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Patrick carried the clipboard with him over to the waiting area and sat down in the only empty chair. He tucked the ice pack under his button-up shirt so it stayed on his shoulder while he filled out the clinic’s intake forms.
Everything about the moment was surreal. He felt like a Patrick from an alternate universe in a room that smelled of industrial-grade cleaners and had too much mauve. He may not have a fraction of David’s design sense, but even he could tell when the level of mauve used could be deemed a criminal offense. Mauve paisley upholstery? Come on.
The Patrick he knew, or at least used to know, would have immediately identified a GP when he’d moved to Schitt’s Creek like he had when he moved to college or when he and Rachel had spent that year in Ottawa before moving back home. That Patrick would have made sure there was a first aid kit in the store—thank god David had thought of that and made sure it included an instant ice pack—and not used the ladder they’d found upstairs without testing its durability first.
Or, he could have waited for David to do it since he was just that much taller than Patrick and didn’t need a ladder. But Patrick was a take-charge guy and liked to do things for himself.
He winced as the cold pack penetrated his shoulder. Of course he’d fallen and hurt his right shoulder, which made it really flipping difficult to fill out the intake forms as a right-handed person. He would bet money that it was only a bit of swelling and maybe a bruise, nothing serious, but David had raised some points about getting it checked out that Patrick couldn’t argue with. Plus, David was adorable when he got serious and demanding and that crease formed in his forehead.
Patrick filled out his name, contact information, and basic medical history. He stilled when he reached a part of the form asking some for some demographic information.
Do you think of yourself as: Straight or heterosexual Lesbian, gay, or homosexual Bisexual Something else Don’t know Choose not to disclose
The tip of the pen hovered over Lesbian, gay, or homosexual. He’d come out as gay to David, and as a result of being openly in a relationship with David, he’d basically come out as queer to the rest of Schitt’s Creek. Beyond that? He’d said “I’m gay” to himself in the mirror a few times and run through endless practice conversations where he told his parents, but that’s it.
Since having that realization about himself, he hadn’t been asked so directly, so innocuously, about his sexual orientation. It felt like a big moment. It wasn’t whispering a word aloud to test how it felt or Googling a bunch of articles from his incognito browser about how do I know if I’m gay.
No, he had to decide if he was ready to formally label himself as part of his permanent medical file. Patrick Brewer has broken his arm twice, sprained both wrists and both ankles, cracked a rib or two, nearly had a concussion, has a family history of heart disease and diabetes, is White, non-Hispanic/Latino, and gay.
He moved the tip of his pen to hover between Don’t know and Choose not to disclose. It would be easy to select either of those. He certainly didn’t owe it to anyone to share that information, but he also didn’t feel like he had a good reason not to share it. He knew he was gay. That was the label that felt fitting for him, at least right now. Patrick was proud to know that about himself, and proud that it was a small piece of what had brought him and David together. Not that choosing not to share on a medical form would mean he wasn’t proud, but that option didn’t quite feel right.
Patrick was a paperwork guy. Hell, it had been the main reason David had taken a chance on him in the first place. Patrick appreciated being able to sort things in boxes, label them, know where to find things when he needed them. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be sorted into a box on this.
He blew out a breath. It was just now hitting him how weird the whole coming out thing was. With his sports injuries, he’d filled out tons of intake forms. Sometimes he’d been too out of it or in too much pain, so his mom or Rachel had had to do it. Every single time, he’d selected Straight or heterosexual and never batted an eye. His mom and Rachel had selected the same by default and never stopped to ask.
Why was that the default? Why did society force people to other themselves if “straight” didn’t fit? Either the mauve was really getting to him or he was having an existential crisis in the Elm Glen urgent care clinic.
The default should be blank, like someone’s favorite food or the television shows they loved or how they liked to spend their time. Who they are romantically and/or sexually interested in should be something that’s learned over time and not assigned by someone else like a name.
Patrick’s temples pulsed as he sifted through his confusing thoughts. Who’d have guessed that a visit for an X-ray would have been the thing to send him down a path to uncover a new layer to his queer awakening?
When he had decided to stop ignoring the voice in his head that suggested maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought he was, his research had focused more on mechanics of being gay, with a side dish of etiquette and culture. Though now faced with a thousand question marks flashing above his head like a cartoon, the harsh reality set in that his attempts at research had been more shallow than he’d realized. He hadn’t jumped into the bigger issues around society and expectations and unlearning tons of crap he had assumed all of his life.
