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‘Well if you hadn’t left this stupid ugly fucking thing here!’ David kicked the umbrella stand out of he way, but it didn’t budge. ‘Well are you going to help me or are you afraid of getting your ten dollar shirt dirty?’
Patrick closed his eyes and sighed. David was being horrid today. There was no other word for it. Usually he would use words like ‘challenging’ ‘high strung’ ‘difficult’ even. Today he was just horrid. Still he moved around the counter and went to help him.
It had started with a low-level grump that wasn’t that far above his usual morning level of ‘friendliness’ and after five years of marriage Patrick was well used to every form that took. Besides he reasoned, he was entitled to be in a slight grump. So he kissed him, and fed him, and hoped they’d get through the rest of the day.
Things had not improved.
Granted a huge shipping mix up that Patrick had spent three hours on the phone sorting out while David was left out front didn’t help either of them. And three hours on a busy Wednesday alone would be enough to test even Patrick’s endless patience with customers. And his patience with being on hold and passed from person to person was also tested. So it wasn’t surprising when, after a mix up with their lunch orders David muttered.
‘Nobody can do anything right unless I do it myself.’ and stormed into the back to pretend he was stock taking but was really stewing in the dark. After 30 minutes Patrick went back there and gave him his sandwich, and half a muffin. He refused the sandwich and picked at the muffin.
That was when Patrick knew it was really getting to him. David refusing food was always a bad sign. So he knew he’d be riding out a storm for the rest of the day.
‘Stay here and do the inventory. I’ll cover the front.’ he’d told him.
‘Why can’t I be trusted with customers today?’ David had snapped.
‘I think the customers can’t be trusted to be nice to you. So you can stay back here.’ Patrick kissed his scowling Husband’s cheek and went back to the desk at the sound of the bell.
That bought him two hours of peace. Relative peace. He could hear periodic muttering and cursing from behind him. He let it continue until he heard a smash.
‘David? You ok?’
Silence. He went back there.
‘It’s not my fault!’ David threw his hands up. ‘It fell! And don’t lecture me, I know how much it cost, and what the loss is, I’ve been doing this for seven years now I know!’
‘Alright I’ll get the mop.’ Patrick said evenly. Which only seemed to infuriate David more. He zoned out on the torrent of ramblings about the way they’d arranged the back room while he went for the mop. By the time he got back David had reverted to sulking.
‘Go out front I’ll do it.’
‘What I’m not capable of mopping?’ David pouted, and snatched- actually snatched the mop out of Patrick’s hand.
He didn’t let the shock show on his face at the slightly violent gesture. ‘Well if that’s what it takes to get you to mop…’ he shrugged and went back out front, leaving David doing what could only be described as ‘angry mopping.’ It lasted about three minutes before he heard a shout.
‘Fuck!’
David had of course cut his hand on the broken glass. Something that would not improve his mood. It did however still him for five minutes.
Holding the cut hand up while Patrick fetched the First Aid kit, he glowered on the sofa in the back. Patrick sat quietly cleaning the wound and heard him sigh.
‘David you can go home if you want.’ Patrick kept his tone even. He didn’t want to be accused of ‘sending him home’ on top of all this.
‘It’s just a cut, I'm fine.’
‘That’s not what I-’
‘I know but.’ he finally looked at Patrick, his big brown eyes looking thoroughly anxious and lost.
‘You don’t want to.’ Patrick said, sticking a band-aid over it. He leaned over and kissed his husband softly. ‘Ok.’ he said. ‘And you’ll live.’ he gestured at the cut hand.
‘Thanks.’ David muttered looking a bit sheepish. The bell jangled and Patrick got up. As he did David grabbed his hand for a second. Patrick smiled and smoothed his hair with his free hand.
That was the last moment of relative peace he got for the afternoon.
He couldn’t pinpoint it but something shortly after totally unravelled his husband. And hurricane David was a lot at the best of times. He could get set off by the most minor of inconveniences depending on which way his brain was wired that day. But at times when it tapped into something else like today, there was no stopping it. Sometimes Patrick intervened, before stock, customers or David really went off. But sometimes he just knew there was nothing he could do but ride it out. And today was one of those days and then some.
First he was rude to a vendor. Admittedly one of Patrick’s least favourite vendors- and possibly least favourite humans as it happened. So he wasn’t so upset when David called the latest designs ‘like something five year olds knock up at lunchtime.’ he’d have to do damage control. But maybe he’d leave it a few days.
He did steer him away from a tricky customer before he caused actual offense. And when Ronnie came in and he snapped at her over choice of moisturizer for a gift she gave a knowing glance at Patrick and said ‘You’ve been married to him too long.’ which he had to laugh at really.
But as things slowed down, he ended up taking the brunt of David’s rage. It started with everything he did being too slow. Too in his way. Then the tea he made him was too hot.
