Archive of Our Own

For their four-month anniversary, despite David’s objections to marking the occasion, Patrick takes him out for pizza. “It’s barely a gesture, David.”

They go to Antonio’s, a choice by-the-slice place near campus where David gets to stare at a huge display window of different kinds of pizzas and point at each kind he wants to try. The front of the restaurant is taken up by this wall of pizzas and two cash registers. There are six men, dressed in various degrees of hipster to grunge to sportswear, some tossing pizzas, some sliding slices into the large pizza oven behind them, and a couple running the cash. The rest of the space, down the hallway and hidden behind the kitchen and cash area, is taken up by a large room of rows of checkered-clothed tables with dripping red-wax candles.

David settles into a booth and stares at his selection—one slice Ultimate Hawaiian (bacon, mushroom, and pineapple), one Buffalo chicken (drizzled with a bleu cheese sauce), and two Don Giovanni (a mouth-watering concoction of marinara, mozzarella, fresh tomato, fresh basil, and avocado). He digs into the Buffalo chicken first, leaving the Don Giovanni for last. He knows from experience that if he eats the Don Giovanni first, the other two won’t taste as good in comparison.

“You look happy,” Patrick teases, his slice of Potato Bacon poised in front of his mouth.

David puts his finger up to indicate he’s still chewing. The buffalo chicken is spicy and creamy and indulgent and reminds him of the best part of any game day at home growing up—the snack table. He swallows and so can open his mouth to say, “I’m very happy, thank you, Patrick.” He takes a sip of his ginger ale.

“I think it’s time I met your parents.”

David chokes on his drink.

The ensuing coughing fit prompts Patrick to jump up from the other side of the table to rub at David’s back. “Sorry, sorry.”

When David gets all the fizzy liquid out of his windpipe he says, “Oh my god, why would you say that?”

Patrick sits back down. “I just thought that we’ve been together for a while, you’ve met my parents—”

“Prematurely.”

“Sure, prematurely. But we spend every day we can together. I either stay at your place or you stay at mine almost every night. I think it’s time to take the next step.”

“And that next step is meeting my family? Why does that have to be the next step? Why can’t it be like, crying in front of each other for the first time?”

“David, that already happened when we watched A Walk to Remember.”

“I didn’t see you cry, though!”

“Yes, you did. I cried during that one scene. When Shane West found out his girlfriend had cancer. So he ran to his estranged father’s house in the middle of the night because he was a doctor?”

“You cried? I didn’t see.”

“You definitely saw. Remember? We talked about how father-son scenes always get me?”

The image of Patrick’s glistening eyes, blue in the light of the TV, appears in his memory.

“Right.” He sighs. “Okay, well, you haven’t met my friends yet! You should meet my friends before you meet my family.”

“You, me, and Stevie hang out all the time.”

“She’s just one friend. You haven’t met the others.”

“Yeah, but she’s the most important one and I feel like any others before your family would be leveling down.”

“You don’t know my middle name.”

“You don’t know your middle name.”

David huffs and leans back in his seat. “I know!” With a start, he leans forward and points a finger in Patrick’s face. “I haven’t seen you perform on stage yet!”

Patrick leans his elbow on the table. “If you let me meet your family, then you can watch me perform on stage.”

David knew that one would probably backfire. He watches a group of teens pass by their table to find their own farther in the back. “I don’t know why you’re so excited about this.”

Patrick hooks his ankles around one of David’s under the table, and hits him with his puppy-dog eyes, a smirk plays around his lips. “Your family is important to you. And you are important to me. Therefore, your family is important to me. I want to know you more, David.” He picks his slice back up. “Your family is a huge part of you.”

David looks down at his food. “You brought me here to bribe me. This pizza is corrupt.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Patrick takes another bite. “And it’s so good, too.”

Later in bed that night, David lies side-by-side with Patrick, staring at the ceiling. “But my family isn’t like your family,” he says to the empty air above him. “Your parents are warm and sweet. And you eat wholesome food and have wholesome conversations about sports. My family is loud and obnoxious and dramatic. And cluttered. There are layers of clutter all over the house.”

Patrick turns over to face David and his voice tickles David’s ear. “David, you’re loud and dramatic. And I like that about you. It’s not going to be a problem. And clutter is good. It means the house is lived in and that the people who are in there are busy.”

The next morning, while David sits in Patrick’s passenger seat on the way to work, “You don’t want to meet Alexis, though, right? Just my parents.”

“Oh, I definitely want to meet Alexis.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s your sister?”

“But you two have nothing in common. You’re Mr. Responsible Business Major sports vanilla man and she’s a flighty party girl who’s never had a steady job or a stable relationship.”

