Chapter Text
David Rose sat at the small table that passed for his desk at Ray’s. Every other surface was covered with remnants of Ray’s many business projects- printouts of house listings, albums of photographs for the photography business, examples of high-end wooden hangers for the closet makeovers. David’s desk was tidy, with a Moleskine notebook, a Faber-Castell fountain pen, and, unfortunately, a glaringly red plastic rose in a cheap vase, and a desk sign reading “A Rose’s for You...Elegant Wedding Planning.”
Because David Rose was a wedding planner. It was a fun little phrase, one that recalled his favorite rom coms where Jennifer Lopez steals the groom from the bitchy bride. The truth was, as usual, much drearier. He spent hours each day at this sad little desk, deflecting Ray’s inquiries about his weekend plans or watching Ray stage elaborate photo shoots for young families and happy couples. Either the business hadn’t gotten off the ground yet or maybe there just wasn’t much demand for elegant weddings in Schitt’s Creek.
But it was better than nothing. And absolutely nothing was what he had when Ray offered him the job.
“David, my engagement photography business has been an overwhelming success. I have a very exciting idea for a new opportunity, but I require someone with a certain cosmopolitan flair to assist me.”
Now that he had some distance from that bad time, where his brain had been tied up with such dark knots and he was sure that a visible cloud of failure had surrounded him, David sometimes wondered if Ray had invented this job out of pity. Ray was sometimes annoying, and always without boundaries, but he was kind. David had been drowning and Ray had thrown him, if not a life preserver, a discarded child’s water wing that was enough to keep him from going under.
“David!” called Ray from across the office, where he was photographing a poodle and his owner dressed in matching jack o’lantern sweaters. In May. “I have exciting news! There is a young couple interested in our services! They have an appointment today at 11 o’clock!”
“Really?” asked David. “Who? And whatever convinced them to celebrate their love in Schitt’s Creek?”
“Rachel and Patrick. They live several hours away but Rachel’s grandmother is in Elmdale and is too frail to travel for the ceremony. They would like to have their wedding someplace easy for her. And I believe they were attracted by the nice Instagram photos Alexis has been posting for us. Plus, our reasonable rates and inclusive packages.”
The Instagram feed was mostly stock footage of questionable copyright that did not reflect the venues and vendors available to him in the greater Schitt’s Creek area. David was attempting to cultivate connections with the caterers and florists and banquet hall managers within a 30-mile radius, but it was nothing like the kind of wedding he would be proud of. Nothing like the kind of wedding he dreamed of. Not that he was ever getting married. The shoemaker’s children go barefoot, and the wedding planner stays single. That Pinterest board was set to private.
***
Promptly at 11am, while he was alone in the office daydreaming about Celine Dion’s iconic wedding headpiece, David heard the bell on the door jingle. A man wandered in, looking confused by the row of cowboy hats that Ray had left out for his next photography session.
“Hi there,” he called out to David. “Should I take a number?” He gestured towards Ray’s ticket dispenser, which always put David in mind of the butcher counter at a discount supermarket.
The pleasantries and small talk were the hardest part of the job for David. He tried to let Ray handle as much of that part as possible and adopted more of the persona of the temperamental creative. Basic bitch brides who were still getting style tips from Sex in the City reruns were thrilled to be bossed around by fussy gay. However, something about this man put him immediately at ease. He had an impression of pale skin, hair that was probably trimmed every four weeks at the local Supercuts, a poly-blend blue sweater, but mostly warm brown eyes looking directly at him.
“I’m pretty overwhelmed here but luckily I think we can streamline you to the VIP section.”
“That’s a relief. Patrick Brewer.” He stuck out his hand.
“David Rose. Welcome.” Patrick’s hand was warm, dry, a little rough like he did things besides reorganize his black sweaters or sit in the cafe drinking piss poor macchiatos. Fuck, he should probably let go.
“Right, of A Rose’s for You. The wedding planner.”
Patrick briefly covered a grin with his hand and looked down at David’s shoes.
“Either you are amused by bespoke footwear or the unfortunate business name.”
“I’m sorry,” said Patrick, though he didn’t look it. He shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, looking like a mischievous little boy. “It’s just...A Rose’s for You? How many roses are we talking here?”