‘I can’t control how hot boiling water is David.’ Patrick said evenly.
At three he started asking what the time was every fifteen minutes or so. Patrick patiently told him. Even though he had his phone in his pocket, that he kept checking every few minutes.
At three-thirty he started on a rant about their Living Room renovations. It had been a point of contention for six months. From David’s refusal to compromise on the sofa they were buying- or more accurately weren’t buying. To paint colours. To Ronnie and her crew being delayed getting to them. Apparently it was Patrick’s fault because she hated him. Patrick pointed out she’d been tied up with pro-bono work on the family’s house that burned down two months ago, and that the Store had donated to that cause. And Ronnie had apologised. Even to Patrick.
‘But we’re living in a fucking FRAT HOUSE and there’s nowhere to relax and that sofa is tiny-’
‘That sofa was bought for my one-room apartment. There’s two other armchairs in there! And you always watch TV in the bedroom anyway!’ Patrick was being patient, but this particular argument had raged for six months. ‘And David you are not going to die if the walls are not the perfect shade of cream!’
He realised his choice of words the moment they left his mouth. ‘David.’ he said as David stormed out. ‘DAVID!’ He sighed. ‘Fucking hell.’
He checked his phone as well. Even though it was already on loud. And vibrate.
David wasn’t gone long. He returned with more tea and a muffin. Patrick picked at it, making sure his husband ate most of it. Which he did. So he was either hungry at last or stress eating. But that was ok. Either was good.
An hour passed in a slightly subdued silence. Except when David asked what time it was.
And then he fell over the umbrella stand. Which admittedly Patrick had been the one to move. When it rained two days ago. David had been carrying a box and not looking, relying on muscle memory and fallen. Sending the box of candles flying and himself. He’d got up, full of rage. Muttering about lawsuits and health and safety hazards, and it would have been funny any other day. He added a line in ‘because my husband clearly doesn’t care if I crack my head open on the doorframe.’ Which earned him a sharp ‘David!’ from the counter.
‘Well if you hadn’t left this stupid ugly fucking thing here!’ David kicked the umbrella stand out of he way, but it didn’t budge. ‘Well are you going to help me or are you afraid of getting your ten dollar shirt dirty?’
And Patrick sighed. And closed his eyes. And then went to help him. He huffed his way through. Muttering about his hands and the weight of it.
‘What time is it?’
‘4.45.’ Patrick answered checking his phone.
‘It’s late.’
‘It’s not that late.’ Patrick tried to reach out a hand to his arm in reassurance.
‘I mean for closing. I’ll get the vegetables in.’
Patrick sighed again.
‘Don’t sigh at me, I’m getting the vegetables in! You always fucking harass me to bring the fucking things in, so I’m bringing them in ok?’
Patrick debated getting into a vegetable based argument but instead nodded.
‘Wouldn’t want you to get your best shirt dirty.’ David added turning on his heel and flouncing towards the door.
‘You bought me this shirt.’ Patrick couldn’t resist. His husband stopped and looked at it.
‘I suppose it's not that bad.’ he said and then fixed his face in a scowl again.
David angrily lugged the vegetable boxes in. Each one getting unceremoniously dumped on the Store floor as he came in. Patrick watched the assault on the tomatoes and saw one escape.
‘David be careful!’ he called from the counter.
‘What I can’t even bring in boxes right now?!’ David threw the next one down, which landed on the stray tomato. Sending it spraying out over David’s pant leg, over his white pant-leg.
‘No because…well.’ Patrick sighed. Waiting for the onslaught. Nothing. David just looked at it.
‘Well that’s ruined.’ he said evenly.
‘It’s not ruined, we’ll put some stain remover on it when we get home.’
‘No it’s ruined.’ David said blankly. He walked slowly out to the last box and set it down gently next to the tomatoes. Which somehow, Patrick had no idea how, caused a tomato avalanche. Suddenly they were everywhere, across the floor around David’s feet, he looked at them for a moment then picked up one then another then another, but he couldn’t hold them and they fell. He tried again, the same again and he threw them. At the box at first. Then at the floor at everything then then.
‘David-’
Then at Patrick.
He was a lousy shot. And it hit the counter. He kicked the box in frustration and nearly slipped. He picked up a few more tomatoes and threw them. Patrick let him. Let him throw some fruit if it helped.
David stopped and looked at his hands. They were covered in tomato.
‘Wash your hands David, we’ll go home.’ Patrick said evenly. ‘I’ll clean this up in the morning.’
David nodded and went to the back to wash up. Patrick picked up the worst of the tomato mess. The rest could wait until tomorrow. He had David’s bag ready and the keys in his hand.
‘What time is it?’ David asked.
‘Five past five.’ Patrick said.