“I want to meet your sister, David. She sounds fun. And you love vanilla. You called it the World’s Most Underestimated Flavor.” Patrick turns into the mall parking lot and drops David off at the first-floor entrance for Bloomfield’s. He puts the car in ‘park’ and turns in his seat, his shoulders straining the arms of his jacket. “Have a good day at work, babe.” David accepts his off-to-work kiss before floating out of the car on a cloud of anxiety.

David drops a bag of ketchup chips into Patrick’s shopping cart. “But my dad is going to be so awkward and ask all sorts of embarrassing questions and grill you about business practices that are twenty-five years out of date.”

“David, my dad did that to you. Only with questions about menswear, and you handled it fine.”

“Okay. Fine. Do you really want to know what I’m worried about?”

Patrick puts his morning coffee down on his new coffee table that’s blissfully free of magazines, hair pins, board game pieces, books, and tangled headphones and charging cables. “Yes.”

“It’s mostly about my mom.”

Patrick’s expression transforms into a soft smile. “’The Incomparable Moira Rose,’” he quotes.

A pang flashes through David’s side. He can’t believe Patrick remembers that. It’s when they were talking about nicknames. Patrick wanted to call David ‘babe’ and David cringed enough to guarantee its permanent place in their relationship lexicon.

The Incomparable Moira Rose is what David’s dad calls his mom whenever she accomplishes anything. Any task, large or small. For Saturday night enchiladas, at Alexis’ high school graduation party, when she opened her own salon when David was sixteen. At every occasion, he toasts her with that title.

“I just. I feel like I’ve spent my entire life watching people not understand my mother. She’s dramatic, and she uses big words that no one’s ever heard before—and sometimes uses them incorrectly—and she has all these really strong opinions that a lot of the time…well, I at least agree with her a lot of the time, but she doesn’t explain herself well? Or people don’t know where she’s coming from? So they think that she’s selfish or argumentative or like she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. When really she does actually know what she’s talking about a lot of the time. Unless she doesn’t. And either way, she talks like she thinks she knows what she’s talking about.

“And people think that she’s dumb just because she’s got bleach blond hair and wears a ton of makeup and didn’t go to college, or whatever. And comes from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere Canada. But she’s actually a genius? Like, anything to do with hair, she knows everything. Curly hair, straight hair, thin hair, thick hair…synthetic hair! Did you know that to cut curly hair, it’s actually an entirely different style of cutting? And most hairdressers aren’t trained in it. My mom teaches people how to cut curly hair. And wigs! She’s a wig savant. Nobody knows about wig care like my mom. Except maybe drag queens.

“And I’m just. She’s a lot to handle. I know that. Sometimes, I get tired of her. But I’m so so so protective of her. And if you meet my parents, you might not like her, or she might say something awful to you. And then you’ll get all huffy. And then I’ll have to take my mom’s side. Because she’s my mom. And then you’re going to be upset and then we’ll have a rift in our relationship—"

“David—”

“—And it’ll just be a tiny crack. But it’ll be there and it’ll make things sour. And then you’ll feel like you can complain about my mom in front of me and then I’ll slowly start to resent you until it explodes and inevitably forces us to break up.”

Patrick turns his torso to face David and grabs his shoulders. “We are not going to break up,” he says, definitively, joyfully—like he’s excited for the opportunity to pull David from his spiral. “David, you might think this is all news to me but it isn’t. I already know all this.”

David bites his lip. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “You talk about your family all of the time. I already know that your sister has a relationship history you don’t approve of and that you think your dad is awkward and embarrassing—which, if we’re being honest, is most dads. And I know how proud you are of your mom.”

“Oh.”

“Your face lights up whenever you talk about her.”

David bites his lip. He didn’t realize what a big mouth he has. He thought he had been containing things so well, slowly dropping small crumbs of information only when relevant and only when necessary. Who knew Patrick was a regular Hansel and Gretel, following the trail of breadcrumbs all the way to his fucking parents’ house?

Well, if he’s so excited to get gobbled up by the wicked witch, that’s his business.

“Okay, fine!”

Patrick sits up straighter and grins. “Yeah?”

David rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can, I don’t know, come to my parents’ place for Sunday night dinner.”

“Yes!” Patrick reenacts his happy-about-the-baseball-game-on-the-TV fist pump in celebration. When he calms down, he turns to David, forcing his expression of victory into one a little softer. “Babe, I’m going to like your mom. I know it. How could I not? She raised you. And from what I’ve gathered, you’re two peas in a pod.” He reaches over to stroke David’s cheek, right over his cheekbone where it sends shivers down David’s spine. His voice is sweet and low when he speaks again. “And I’m crazy about you.”

David’s heart races. Patrick’s eyes are so close he can see the tiny flecks of green in them. “I’m crazy about you, too,” he whispers.

Patrick smiles and pulls him in for a kiss. “You are not going to regret this.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to regret this. The question is how much.”