David sighed. He was surprised that most clients never asked about the stupid name. “There is a flower garden in bustling downtown Schitt’s Creek named after my mother, but because my father can’t fill out an order form it is called the Moira’s Rose’s Garden 4856. Better not to even ask about the 4856. My sister Alexis had just learned the word “synergy” in her online business class and convinced Ray to build a brand around this typo. I was...indisposed at the time and unable to stop them before the web domain was bought and the business cards ordered. Not to change this mortifying subject, but where is your bride?”
The smile dropped from Patrick’s face. David missed it immediately. “She’s meeting me here. She stopped by to see her grandmother in Elmdale.”
“Right,” said David. “The familial connection that brings you to us. Well, have a seat and we can go over some preliminaries until she gets here.”
David took out his notebook and favorite pen and set out a small photo album on the desk.
“We have a few options,” David began. “Here are some photos of Mutt and Twyla’s rustic barn wedding earlier this spring. Mutt owns the barn, but I’ve convinced him to rent it out as a wedding venue. The Cafe Tropical in town did the catering, and it was even more edible than their usual fare. Mason jars, burlap, candles- all the basic signifiers of country life without the roadkill. Is that the kind of atmosphere you and Rachel are looking for?”
David glanced up from the photos to check Patrick’s reaction. Patrick wasn’t looking at the photos. He was looking at David, or more precisely David’s Neil Barrett sweater, the one with the white lightning bolts that felt like his armor against the world. He looked equal parts intrigued and entertained, his open, affable face betraying every thought. David guessed that Patrick was not a big winner at poker.
The pause continued.
“So, um, burlap?” prompted David.
Patrick startled and turned a delicate, lovely shade of pink. “I’m sorry, I’m a little distracted.” Was he looking at David’s mouth? David pursed his lips self-consciously. “It’s just that...you’re not what I expected? When Rachel said she found a wedding planner in Schitt’s Creek with a name that seemed like an unfortunate Google translate accident, I wasn’t expecting someone as, well, interesting as you.”
He looked a little sheepish, but his eyes were so warm. David felt them penetrating his exterior and coming dangerously close to the frozen part of him buried deep inside. It hurt, but it also felt like a relief.
“Do you mind if I ask how you ended up working here with Ray?” Patrick asked. “I imagine that you are not a native...Schitt’s Creek-ertonian?”
It had been so long since anyone had looked at David with such interest. Waiting in anticipation for him to say something. Stevie, Alexis, and his dad were still so careful around him, praising him for his baby steps in this new job. He suspected they had a rotating schedule behind his back of who would eat dinner with him or take him on the occasional trip to the Elm Valley Mall for pretzels. He appreciated it, but it also reinforced his self-loathing. He was helpless and stunted and didn’t know how to live like a normal person.
David took a deep breath. “Thank you for noticing that. You are correct, I am fortunately not from here, but we moved here a few years ago after a family disaster. And I’m pretty new to the wedding planning industry. I’m not good at flattering brides and non-threateningly flirting with their husbands, so the world-of-mouth business hasn’t been amazing.”
David looked down, but he could still feel Patrick’s sympathetic gaze, and the radiant waves of interest and curiosity flowing towards him. He felt very exposed. But also weirdly okay.
“I’m kind of getting that this isn’t your thing,” said Patrick. “It must be hard for you to be, um, non-threatening.”
David had to give him a sideways smile for that.
“So, what is your thing, David?”
It felt good to talk about something real, not flowers or white dresses that all looked alike. But this part was still hard.
“A few months ago, I had a plan to open a store in town. I have some experience running art galleries, and I had a little seed money. I wanted to sell products by local artisans and farmers under the store’s brand. My brand.” David looked at Patrick who was smirking a little. “No, not the A David’s Rose’s Mercantile 4861.” He was rewarded with a true grin which was like an adrenaline shot. Words continued to spill out of his mouth.