But he should probably cut himself some slack. It’s not like the moment he realized and accepted he was queer meant someone plugged a flash drive into his brain to upload knowledge about queer history and the things he never stopped to question because of his privilege. It wasn’t too late to learn those things, and he was dedicated to starting now.
Maybe he should talk to David about it. David was way more savvy about all things queer. Patrick liked to research and read articles, but exploring those topics could be something they did together. He liked learning things from David, like the flow in their store to optimize sales and the psychology behind his aesthetic choices. David probably had a lot to teach about queerness, too.
David had been very hands-off so far in their young relationship when it came to Patrick’s sexual orientation. At first he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because David didn’t care. That David knew Patrick liked him, and it didn’t matter beyond that. And, sure, he figured that was part of it, but the more he and David settled into their relationship and the better he got to know David in that way, he noticed the subtle ways David looked to follow Patrick’s lead on certain issues.
When the person to Patrick’s right cleared their throat, Patrick realized he’d been tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Patrick should offer information to David. He had probably grown complacent after so many years with Rachel and his handful of brief relationships with other women. He’d grown used to being chased for emotional connection. It’s not that Patrick avoided emotions—actually, he quite liked them and found he needed the emotional bond to really fall for someone—but he wasn’t used to having to initiate the emotional side communication. Rachel asked pointed questions, pushed, demanded he share with her, and rightfully so. Their romantic relationship hadn’t been right for a variety of reasons, but she had smoothed his sharpest edges.
As his existential crisis unfolded with muzak playing in the waiting room, he realized he had a lot of work to do. A lot of unlearning to do. Now that gender difference was taken out of his relationship, he was realizing exactly how screwed up it was that he had passively waited for his former girlfriends to do all the heavy lifting when it came to communication about emotions and stuff.
He was all in with David. They had only been together for 39 days, not that he was counting, but he couldn’t imagine not wanting David any longer. More than anything, he wanted to deepen their connection. Every day he looked for opportunities to get to know David better and to become a bigger part of David’s life, but he needed to let David get to know him better too. It was important that he make an effort, so he would. David was worth it. They were worth it. He would ask for David’s guidance on better understanding and sorting the thoughts filling up his brain.
Even the injury that had him sitting in a waiting room between someone who repeatedly didn’t cover their cough and someone else sniffling every two seconds had been stupid. He could have waited for David to get back from picking up a vendor order and asked him to re-stock the stuff on the top shelf. But Patrick didn’t want to ask David for help because Patrick could do it on his own. Guys got on ladders and did their own things. Or at least that’s what he had learned from his dad, intentionally or not. He didn’t want to ask for help because Patrick didn’t need help.
Except that he did, and that was okay.
Patrick’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He winced as he dug it out with his right hand.
Patrick grinned at his phone, then slid it into his left pocket and picked his pen back up. He let out a long breath and ticked a brand new box on the form. Patrick Brewer: gay. Take that, medical record!
He rushed through the remainder of the questions and returned the form to the woman—person?—shit, he shouldn’t make assumptions about gender either. He had so much to learn. So much he wanted to learn. Patrick held his breath as he waited for the employee to look at the form and raise an eyebrow or give off some sort of outward acknowledgement that he had just done something big. In the end, all they did was barely look up when they instructed him to sit back down and wait for his name to be called.
After all of that, it wasn’t a big deal at all, and maybe that’s how it should be.
By the time Patrick was given an X-ray and told there were no issues beyond some probable swelling and bruising, he began his long drive back to Schitt’s Creek. All he wanted was a gentle hug from David and a soggy burger from the cafe, or whatever take-out David opted for. Actually, since David was in charge, he probably ordered the good pizza from Elm Glen.
Patrick opened the front door and inhaled a delicious aroma. It smelled like his mom’s lasagna. Maybe David had opted for pasta over pizza from that Italian restaurant they liked in Elmdale. He pulled the ice pack out of his shirt and walked into the kitchen.
David opened the oven door and placed a foil bag of bread in the oven. He noticed that Ray’s large glass dish was in the oven instead of a frozen lasagna in a tin container from Brebner’s or something. Maybe David talked Ray into cooking instead? If so, Patrick would have to swap nights with Ray this week to keep it even.