Patrick chuckles and kisses him again, moving up to straddle his lap.

The first thing David does when he gets home from work is drop his keys in the bowl on the countertop by the door. The second thing he does is drop his old, leather Michael Kors bag on the chair and hang his coat. The third thing he does is stretch his back with a loud groan. The fourth, fifth, and sixth things he does are plop on the couch, put his feet up on the scuffed coffee table, and call his mother.

“Good evening, my beloved turtle-dove!”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Just a moment,” she says, only her hairline visible on his phone screen. She’s not wearing a wig at the moment, but she has new purple streaks in her hair. David hears some shuffling and a bump, and a glimpse of the window behind her when she moves the camera shows she’s in the living room. “Let me get your father.”

David wants to argue and say there’s no reason to bring his dad into this. Except, this does actually include him so he clenches his jaw to keep himself from saying anything. He ticks the volume down on his phone after a jarring bump on his mom’s mic. She’s probably in the middle of picking up her hair tools—a perpetual activity for her.

“Okay,” she says, righting the camera. David can see the side of his father’s face and the sleeve and shoulder of his old brown suit. Most of David’s memories of his dad are of him in that brown suit, coming into his room late at night long after bedtime to kiss his forehead, or sometimes showing up right before David left for school. He’s outfitted his dad in some new gray and blue suits over the last few years, of course. Brown hasn’t really worked for him since silver streaks started showing up in his thick, well-cared for, hair.

“Son!” Eyebrows first, his dad’s tired, but please face appears on his screen. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Guess what your mother got me!”

“Um…”

“You’ll never guess.”

“What?”

“Guess!”

“You just said I could never…okay. A tie.”

His father’s face crumples in mock condescension. “Oh, you have a better imagination than that.”

“Oh my god, just tell me.”

“She got me a car! Isn’t that something?”

“A car?”

“A 1979 Lincoln Continental Sedan!”

“A what?” David swipes his parents’ picture away to Google the purchase.

“David! We can’t see you! Where did your picture go?”

“One second!” He swipes back to face his parents. “That’s a huge car! It’s basically a hearse! It doesn’t even have head rests. What the hell would possess you to buy that?”

“Language, son.”

“Oh, David, don’t be so dramatic. It’s a perfectly acceptable car. And we always wanted one.”

“Yep. Could never afford it. But your mom got a great price on it.” His father looks at his wife, his eyebrows turning down with affection. “She’s a ruthless haggler, you know.”

The rouged apples of her cheeks pop and her eyes sparkle with the compliment. “Thank you, dear. I did have those peddlers wrapped around my little finger, didn’t I?”

“She doesn’t take no for an answer,” he croons, with words David has heard his entire life. He could join his father word-for-word when he says, “She convinced me to marry her, after all.”

He could recite his mom’s response as well. “And you’re better off for it.”

He cuts them off before his dad can say, “You got that right.” “—So I’m calling to ask if we can have Sunday night dinner this week.”

“Sunday night dinner?” his mom repeats, “Sure, I think so. Let me check my calendar.” She gets up and brings David to the kitchen with her, where David knows the Wyndham Hotels calendar, that his dad gets during end-of-the-year all staff meetings, hangs on the wall next to the fridge.

She slides the cat-eye readers David bedazzled as a teen onto her nose. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from berating her for not having thrown them out by now. He bought her new ones from the store for Christmas a couple years ago, but she still insists on wearing the old pair. “They’re part of my signature look.”

“We’re available. Have you checked with Alexis?”

David winces. He agreed to let Patrick meet Alexis, but he hadn’t thought about the moment he would have to tell her he has a boyfriend that he wants her to meet. She’s going to be insufferable.

“Not yet. Can you tell her?”

His mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, David. You have to get over this social anxiety. You’re the one who called this clambake, you should call your sister. Especially since you’re asking me to cook.”

“I can help cook!”

“That’s what you said last time,” she accuses with a frown. She sets the phone back down on the table, back in front of his dad. David knows she’s using the old Super 8 Motels business card holder to house the phone. David has one on his own bedside table. “What should we make?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, look I—” He stalls, and then coughs to cover up his stalling. “So I’m thinking about…bringing someone over on Sunday.”

There’s a pause, and then his mom shrieks and claps her hands together, her bright red Maybelline lipstick-ed mouth making an O shape. “David! Are we to entertain the audience of a suitor?”

“A what?”

“A suitor! Someone after your hand in marriage.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“I know what a suitor is, I’m just wondering why you’re calling him that.”

“Oh, him!” his father adds. “So, your special friend is a man, then?”

His dad doesn’t like to use boyfriend and girlfriend, says they’re juvenile. It would be a legitimate opinion were it not for the creepy phrases he employs as alternatives. “Yes. I have a boyfriend.” His mom shrieks in delight again. “And he wants to meet you…and…I want you to meet him. So.”

