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“David!” Alexis chirps, swinging open the door of their shared room. “You were supposed to be ready fifteen minutes ago.”
David sits perched in front of his cedar chest, delicately refolding his knits. Right sleeve, cross over the middle. Left sleeve, cross over the middle. Fold the hem to the collar. Flip it over. Smooth the wrinkles. He exhales and places the sweater inside the chest. “I’m not going.”
He reaches for another sweater and lays it out across his lap, taking extra care to smooth out the wrinkles before preparing to fold. Right sleeve, cross over the middle. Left sleeve –
“Oh come on, David,” Alexis coos. “It’s going to be so fun! Besides, it’s not as if you have anything else to do.”
David narrows his eyes and furrows his brows. “Actually, I’m very busy. I’m reorganizing my knits.”
“Again?” Alexis mocks, puffing out her bottom lip.
“Yes. Again,” David hisses. “Anyway. Since when is a Halloween party at the cafe your idea of fun?”
Two years ago, Alexis wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of attending an event that wasn’t being hosted by a celebrity acquaintance or by one of her equally-wealthy friends. She wouldn’t have dared to RSVP to a party that didn’t promise the attendance of at least one Stavros. When asked why she hadn’t gone to Ryan Gosling’s housewarming party, she had said, “David, literally no one ever goes to parties on land anymore. It’s all about yacht parties.” And while that was a short-lived trend and parties on solid ground quickly became favorable once again, Alexis had always maintained high-standards of what did, or did not, constitute an event worth attending. And a Halloween costume party at Cafe Tropical was definitely not an event worth attending.
“Ummm.” Alexis hums, closing her eyes and flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Since today, actually. So how about you get dressed?”
David looks up at his younger sister, dressed in a short emerald green cocktail dress and gold strappy heels. He barely recognizes the woman in front of him. “Who are you?” He wonders aloud, his voice so much softer than he intends it to be. And because, right now, being snippy is easier than addressing a genuine human emotion, he clears his throat and tries again. “I mean–what are you even supposed to be? Because you look like Taylor Swift at the Hollywood premiere of Easy A .”
“Ew, David! You are being so rude right now.”
David brings his hand to his chin and narrows his eyes. “Or maybe just like a high-end prostitute? The kind who only entertains B-List celebrities or people who didn’t make it in reality TV.”
“David!” Alexis whines, stomping her foot for punctuation. “Stop!”
“Actually, David, she’s green with envy !”
David and Alexis turn to see Ted standing in the doorway wearing dark jeans and white t-shirt. “Get it? She’s green, and I’m envy!” He laughs, gesturing to the word ‘envy’ printed boldly in black across his chest. “She’s green with envy!”
“Is that my shirt?”
Alexis prances across the room and links her arm in Ted’s. “Yes, David. Ted’s borrowing it and you’re fine with it.” The firm inflection of her voice and her piercing stare as the words leave her lips is a clear indication to David that, yes, he is fine with it.
She tilts her head to the side, resting it on Ted’s shoulder, and looks up at him through soft, fluttering, lashes. “You look great, babe!”
Ted kisses the top of her head, pressing a sweet smile into her hair. “No, babe. We look great.”
And there it is. The answer to the question that David wasn’t even entirely sure that he’d been asking. She’s different because she’s happy. She’s fallen in love with Schitt’s Creek and with her life. And if she can fall in love with this town and find a way to be happy, David wonders if maybe he can too.
“Okay, fine. I’ll come.” He groans and a small grin creeps across his lips. “I can finish reorganizing my knits tomorrow.”
“Oh yay, David! Yay!” Alexis squeals, wrapping her small arounds around his shoulders. “So! What are you going to wear?”
//
“So let me get this straight.” Stevie sits on the edge of David’s bed, tapping her index finger to her knee. “You told Alexis you’d be at the cafe in an hour. And that you’d be wearing a Halloween costume?”
“That’s correct.” David huffs a breath and continues digging through his cedar chest and tossing freshly folded sweaters over his shoulder. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
“I just finished the laundry so we’ve got plenty of clean sheets.” She smiles at him, making no effort to mask her enjoyment. “You could be a ghost?”
“Or, here’s an idea,” David snaps. “You could get up and look through my closet?”
“You’re right. A ghost is way too scary.” Stevie slides off the edge of the bed with an exaggerated groan and slowly makes her way towards the closet. As she walks past the dinette set, she picks up a book from the table and holds it up. “Are you seriously reading this again?”
David furrows his brows and purses his lips into a small scowl. “ To Kill A Mockingbird is a pinnacle piece of modern American literature.”
“Okay, Atticus.” She laughs for a moment before suddenly turning serious. “Wait, David. That’s actually perfect.”
“Oh my god! Yes. And I think I still have my seersucker suit. Can you check? It’s a blueish-gray.”
“Wait. Why do you own a seersucker–nevermind. Is it in this closet?”
What Stevie doesn’t know, and that David will never tell her, is that he has a soft spot for seersucker. Not only does it’s puckered nature render it unnecessary to iron but the lightness of the fabric makes it an ideal suit for warm, or even humid, climates. And while he’d never thought he would have the chance to wear it again, David had held on tight to his collection of seersucker formal wear, just in case .
He looks in the mirror, running his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair and admiring the impeccable tailoring of his suit. He straightens the collar of his jacket and calls over his shoulder, “Stevie, have you seen my glasses?”
“You mean these?”