‘It’s late.’ David said, his eyebrows coming together.
‘Yeah it is a bit.’ Patrick conceded. ‘Let’s get home yeah?’
David nodded.
They got home and David was quiet. He didn’t speak the whole way home. He muttered a thanks at the cup of tea Patrick placed in front of him, with a kiss to his hair. But he didn’t say anything else. So Patrick sat quietly next to him at the kitchen table, half-reading his book, occasionally reaching a hand to his husband’s arm, or neck while he stared into his tea. Part of him preferred David in full attack mode to when he went totally quiet like this.
‘What time is it?’ he asked again, even though he was staring at his phone in front of him.
Patrick sighed and clicked his to life. ‘Six thirty.’ he said. ‘I’ll make dinner soon.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ David said. Patrick squeezed his arm and went back to his book. Moments later David’s phone sprang to life. He held it, wide eyed at Patrick. ‘Answer it?’ he said a desperate look on his face.
Patrick nodded. He took a breath and clicked answer ‘Mr Rose?’ he said, ‘It’s Patrick.’
‘Oh hey Son.’ Johnny’s even tone reassured his racing heartbeat a little bit. As did his now standard greeting of ‘son’ ‘Is David ok?’
‘He’s...here.’ Patrick said holding on to his husband’s arm.
‘I see.’ Johnny said knowingly. ‘I’m glad you answered Patrick, things are fine don’t worry, just the surgery took a little longer than we expected. But Moira’s ok, she’s in recovery right now and they said I can see her later.’
Patrick closed his eyes in relief. Squeezing David’s arm. ‘She’s ok?’ he locked eyes with David.
‘She’s ok.’ Johnny confirmed. Patrick nodded and smiled at his husband, tears welling in his eyes as he watched David’s face crumple.
‘Hold on.’ Patrick said and put the phone on speaker.
‘Dad?’ David’s voice was small and quiet now.
‘She’s doing ok.’ Johnny’s voice came through the speakers, ‘It took longer than they thought, and it’ll probably be a rough few weeks- not least for me you know what she’s like on morphine.’ that got a laugh out of David and he rested his head on Patrick’s shoulder, tears escaping now. ‘But she’s doing good, the Doctors are happy. You can fly down this weekend if you want. Give her a few days to get over the worst.’
‘We will.’ Patrick said immediately .
‘She’s ok?’ David sniffed.
‘Your Mom’s ok David.’ Johnny said, ‘I promise.’
David dissolved onto his husband’s shoulder then and Patrick flicked the phone off speaker. ‘We’ll let you get back to her Mr Rose.’ Patrick said.
‘Is he ok?’ Johnny asked.
Patrick wove an arm around David who was crying softly into him. ‘He is now.’ Patrick said with a soft smile. ‘We’ll see you at the weekend. Give our love to Mrs Rose when she wakes up.’
David gestured for the phone from Patrick’s shoulder. And he handed it over.
‘Love you Dad.’ he muttered into it. ‘Tell Mom I love her.’ he sniffed into Patrick’s shoulder. There was a pause, where Johnny was clearly telling David something- probably the same. And then he hung up. David looked at Patrick with his eyes wide and spilling over with tears.
‘She’s ok.’ he said softly.
Patrick smiled. ‘Yeah she’s ok.’ he leaned over and kissed his husband. ‘She’s fine.’ he reassured him.
David nodded, and looked down. ‘Sorry for...the tomatoes’ he said.
Patrick laughed and looped an arm around him. ‘You will be cleaning those up tomorrow.’ he said kissing his hair as he stood up. ‘And possibly buying me a new shirt. Given this one is so ugly.’
David caught him by the shirt and stopped him. ‘It’s not so bad.’ he said he looked up and something in him seemed to break again. He reached out his arms looking really small and child-like suddenly. Patrick stepped in and let him bury his head in his shirt, wrapping his arms tight.
‘Scary day.’ Patrick muttered into the top of his head. David cried softly into his shirt for a bit, and Patrick held onto him. Dipping his head into David’s hair he let a few tears escape. The fear of a world without Moira Rose in it was a scary one, and the relief it wasn’t one they had to confront just yet washed over him. David pulled back and Patrick used his thumb to wipe away some stray tears.
‘You book our flights for the weekend, I'll cook dinner ok?’
David nodded. ‘Maybe no tomatoes though.’ he smiled a crooked smile and got out his phone. Patrick could see he was texting his sister first and dropped a kiss onto his head.
‘No tomatoes.’ he said with a smile. ‘Text your Dad too, ask him what he wants us to bring from the Store for your Mom.’
‘I’ll order some extra pies and ship them down to Dad. And a grocery order. He won’t have eaten properly.’ he busied himself on his phone.
Patrick smiled. His husband might have been horrible all day. But he still had a good heart.