“So!” says his mother. “Sunday!”

“This is very exciting news, son! You’ve never brought anybody home before.”

“That’s not true. I brought Stevie.”

“Stevie? But you weren’t dating Stevie.”

“Yes! I was!”

“You dated Stevie?”

David rolls his eyes. “Oh, my god, Dad.”

“Oh, John, you knew this. David and Stevie had a dalliance when they first met. They were together for many months as I recall. Isn’t that right, David?”

“Okay, we do not need to rehash ancient history right now. Stevie and I dated, but we were never really serious. And it doesn’t matter because we are friends and roommates and I have a boyfriend! Whose name is Patrick. Who is the person we are talking about right now.”

“You know, David, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this Stevie news. Are you sure it’s a good idea to be living together if…”

“Dad! We have been roommates for three years! And it’s been good. So I don’t think—”

“Does this young man of yours know about your history with Stevie? I can’t imagine he would be all that comfortable with it.”

“Oh, my god, Dad. Yes, he knows about it. And he’s fine with it. If he wasn’t, we would have a big problem because Stevie is my best friend and my roommate and if somebody can’t accept that then—Actually, you know what? Nevermind.” David should’ve expected his parents would not be able to handle the news. “The point is, Patrick and I have been together for a while and he’s very kind and successful and for some reason wants to meet you carnies. So, he’s coming over for Sunday night dinner.”

“I should make my enchiladas!”

“Sure. That’s fine. Just, go with chicken, I don’t think you’re supposed to make them with pork.”

His mother sighs. “Always trying to stifle my creative energies.”

It takes another twenty minutes of conversation circles about who’s going to call Alexis, about enchiladas, and about Stevie again. They try to ask questions about Patrick, but don’t seem to know how to form words. His mom keeps asking about the status of Patrick’s spirit, and his dad spends fifteen minutes trying to get into his LinkedIn profile so he can add Patrick to his network. It results in him accidentally making two new profiles with different email addresses.

He finally hangs up and lets out a deep sigh.

Stevie’s voice, coming from where she stands at the door to room, startles David. “That sounds like it went well.”

David flops sideways onto the couch and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. He’ll call Alexis tomorrow.

Patrick’s car beeps locked and he comes around the car to stand next to David, who has stopped short at the sight of his parents’ new purchase.

“It’s not even a car! It’s basically a boat on wheels.”

Patrick chuckles. “Your parents are adults, David. I’m sure they bought the car they wanted for their own valid reasons.”

They walk to the porch of the rowhouse where David and Alexis grew up. David hates that having Patrick next to him makes him notice the peeling paint on the doorframe and the grime on the windows. And that he remembers the toilet handle that you have to push really hard down on to get it to work.

David has been to the Brewers’ house three times for dinner so far, and another time for Clint’s birthday, and Marcy keeps it so clean and tidy. And not even in a boring, minimalist way. There are framed family photos everywhere, paintings by her sister and etchings by her grandfather are in various corners of the house, she puts bowls of fresh fruit and candy on the counter and dining room table and other little tables around the house for guests. There is a beautiful quilt her mother made draped over the back of the couch and books on shelves that she and Clint and Patrick have actually read.

The house he grew up in is not like that. The Roses’ house is marked by decades of not having any time or energy to finish things—the grouting in the bathroom that his dad never got around to fixing, Alexis’ pile of Teen Buzz that she never got around to throwing away, collections of his mom’s unrealized ideas and projects in every corner. And bobby pins fucking everywhere.

“Okay, are you sure you don’t just want to go home?”

“David, it’s going to be fine,” Patrick says. He doesn’t wait for David’s retort before knocking decisively on the door.

The door swings wide open. “Well, hello you!” His mother greets them at the door, wide eyed and exuberant, and David’s heart melts for her. She looks stunning in her black-and-white herringbone Calvin Klein cocktail dress that she’s styled over a white turtleneck, sheer black tights, and simple black loafers. She’s wearing Francesca, her long blond wig that falls down to her hips.

“Hello, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick says, warmly. Her eyes move from David’s to Patrick and David watches as she appraises his boyfriend, eyes moving down to his shoes, and then back up to his grinning face. He knows what she sees—a clean-cut, nice looking business major. Her eyes widen.

“You must be Patrick.” She steps aside. “Come in, come in from the cold!” She shuts the door behind them and pulls David into a hug. “Prince David!” she coos. It’s an old nickname, one that she only pulls out now to embarrass him. Patrick raises his eyebrows over her shoulder. He’s going to be teased for that one later.

His mother releases him to zero in on Patrick. “How are you, young man?” she says, holding her hand out. Patrick grasps her fingers between his and they beam at each other.

