"Hey, Mom!" he laughed nervously.
                          
Then she pulled away and looked behind her, wringing her hands. A man came towards them and stopped in the doorway.
                          
David Anderson was tall, broad shouldered, and his fine brown hair was trimmed evenly right where his head became neck. His blue eyes stared down at his son saying so much, yet he himself said nothing. 
                          
"Blaine came home!" his mom exclaimed, trying to look happy. "Let's go inside where we can catch up!"
                          
Mr. Anderson didn't move. Blaine looked intently at his father, trying to comprehend his expression. Was it anger? Surprise? Passiveness? He couldn't tell.
                          
"Why're you here." he finally said, bluntly.
                          
Blaine looked at his gray and navy skater shoes, counting the metal rings threading the laces, trying to think of what best to say or do. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a small, pale yellow envelope. He held it out to his parents. "I wanted to bring this to you in person. It's the wedding invitation and R.S.V.P."
                          
Deb didn't move. She just looked at her husband waiting for him to do something first. He snatched the envelope from his son. "Why did you come, Blaine." He said again as more of a command than a question.
                          
"Because," he began, "because I knew you wouldn't come to the wedding if we mailed it to you. You don't seem to care enough."
                          
His dad looked away and clenched his fists, bending a corner of the envelope in his callused hand.
                          
Mrs. Anderson put a hand on David's shoulder and let it slide down his biceps, across the crook of his elbow, and then to his forearm where she stopped and kept it there. "Can we please go inside and discuss this like a family?" she pleaded. "I'll pour some fresh lemonade and thaw out some Girl Scout cookies and we can sit down and talk."
                          
"No, Mom." Blaine objected, cookies and lemonade sounded really good right now, but no, that's not what he was here for. "I'm waiting for Dad." He said. "I don't think he's changed."
                          
"And for a good reason." his dad retorted. 
                          
Blaine frowned. "And why's that? When have you supported me since my transfer to McKinley?! Tell me."
                          
Mr. Anderson shook a finger threateningly at his son. "I let you go to Dalton to escape bullying! I let you go to McKinley even though I knew you were... you were" he struggled on the word, "gay." it was a mere whisper, and he cringed when he said it. "And that was the main reason you wanted to move to McKinley in the first place, because of Kurt!" he again averted his eyes before retuning his gaze with a new sort of sincerity and almost solemness. "And Blaine, I supported and will continue to support you in your efforts at NYADA. I will attend your first Broadway production. I will celebrate your achievements in that way. I just. Can't. Accept. That. You. Are. Marryinganotherman." The sentence came out nice and slow like squeezing the last drop of ketchup out of the bottle and then finished so fast it was over before you realized it.
                          
Blaine swallowed down his anger. "Okay then. You still haven't changed. Gee, Dad learn something from Mom. She finally came around."
                          
Mr. Anderson looked at his wife. "What? Since when?!"
                          
Blaine bit both his lips, hard. Oops. He thought his dad knew that his mom had changed her mind.
                          
His mother looked at Blaine's rental car parked along the street. "I'm sorry David. I didn't tell you."
                          
Mr. Anderson looked furious for a few more seconds and then slumped over, suddenly weary. He brought a hand over his face. "This is a mess. An utter mess."