made a huffing noise. "Definitely Pete is gonna cry."

"Boys don't cry in your family?" Jon asked, his hazel eyes touching Kurt's face for a moment.

"I don't know--I cry in my family," Kurt said shortly. "What does that make me?" He regretted phrasing it that way, hearing an echo of the answers hissed in his ear.

"Boys cry in this family, Visser--you're fine." Cary's gruff voice bulldozed that line of thought into the ground. "It's just a normal human thing. No offense, Jon," he tagged on belatedly.

"None taken," Jon said drily. "I'm aware I have a malfunction."

The truck fell quiet, and Jon leaned his head against Kurt's shoulder, rubbing the polish on Kurt's fingers in his pocket. "Just be you," Jon said. "That's who I love."

Light spilled around Mel White's soft figure when she opened the door to let them in. Passing the flowers to Jon, Kurt bent to kiss her cheeks, and she reached up to hug him. "Kurt, I'm so glad you came," Mel said, pulling back to smile in his face, tears welling in her eyes.

Kurt brushed a tear off her cheek, his forehead creasing. "Cryin' already, mom? That's no good--we're not even in the door yet." The word came off his tongue so naturally he almost didn't realize what he had said; he was all up in his feelings about Jon, and this was Jon's mom, and Jon was his partner. It suddenly didn't seem weird at all to call her mom too.

Mel laughed and turned to Jon and Cary in turn to hug them too and say hello before tucking her hand into the corner of Kurt's elbow to walk with him to the dining room. There was a stack of fat photo albums on the coffee table in the living room, but no decorations anywhere for either Christmas or Jon's birthday. "I'm so happy to introduce you to Judah tonight," Mel said. "You're the only one who hasn't heard my stories."

"I'm here for all the stories," Kurt said, and Jon glanced back at him, his mouth tucked in and his eyes telegraphing gratitude.

{Jon}

Bea's face flooded with relief when Jon joined her in the kitchen. "Jonee--help," she said in a panicked whisper. "Dad got called away and I don't know what I'm doing with supper."

Jon swept a look around--a pot of water bubbled wildly on the stove top and the counter was full of ingredients not yet assembled into a meal. He flashed a glare at the stairs--Tabitha May had clearly bailed on her responsibility as the oldest sibling still at home.

"I'll set the table," Cary said, helping himself to the cupboards with the familiarity of years of living in this house.

"Is there a recipe?" Jon asked Bea.

She thrust a tattered 3x5 card at him. His mother's slanting cursive noted: 'Lemony alfredo pasta - J & J favourite!'

The ink was rusty with age. Jon touched a thumb to the edge of the card realizing this was a relic from their old house, their old life. The woman who wrote out the recipe on this card had two sons out of her own body and no grey in her hair.