“I’m well, Mrs. Rose.”

“I’m so glad you could join us! David’s told us nothing about you!”

“Really?” Patrick says, eyes sparkling. “He’s told me a lot about all of you.”

They both turn to David, looking thick as thieves. He should have known. They may not have much in common, but they do both love to annoy the fuck out of David by way of assertions of social dominance. He chuckles into a sigh. So far, so good. Still, his shoulders are awfully tight.

“David!” His sister’s voice rings through the hall while he and Patrick hang up their coats. He gets just a glimpse of her honey highlights and wide eyes before she’s barreling into him.

She catches Patrick in her eagle-like glare. “Hell-o,” she drawls, sounding like Joey from Friends. He distracts himself from their awkward handshake and Patrick’s blushing by appraising Alexis. She looks good. Awake. Wearing jeans and a sparkly white sweater. Her hair is staticky the way it always is when she’s at their parents’ house. She’s thirty years old and still shuffles around on the carpet with socked feet like she’s four.

“Where’s Dad?” David asks, when enough minutes have gone by that the lack of a greeting feels weird.

“He’s on his way home. He worked the day shift today,” his mother replies.

And thus begins the house tour. It starts with the kitchen where his mom starts pulling out all of the ingredients for dinner. Alexis gives a mini-tour of the refrigerator magnets and vacation photos and primary school artwork. “We’ve been to a lot of places in the States,” she brags. “We can stay at any Super 8 Hotel practically for free.”

“During the low season,” David amends. He’s not sure why he feels the urge to add the qualifier. Patrick’s fridge is covered with postcards, some from his parents’ trips. Like their most recent to New Zealand. It’s something to do with wanting Patrick to know him, to know his family accurately. He doesn’t want Patrick to think they have something in common that they don’t, or that David’s had a life experience that he hasn’t.

Patrick asks to see David’s childhood bedroom, and before David can protest, his mom and sister are dragging Patrick up the narrow stairs.

“Oh wow.” Patrick’s eyes are wide as he takes in the display.

“It’s my hall of wigs,” his mom announces.

Patrick whistles low and long. He sounds impressed, but it’s probably just to be polite. “I can see that.”

David has to clench his fists at his side and bite his lips to prevent himself from calling everything off and pulling Patrick back to the safety of anywhere-but-here. His mom introduces Patrick to all thirteen of her wigs that now occupy the corner where David’s bed used to be.

“This one’s DeeDee, named for my sister. Synthetic lace-front. Had her for years. She’s the one I let my advanced students play with.”

“Students?” Patrick asks.

Moira smiles. “Oh yes. I started offering post-diploma lessons for additional skills. Event styling, wig care and maintenance, more technical hair texture things.” She gestures around the room. “This is my classroom!”

Patrick’s eyes dart around the whole room, taking in the tables that are pushed up against the walls, the canisters full of hot tools and brushes.

“How is it going, mom?”

“Oh, it’s positively phantasmagorical!” she says. “It’s bringing in so much extra cash. And I love my students. You know how much I’ve complained about the gaps in the cosmetology programs. I love knowing that I’m giving these kids extra skills that will help them stand out, and,” she says, conspiratorially, “it helps me sleep at night knowing their clients are getting better haircuts.”

David smiles. She’s been giving lessons on-and-off for years, and her sights have slowly expanded. It’s lasted a lot longer than most of her other projects.

“Do you like teaching?” Patrick asks. He circled the room a couple of times, allowed himself to open a few drawers full of hair product.

“Oh, I love it,” she says. “You know, dear, I’ve thought more than once, that it may be my true calling.”

Patrick rocks forward on his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. “That’s great!”

Moira must see something in Patrick’s face because she asks, “Are you a teacher?”

Patrick sweeps a hand through the air. “Oh, no. I’m a financial analyst for Acumen. I mean… I’ve thought about it? But, ah, no.”

Moira hums, the sparkle in her eyes belying her detached tone. “Analyzing finances is an indispensable cog in the wheel of our civilization.”

Patrick chuckles, the sound bright and surprised. “You’re right, it absolutely is,” he says, with a touch of sarcasm.

Alexis catches David’s eye and throws him the “okay” sign with her fingers, her eyes wide, trying to tell him something. He thinks it’s about Patrick and he thinks it’s good.

They continue the tour, the main highlights include some old knick knacks of David’s still in the room (the bedazzler, some old journals, a Disney snowglobe, various keepsakes from high school friends he doesn’t know anymore), Alexis’ bedroom (where she stays between boyfriends), the hole in the wall behind the couch in the den from Alexis’ foot during her Dance Dance Revolution phase, the bench of mostly-dead plants, the massive DVD and VHS collection that takes up a third of the wall space in the den, and his mother’s library of dictionaries and “word-of-the-day” books.

