Chapter Text
It happens on a Sunday. It’s one of Ronnie’s last days off during Christmas holiday, and she damn well earned a lazy morning to sleep in. Unfortunately for her, she’s startled awake by a telltale ringtone.
You've got to get up every morning
With a smile in your face
And show the world all the love in your heart
Absolutely fucking not.
She answers it anyway, pulling herself up in bed. “What do you want, Ray?”
Dulce groans beneath the covers, curling into Ronnie’s side.
“Goooood morning!” Ray singsongs.
“No!” Dulce mumbles, nose pressing into Ronnie’s hip. She let her assistant open her shop today for good reason.
Ronnie absentmindedly runs a hand over her wife’s back. She looks at the time on her phone. “Raymond, what did I tell you about calls before 7 a.m.”
“So sorry, I set all my clocks five minutes ahead as a precautionary measure. But I felt like this couldn’t wait. Have you seen the news?”
Ronnie fumbles around the bedside table, looking for the tv remote in the dark. (Damn winter mornings with blackout curtains.) “Not yet. Why, did another Cuppy the Kitten get stepped on?”
“No no no, much worse,” Ray cautions as Ronnie turns the television on, making sure the brightness is as low as humanly possible. She flicks through each station, her under caffeinated brain somehow forgetting what channel number CBC news belongs to.
And then, all of the sudden, it’s there. A street shot of a Central Park-adjacent Manhattan penthouse. In large block letters against a white background, the lower third reads: Interflix Tax Scandal, then Business Manager Runs Away with Rose Family Fortune.
“Oh shit,” Ronnie whispers, pulling herself out of bed. She leaves her poor wife confused and half awake, grumbling her way up into a seated position. If Ronnie is out of bed on her day off, it’s serious business.
She shuffles to the window and pulls back the curtains, staring out into the fluffy falling snow and navy blue sky, glowing in the amber of the street lamp. It’s too fucking early, but she can go back to bed after damage control.
“Do we know anything about his family — where they’re going, if there’s anything they need right now?” She hears the bedroom door creak open from behind her. Without a doubt, Dulce is headed downstairs to put the coffee on.
“I just got off the phone with Roland, and he says their country house property was inherited by Mrs. Rose. There’s a slight chance they could be headed for the Canadian border, but the news hasn’t disclosed anything.”
Ronnie nods, trying to reach her mental list of the incoming senior students. Her sustainability & business section is full, but Ray definitely has wiggle room in art & English lit. (Which for the best, because David will no doubt want to be placed there.) They didn’t have as many kids apply for scholarships this year, so they can certainly find a line item in the budget to support his outdoor activity fees. She recounts all this to Ray, accompanied by the faint sound of his keyboard clicking — he is probably making edits in their staff google doc, emailing the school board superintendent, or both.
At some point, Dulce brings Ronnie her coffee and silk robe. She helps her put it on so she can keep her phone pressed to her ear and the television in her periphery. This is of course if David is coming back to live in his family’s country house, and only if he wants to come back to Schitt’s Creek Outdoor School. But this is something they’d do for any one of their kids. Being a teacher sometimes also means being a mother bear.
Volunteering herself, she fires off an email to David. Ray has it on good authority that it still works — David had emailed him at the beginning of the school year to mention the performance art intensive with Janet Kemflugan. She doesn’t bother putting in a subject line, she only needs to throw a lifesaver out to sea.
Just read the news. You’re welcome back at outdoor school, no ppk necessary.
They have a week of prep before the students arrive, so there’s some leeway for David to adjust and get settled before he has to start classes again. Even so, he started a week late the first time around and still came out as one of the top students in the class. (Right next to Boy Scout Brewer.)
“Done,” she announces to Ray and sits down at the edge of the bed, taking a long pull of her coffee. This is by no means a regular Sunday. “Do you think he even wants to come back?” she asks, finally disclosing her fear. Though they had a great student-teacher relationship, David was always more forthcoming with Ray due to their common love of art and books. She likes David fine, but she can’t get on the same level with him that Ray can.
There’s an uncharacteristic silence on the other end of the line, followed by, “I’m not too sure.” Ray seems to be thinking out loud. “The school he transferred to was without a doubt high calibre, but I feel like something clicked when he was with us.” Ronnie hums in agreement. Ray is right. David Rose is capable of so much more than people assume at first glance. As if on cue, her brain decides to recall David and Twyla in the chicken coop, how she watched them from the office window as Twyla passed him one of the chickens to hold. (He only lasted about three seconds, but he still held the damn bird.)
“Such a shame about him and Patrick though,” Ray shakes her from the memory.
“Huh?”
“You don’t remember?” Ray gasps, “Oh I have it on good authority he’s still hung up on him.”
Ronnie rolls her eyes. “Is that right?” But before Ray can disclose any new gossip, her phone chimes with an email notification. The situation must be serious if she’s getting a response this early in the morning. She knows David well enough to be familiar with his cycles of anxiousness and lack of sleep.
we’re just driving through the canadian border. will see you next monday.
and thank you.
-D
Fuck yes. They’ve got him. “Looks like this semester is going to be pretty interesting,” Ronnie smirks.
Another gasp is heard from Ray. “He said yes?! Oh, this is just fantastic!”
Ronnie shakes her head and laughs with relief, sending well wishes to him and Charles on their Saturday sojourn to Rattlesnake Point before hanging up. When she turns around, Dulce is smiling, eyebrows raised incredulously.
“What? I just want what’s best for my students.”
Her wife laughs, then suggests they might as well make breakfast now that they’re both up. The house slowly comes to life as the sun rises through the trees, and the kitchen fills with the warm aroma of fresh eggs, bacon, and another pot of coffee. It’s an easy, gentle morning before she’s once again bombarded with lesson planning and navigating hormonal teens, but there’s satisfaction in knowing she just gave one of them a soft place to land. In truth, she can’t wait for classes to start again.