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“It’s great to see so many of you made it today! We’ve got some new faces, so how about we go around the room and just say three things about ourselves,” the red headed woman at the front of the room is drawling.
Suddenly, Patrick regrets ever agreeing to go to this tax seminar. He had been the one to suggest it in the first place. He had wanted to do a good job for David, show him that he can be trusted with the business. Or really just show him that he can be trusted in general but that’s beside the point.
David had driven him to the seminar and disappeared somewhere close by to strike a deal with some vendors. Patrick had promised he would leave here prepared for everything Rose Apothecary could throw at them, and he’s not going to let David down.
Patrick counts down the people ahead of him, four to go. An elderly gentleman is talking about his love of the clarinet.
Shit. Everyone is getting personal.
What is there to say anymore? In the past he always had his usual spiel; Hi I’m Patrick, I work for a business consultant firm, I play guitar in my spare time, and I recently got engaged.
There would be a spiel of congratulations and everyone will swiftly move on to the next person.
Three people.
Okay, he’s got to come up with something at this point. None of those three things are true anymore; he can switch the first one for Rose Apothecary, perhaps the second one for baseball, but what can he say for the third?
I’m gay.
Maybe something that’s not so overly personal.
I have a crush on my business partner, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Or something not pathetic.
Two people.
What even is Patrick’s identity at this point? He always had a bullet point list of all the things that made him who he was.
Patrick Brewer: Golden child of his parents.
Patrick Brewer: Captain of the baseball team.
Patrick Brewer: Rachel O’Neill’s boyfriend.
Patrick Brewer: Reliable, Dependable, Responsible.
None of those things fit anymore. He hasn’t visited his parents in months, he isn’t in a sports team, he abandoned his fiancée and girlfriend of fifteen years with no real explanation why, skipped town, and ended up as the unfortunate roommate of Ray Butani. What sort of guy is that? What sort of person is that?
What sort of person is he?
“Patrick Brewer, right? You’re next,” the woman says, still as bubbly as before as she stares at Patrick with a toothy grin.
“Um, I’m, um, probably gay.”
There is silence for a moment, and Patrick can feel the room staring at him. He slaps on his customer service expression, grabs his satchel and smiles.
“Excuse me one moment,” he says, and walks out before anyone can stop him.
As soon as he reaches the hotel lobby he slumps against the wall, his breaths coming quickly as he tries to get his mind under control. Without thinking too long on it, he pulls his phone out and calls David.
“Hello, Patrick? Are you alright?”
“Um, hi, David? Can you pick me up?”
Patrick can hear some quick movements, David making excuses to the vendors he had been getting lunch with, then his voice comes close to the microphone again.
“Are you okay? You’re not finished already, are you?”
“Um, no. I just-- I can’t stay, I don’t feel well,” Patrick lies, though it's not so far from the truth he muses as he rubs at his head which is pounding from excursion and the result of his rapidly beating heart.
“Okay, I’ll be right there, don’t go anywhere.”
David hangs up before Patrick can question where he would possibly go. He lets his head thunk against the wall as he recovers from his minor panic.
Within ten minutes, he spots David rushing in through the spinning doors, pushing at them and then realising that they're automatic and getting trapped inside waiting for them to start moving again. He looks worried, and Patrick’s heart almost leaps out of his chest at the expression on his face.
“There you are, are you okay?” David asks as he approaches. He reaches a hand out to cup Patrick’s face as if to find his illness in his eyes, but the contact does nothing to stop the heat of embarrassment still rushing though his body.
“I’m fine, David. I’m sorry I pulled you away from the vendor.”
“Don’t worry about that, they seemed pretty taken with the store, they’re gonna look through their books and get back to us.” David continues to scan his face and moves his hand to Patrick’s forehead to check for a temperature. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I promise you I’m fine. Can we go now?”
“Sure, of course,” David pulls his hand away like he’s been scorched and looks down, his face flushed. “Let’s go.”
They climb into the car, and David starts the engine, pulling out of the parking lot and towards Schitt’s Creek.
“Can I ask you a question?” Patrick asks over the quite sound of Mariah Carey playing through the speakers. “You know those ice breaker things that they do, what three things would you use to describe yourself?”
David chews his lip for a moment and stays looking at the road.
“Um, those questions are the main reason I refuse to go to those seminars. Maybe something about living with my family? Something about my clothes. Probably something about Rose Apothecary, and about you.”
“Me?” Patrick asks, his eyebrows bobbing up in surprise.
David winces and his hands tighten on their steering wheel. “Like, that I work with you or something, like that, like, that you’re my business partner.”
Patrick just grins.
“I think you’d be somewhere in my three things as well, David,” he says fondly.
“I meant like the store--”
“I knew what you meant, David.”
“Shut up.”