When his mom has Patrick and David aproned and stationed in front of jalapeños for mincing and cheese for grating, and has the Shania Twain roaring “to begin the festivities,” his dad comes home.

David watches as Patrick and Johnny Rose approach each other, hands outstretched. David can’t hear their greetings over the music, but the crinkle around his father’s eyes and the strength in their handshake is enough to send a cocktail of joy, heartache, trepidation, and tentative hope through his nervous system. Hardly any of the people he’s dated have met his parents, and if they have, they weren’t introduced as such. His mom always knows, but David has been living in the comfort of his dad’s difficulty with nuanced social situations. In this moment, he realizes what a big deal it is that he wants his dad to know his boyfriend, that he cares what his dad thinks. He wants Patrick and his dad to make a good impression on each other.

His dad is one of the most important people in his life. He only subjects himself to his dad’s judgement and opinion when it’s absolutely necessary. He wants him to see Patrick and think, “This person is important to my son,” and to have an opinion of him. But only if it’s good, of course.

But he will, of course he will. They have so many things in common. Baseball, business, bad taste in professional attire. The three Bs. David shouldn’t be worried about whether or not they’ll get along. He should really be worried about his dad liking Patrick too much. He can practically hear his father’s questions about Patrick if they don’t work out. “Son, did you try…” “Son, what happened?” and “Relationships take work, David.”

After his mom gets a kiss hello, David gets a hug around the counter. “David! It’s great to have you home, son!” his father shouts over the music. His dad pats him warmly on the back. He loves his dad a lot, they get along and his dad has always tried to support him, even when he didn’t understand. But their greetings always have a flavor of sadness and regret around them—of how much time they’ve missed, of all the words they haven’t been able to say, of how few greetings there are.

“Hi.” David gives his father his best smile, he doesn’t want to let the ache in his throat linger. He doesn’t want to see the exhaustion in the slump of his father’s shoulders. It’s Sunday dinner, and Alexis is home, and Patrick’s here, and there will be Mexican food. There’s no sense wasting the evening on regret.

“Moira, sweetheart, this meal looks delicious!”

Patrick squeezes David’s leg under the table.

“I’m glad we kept the jalapeño seeds in this time,” Alexis says over a cheesy bite. “There’s so much more flavor.”

Johnny raises his glass. “To the Incomparable Moira Rose!”

Patrick raises his glass with the rest of them. “To the Incomparable Moira Rose!” and then David swears Patrick giggles. He feels another squeeze on his thigh. Patrick is excited. It seems like he’s having a good time.

David thought that he and Alexis wouldn’t have anything in common, but they’ve gotten serious mileage out of topics like the merits of CrossFit, their love of A Star is Born, and all of David’s (apparently entertaining) idiosyncrasies.

And his mom. Things are going well with her, too. In Patrick, she’s found a listening ear for her stories about zany clients and the idioms and wisdom of her late mother. Between bites of refried beans, David tells Patrick he can reel it in.

“Your mom’s great, David,” Patrick murmurs. And it’s sincere. Patrick really does like his mom. He looks at her with wide-eyed affection. David’s seen that look on Patrick’s face before. It’s the same look he has for David when he’s speaking particularly passionately about something. Just like his own, his mom’s particular brand of zest is safe in Patrick’s estimation. David doesn’t have to worry.

“So, Patrick,” his father interjects. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Oh, Dad—”

Patrick puts down his drink. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, you know, just start with the basics. Where you’re from, what you do—”

“—Your mother’s maiden name and Social Insurance Number,” Alexis teases.

Patrick smiles, his eyes dart from one Rose to another. “Oh, well, I grew up in Aurora. I’m a financial analyst for Acumen, have been for I guess four years now?” He looks at Alexis, “And my mother’s maiden name is Keane.”

She bites her lips together, looking pleased.

“And how did you and David meet?”

David answers for the both of them. “He came into the store.” He rubs Patrick’s shoulder. “Looking for a suit for a wedding, and I helped him, and then he asked me out.”

“That’s…you’re leaving out the part where I basically had an identity crisis over a shirt and you very dashingly, saved me.”

“Okay, I think ‘saved you’ might be a little strong.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You met your boyfriend at work? David, isn’t that a little unprofessional?”

“I’ll have you know that I was the picture of professionalism.”

“I mean, not the picture of professionalism. You did hold my hand and drag me around the store.”

“And I made an amazing sale.”

“Well, you certainly sold me.”

“Okay, hush.”

Moira gasps, and they all turn to see her beaming at David and Patrick. “Well, aren’t you two just the loveliest little lambkins!”

“That’s so cute, David! Imagine. Of all the places to buy suits in Toronto, he ends up in your store!”