“Thank you,” He says, his lips twisting into a crooked smile as he puts on and adjusts his glasses. “Mm, alright,” he murmurs to himself, not too proud to admit that he’s definitely pulling off this look.
//
“David!” Twyla gushes, flashing one of her famous ear-to-ear smiles. “I’m so glad you could make it. And what a great suit! Who are you supposed to be?” She reaches out and grazes his arm. “Oh wait, I get it. You’re dressed as Mr. Rose!”
“Um, actually, no. I’m Atticus Finch. Well, actually...I’m Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch. From the 1962 movie adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Oh. Well. You look great! Can I get you a drink?”
David smiles appreciatively and declines her polite offer. If he’s going to make it through this party unscathed, he’ll need to drink an amount of whiskey he’s not prepared to explain.
“Hey, big guy! Looking good!” Ted shouts, wrapping one arm around David’s shoulder. “I like your costume. You look good in glasses.”
“I don’t know where all this ‘big guy’ talk is coming from but Ted is right,” Alexis nods, “Those glasses are a very cute look for you, David. You look just like Dad.”
“Mmm’k. Thanks.” David shakes his head and glares at her through half-open eyes. “I’m getting a drink.” He breezes past them and grabs an open bottle of whiskey from the counter, pouring a generous amount into his plastic cup. He slides onto a stool and takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the familiar burn as it makes its way down his throat.
David: No one gets my costume. Everyone thinks I’m dressed as my dad.
Stevie: Does your dad even wear glasses?
David: Not the point. Come drink w/ me
Stevie: Can’t. Manning the front desk.
Stevie: You’ll be fine. Make a friend.
“Yeah, okay,” David sneers to himself. “I’ll do that.” He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and pours a little more into his cup. Still holding onto the bottle, David stares wistfully into his cup as he swirls the whiskey and watches as it swishes from side to side.
A small line begins to form as fellow party goers wait with empty glasses. In the front of the line is a man, roughly about David’s age. He politely taps David’s shoulder, “excuse me, can you slide that over here?”
“Oh fuck. Yeah.” David releases the bottle of whiskey and slides it a few inches down the counter, still not looking up from his drink.
“Hey, thanks.” The man laughs. He pours the whiskey generously into his cup before handing the bottle off. “So,” he pauses to take a drink, “Who are you supposed to be?”
David sets his drink down on the counter and turns his body towards him, fully-prepared to launch into a speech about the lack of culture in this town, when he catches the eyes of the man. Disarmed by the golden flecks of his dark brown eyes and the way they light up his face, David stammers for a response. “Oh, uh. I’m A–Atticus. Atticus Finch. From To Kill–”
“To Kill a Mockingbird. Yeah, I kind of figured.” The man leans forward onto the counter, resting his forearms on the old linoleum and sliding onto the stool next to David. “That’s funny, though. Because I would have guessed you were Gregory Peck, you know, as Atticus Finch.”
David’s mouth twists into a smile and he can’t help but feel seen for the first time all night. He looks down, finally breaking off the man’s persistent eye contact and taking in his ensemble. He’s wearing fitted white pants, which David can surely appreciate. And some type of jersey though David hasn’t the slightest clue for what sport. “And you are?”
The man’s smile broadens and he extends his hand. “Patrick Brewer. I just moved here. I met someone here last week and she said I should come and try to make some new friends.”
“Nice to meet you, Patrick Brewer.” David reaches for his hand, encasing it between his own two. “David. David Rose.” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Hm. So, uh–who are you dressed as?”
Patrick laughs and looks down to his feet. “Justin Smoak.”
David tilts his head to the side. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Justin Smoak? The star first baseman for the Toronto Blue Jays?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Oh. Well, in baseball, a first baseman is the player on the team playing defense who fields–you know what? It doesn’t matter.” He relaxes into his stool, propping his head up on his elbow. “I’ve got a feeling you’re not one for sports.”
“Not really?” David shrugs his shoulders. “For my Bar Mitzvah, my Dad built me a basketball court. Which I guess sounds really nice.”
“But it wasn’t, was it?” Patrick laughs.
“Not so much, no. It took me breaking my nose for him to realize how terrible I am with balls.”
Patrick cocks his head to the side, grinning playfully at David. “I’m sure you’re better than you think.”
Minutes of effortless conversation turn into an hour, and one hour into two. David wasn’t sure what it was about Patrick but emotional walls he had spent years curating, were quickly crumbling. Somewhere between swapping stories about their families and childhood memories and confessing their hopes and dreams for the future, David began to wonder if maybe there was something here.
The motion-sensor lights of the cafe flicker, effectively bringing the two men out of their trance. The cafe is empty, save for the two of them. “Well,” David sighs. “I guess we should get out of here.”
“I guess so, huh?” Patrick nods his head, slipping out of his stool and following David outside. “Hey, uh, David?”
“Yes, Patrick?”
“For what it’s worth, I had a really great time tonight. It was great to meet you.”
David nods his head, smiling back at him. “Yeah, me too. Goodnight.”
No. It isn’t going to end like this.
“Patrick?” David turns towards him and reaches forward, grabbing his hand, and pulling him closer. He sucks in a large breath and utilizes all the courage he can manage. He leans forward towards Patrick’s lips and closes the remaining inches between them.
“Can we talk tomorrow?”
“We can talk whenever you'd like,” David pauses. “Just preferably not before 10 AM. Um, because I'm not really a morning person.”
“Mhm,” Patrick laughs. “Goodnight, David.”
“Goodnight, Patrick.”