“I wanted to make something beautiful in this town. And prove to myself and everyone else that I could do it. But I couldn’t. It ended up being more than I could handle on my own. I have a lot of ideas, but there was so much paperwork to do to get things up and running, to get the business license and the food handling certification and the lease application. And I tried to take out a small business loan and the bank wanted spreadsheets and sales projections and a five-year forecast.” David was sure that at the mention of spreadsheets, Patrick’s eyes glimmered. Weird.
“After that,” David continued, “I had...a bit of a spiral.” He wondered if he should continue, but he realized he couldn’t stop if he tried. It was like he was basking in Patrick’s interest, storing up the warmth for when he was alone again. “I got overwhelmed and my brain is not always my biggest supporter. I spent a few weeks in bed under the covers and then Ray showed up. He had tried to help me file the incorporation papers, but he didn’t quite get my vision. But he asked me if I wanted to help him start his new wedding planning business, and I was tired of feeling sad and humiliated, so here I am. Unfortunately, I was still in a haze while Ray and Alexis conspired on the name.”
After telling the whole sad story to this kind guy, David felt strangely peaceful. His heart had felt like a cold stone in his chest for so long that he had ceased to notice it, but talking like this made him feel, if not better, like maybe someday he would be okay.
“Thank you, David,” said Patrick.
“For what?”.
“For telling me that. I was being nosy, and probably trying to change the subject.”
“From the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” said David, “But that’s why we’re here. Enough about me. Sometimes I have my confused couples do a little visualization exercise I learned from Alexis, though I’ll skip the aromatherapy part. Close your eyes and picture your wedding day. Try to notice the details. Are you in a garden? Or a church? Are you sticking with this classic denim look you have going here, or are you wearing a tux?”
Patrick’s face, which had been radiant until now, suddenly looked drained. He slumped a little in his chair. “I don’t see anything.”
David had a sudden urge to touch his cheek. He wanted to bring back that cozy smile.
“Oh God, you’re not hoping for one of those Lord of the Rings themed weddings, are you? With fake pointy elf ears and the vows in Elvish? I guess we can pull that off. How do you feel about hair extensions?”
Patrick gave him a faint smile but kept his eyes closed.
“You want vampires,” continued David, desperate to bring back the warmth. “Rachel’s a goth, right?”
At the mention of her name, Patrick opened his eyes. “David, you’ve been really honest with me today, so I’m going to tell you something. I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Yeah, that kind of sums it up. When I close my eyes and try to picture the wedding, I just see this big blank. And my chest feels tight and I feel like I can’t breathe…” He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. David tried to think of something, anything to say but realized there was nothing. They sat in silence, facing each other. Patrick finally took a deep breath and looked up. His eyes seemed darker as they looked at David intensely. “I…” he began when his phone suddenly pinged, startling them both.
Patrick read the text. “And that’s her. Her grandmother’s not feeling well, and she wants me to meet her back in Elmdale and reschedule the meeting. I’m sorry, David.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll survive without planning your basic wedding. I bet you guys were going to have everyone blow bubbles instead of throw rice, right?”
He was rewarded with a bit of an eye twinkle for that one.
“It’s not Rachel’s fault,” said Patrick. “We’ve been together since high school, and she’s great. She’s nice. She’s...so nice. But maybe I want something more than spending my life with somebody nice, living in my hometown and working at the bank and seeing my same friends from high school every weekend. Maybe I want my life to be...interesting.”
That word again. David bit his lip. “Okay, Patrick, I’m not an expert on many things, especially not marriage, but I’ve been learning a lot about picking myself up after great shame and humiliation and taking baby steps forward. And if I can do that, I think maybe you can choose your own future and tell Rachel what you want.”
“Thank you, David.” Patrick stood up like he was about to leave, but hesitated.
“Here, take my card.” David handed it to him. “In case you want to talk about centerpieces. Or anything else.”
Patrick took the card. He looked David deeply in the eye while sticking it in his back pocket and said, “I’m kind of a numbers guy, if you ever want to talk through your business plan for that store.” It was the sexiest fucking thing David had ever seen.
***
About a week later, David returned from meeting with a new farmer outside of town who was considering growing hydrangeas in bulk and noticed a new voicemail.
“Hi Patrick, this is David….yeah, I think I just called you Patrick, and that’s not, that’s not your name.”
David grinned. Jennifer Lopez, eat your heart out.