Patrick laughs bashfully, “Uh. Well. Frankly, it was the only store I could think of. I wanted to shop somewhere other than Suit Supply for once, and my ex used to bring me to Bloomfield’s and I knew there was a menswear department with a tailor so I just…went.”

“Oooh! Your ee-eex?” Alexis splits the two-letter word into two syllables.

Patrick laughs nervously. “Yeah, my ex-fiancée. Bloomfield’s was a pretty regular stop for her.”

“Her? You were engaged to a woman?”

Oh fuck. David squeezes Patrick’s knee, probably a little too hard.

“How long ago was this?”

“Dad!”

“Um, we broke up about a year-and-a-half ago? We were together for a long time, but then I realized I was gay, so I called off the engagement. And here we are.”

His dad puts his fork down. “I don’t know, that’s…Are you sure the whole gay thing is going to stick?”

There’s a loud clatter when David drops his silverware. “Dad! What the fuck?!”

“What?”

“Oh, my god. Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”

He uses Patrick’s shoulder for leverage to stand, and shoots him a grimace that he hopes is apologetic. His gaze passes over Alexis and his mother. Alexis’ teeth are gritted in an exaggerated grimace. His mom has reached her hand out to grab Patrick’s forearm.He tries frantically to decide which room to lead his father to—where they might have a chance of not being overheard.

He decides his parents’ room is the best bet and turns to make his way quickly up the stairs. Moments pass before he hears the familiar rhythm of his dad trudging up behind him.

Once they are both in the room, David shuts the door and the world is at once muffled by the carpeting.

“Okay, want to explain to me what the hell you were thinking?”

“Well, David, I was thinking that I should check this guy out. Make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“And you thought questioning his identity was a good idea?”

Johnny furrows his brow and rubs his perpetually stubbled chin. David inherited his thick, unshavable facial hair. His father taught him how to use clippers when he was in high school and a regular razor made him break out. “I don’t know, David. Aren’t you concerned that he used to be engaged, and that he’s not anymore? Doesn’t that say something about his ability to keep his word?”

David rolls his eyes. He and his dad have come a long way since he came out when he was nineteen. But David knows that most of the heavy-lifting has been on his mom’s part. He knows his dad loves him and accepts him, but he also knows that he still doesn’t fully understand. David knows that most of the lines that hit right are practically spoon-fed to him by Moira. But it’s not—he’s not—it’s not for a lack of trying.

David lets his features soften, and his shoulders relax. He inches closer so he can soften his voice. “I think the fact that he tried so hard for so long to keep his word, to the detriment of himself, really does say something about his character.”

“Well, I’m not sure he’s right for you.”

David huffs a laugh. “How could you possibly say that? He’s great! He’s got a good job, a nice family, and he’s good to me.” It’s such a low bar, David hates to stoop to it. But at the moment, he doesn’t feel his dad really deserves to know all the really good stuff. Like Patrick’s passion for keyboard shortcuts, and his love of underdog stories, and his old-man proclivities for physical maps and geography trivia.

His dad must see something in David’s face, because his hands fall to his sides. “I went about this the wrong way, didn’t I?”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the year.”

“I guess I just thought I should be careful. You know you’ve never brought anyone home before.”

“Once again, I have brought people home before, you just didn’t notice that they were people I was dating. But also, I do actually need you to be nice to this one. He’s…” David trails off, unsure of what to say. “…important? To me.”

His father’s eyes widen with…disturbing recognition. A sort of dopey smile appears on his face, in that way that helps David see the other part of his dad. The part of him that’s still young, and naïve, and a bit of a romantic. “Oh!” he says. “I—well. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your friend like that. I think I got a little carried away.” He holds his hands out in a somewhat defensive gesture. “But maybe I should take a step back. You’re almost forty, it’s probably too late for me to start getting protective.

David gasps. “Thirty-six is not ‘almost forty.’”

Johnny’s hands fall back to his side, and his expression softens into a sheepish smile. “I am really very sorry.”

David releases the breath he’s been holding. He leans forward to tap his dad’s shoulders. “Yeah. It’s not me you need to apologize to,” he whispers, and has to suppress a smile at his dad’s panicked expression. “You’re a big boy, you can do it.”

His dad’s eyes glaze over and his voice is higher than normal. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Just remember, Dad, sexual identity is not a phase, and discovering yourself doesn’t have a set timeline.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, Dad. It doesn’t. Patrick was always gay, it just took him a long time to figure it out.” He opens the door and gestures for his father to leave first. In his best Johnny Rose voice, he says, “Now, go make nice.”

After the emotional stakes of the day, Patrick decides to crash at David’s so they can connect and debrief on David’s turf, surrounded by David’s things, including pictures of his family.

Maybe they should have crashed at Patrick’s.

“So, how’d I do?” Patrick asks, when they’ve scrubbed their teeth and changed into their pajamas, and snuggled under the blanket, their feet tangled together for warmth.

“How did you do? Are you serious? You’re incredible. I’m so sorry you had to put up with my dad. I still can’t believe he said that to you.”

Patrick doesn’t respond right away; a solemn silence stretches between them. “I think. I think I’m probably going to get that a lot, going forward. The more people who know my history. They’re going to question what took me so long.”

David darts his hand out to grab Patrick’s and bring it to hold in the middle of his chest.

“But you know that’s not true, right? It’s not your fault you didn’t know.”

Patrick sighs. “I know that, logically. But I still blame myself. I’m still so angry about all the time I took from Rachel, from myself, from my family.”

“I know,” David says. “But it’s not true. The world—it doesn’t tell us the words, or the signs.” David wishes he could grab Patrick and shake all of the guilt and self-blame out of him, let it scatter in the wind.

“I don’t blame your dad,” Patrick says. “I think he’s great.”

“You don’t have to,” David says. “He’s an idiot.”

Patrick smiles. “His apology was nice. He thanked me for coming, and that he was really hoping that I would feel okay about coming over again, any time. He seems like a good guy, he just made the same mistakes everyone makes. Mistakes I, myself, have made in my life. I can’t pretend that I haven’t laughed at shitty jokes, or made assumptions about people.”

“And this is what I’m saying,” David scoots closer, trying to look determined despite his sideways position. “If good people, genuinely good people like you, who just does his best, all the time, his whole life. If you can try as hard as you did and still not know? And still make mistakes like that? It’s. The world sucks, okay? There’s just. It’s so hard. It’s so hard. And I just. I want you to know that I think that you did the best you could.” He places a hand on Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick turns his head to kiss the inside of David’s wrist.

“I’m glad I have you,” Patrick says. “To keep me and all of my shortcomings safe.”

David hums. “Well, you do the same for me.” His heart starts pounding as he realizes he means it. That Patrick has seen him at his worst more than once, and he doesn’t mind. That already, so many times in the short months they’ve known each other, Patrick shows David that he, and all of his shortcomings and mistakes, are safe.

He hasn’t told Patrick that he loves him yet. He hasn’t used those words. But he thinks, in moments like these, that they’re already saying it.

Something else tickles at the back of David’s mind. “Hey, I didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher.”

Patrick swallows. “I don’t. I mean. I don’t necessarily. I’ve thought about it, I think it’s something I could do. When I was growing up, I was a Little League coach and a camp counselor. I’m good with kids. I like helping them learn things they couldn’t do before, helping them with their confidence.” He shifts around to look at the ceiling. He shakes his head. “But I don’t know if I want it enough to go back to school for it, you know? And it would be a paycut.”

David waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t, and the silence lingers.

“I don’t want kids!” David blurt-whispers.

Patrick turns back around onto his side. David readies himself for the shadow of disappointment to spread across his face. It doesn’t appear. Instead, Patrick smiles. He almost looks...grateful? “That’s good to know,” he says.

“Is that...do you want kids?” What a ridiculous question, Patrick just said that he likes them. And of course he does, he has ‘Dad’ written all over him. “Because if you want kids, if that’s important to you, then we should probably take a step back. Because neither of us should expect the other to change his mind.”

Patrick slides his hand around David’s waist, and grins. “David. Are you initiating a conversation about our long-term future?”

David’s heart stops. “Shut up.”

“You are!”

“Only as a preventative measure! If we want such different things, then we should know that now, before we get too attached to make rational choices!”

Patrick kisses him. David tries not to take it for the spiral prevention it definitely is.

When they separate, Patrick whispers. “For most of my life, I took a lot of the elements of my future as a matter of course. I thought I would marry a woman, have a few kids, live within walking distance of my parents, climb my way up a corporate ladder, never ever change my haircut.” He pauses, as if to give David a chance to tease him. When David doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Patrick’s hand, he goes on. “But now I don’t have to assume anything. The world is open. I don’t have all the answers anymore. So when you ask me if I want kids, I don’t have a clear answer for you. But I do get to take my time to figure it out.”

David sighs. He supposes that’s a mature, rational thing to say, for Patrick to think. It also means that they don’t have to break up tonight. Well, tomorrow morning. David doubts Patrick would break up with David when he’s already in his pajamas.

“But you’ll tell me? If and when you do figure it out.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.”

“And if you decide you want to go back to school to be a teacher, you’ll tell me?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you.”

“And if you find yourself with a growing resentment for any of my family members, you won’t let it fester until it explodes?”

“Oh, I’ll be bringing it up before any exploding happens.”

“And if you want to rid yourself of all your worldly possessions and live an off-the-grid life, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you.” Patrick pulls David in closer and nudges his nose against David’s cheek. “Prince David.”