When he had moved to Schitt’s Creek, Ray and Patrick had decided they would take turns cooking for the other one night a week. Those nights had been a welcome break from Patrick’s emotional spirals and constant second-guessing about leaving his life behind. After he’d met David, the dinner nights had been a welcome distraction from his confusing feelings for his new businesses partner. Once they’d started dating? He loved them even more. Patrick had never met anyone who appreciated food like David Rose, and Ray loved when people appreciated his cooking.
David carefully shut the oven door and turned around. He had on his glasses. Oh, hell yes. And he wore Ray’s floral apron that looked a bit too much like the wallpaper in Patrick’s room.
David held up a finger. “Don’t you say a word. I didn’t want to stain my Neil Barrett with tomato sauce. Do you know how much sauce goes flying from the pan when cooking? It’s like the little pieces of ground beef had rocket launchers aimed directly at the ivory stripes of my sweater.”
Patrick smiled and strode over to David, wrapping his good arm around David’s waist. “You could have grabbed one of my shirts.”
David blinked down at him. “I guess I didn’t think about it. I wouldn’t do that without permission, anyway.”
“Consider this blanket permission to wear any of my clothes, any time you want.” He knew David would probably rather go naked than be caught in Patrick’s clothes, but he kind of liked the idea of David wearing one of his button-ups. His jeans would be too short, though. But his shirts on David’s long torso and broad shoulders? Mmhmm.
“Yeah? Like your college hoodie?”
“Exactly. It’s really soft on the inside.” He kissed David’s neck and let his lips scrape over the stubble. “How come you’re wearing your glasses?” David had slept over in Patrick’s room five times before he’d let Patrick see him in his glasses, and that was only a week ago. He was surprised to see David loosen up enough to wear them around Ray. Not that he was complaining. David looked amazing in his thick-rimmed black glasses. Of course they were black.
“One of my contacts came out and fell on the floor. There’s no way I’m putting something that has touched the same surface as Roland’s dirty work boots back in my eye. I had the glasses in my overnight bag.”
Patrick bit back a smile. “Staying the night?”
“Someone has to make sure you’re okay.” He draped his arms draped over Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick hissed as soon as David made contact with the bruised area.
“Oh, fuck! Sorry!” David took a huge step back.
“I’m not contagious, David. It’s fine,” Patrick said, laughing.
David glared at him. “I’m glad nothing is broken or maimed.”
“Me too. I know how much you like my shoulders.”
David rubbed his uninjured shoulder. “I do, do I?”
“It’s like there’re magnets in your palms and in my shoulders.” He grabbed David’s waist with his left hand. “I love it.”
“Mkay, let’s not get carried away.” David squeezed his shoulder like he didn’t even realize it. Patrick kept his mouth shut.
David turned to the cupboard with dishes and pulled out three plates. “I’m not making any promises about the quality of this lasagna.”
Patrick blinked at him. “Wait, you made it?”
“Did you not hear me complaining about the violent sauce as it simmered?”
He had assumed Ray made it and asked David to help, but he kept that to himself. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”
David walked over to the kitchen table and placed a plate at each setting. “I never said I didn’t know how. I said I’m not good at it.” He shrugged. “I know you like to cook and do things for people, so I am happy to enjoy your creations.” He turned and squeeze Patrick’s good shoulder again. “Anyway, it’s not that hard to follow a YouTube tutorial.”
He pictured David asking Ray for the apron and propping up his phone while he tried to follow a video and worrying about Patrick’s X-ray results. “Where did you get the groceries?” He knew they didn’t have lasagna noodles in the house.
“I remembered you saying that your mom made lasagna whenever you didn’t feel well, and you were missing it. So I borrowed Stevie’s car and went to Brebner’s. No big deal.”
It was a very big deal. Patrick hooked his finger in a loop on David’s black jeans.
“Hey, careful. That belt loop costs more than your outfit.” David tried and failed to look stern.
Patrick kissed his twitching lips. “Thank you. I appreciate you and the things you do for me.”
David sucked his lips between his teeth, which made his adorable dimples deepen. “That’s a very lovely thing to say.” He kissed Patrick gently. “And how about you stop trying to be all stubborn and let me deal with the top shelves from now on so I don’t have to cook you sad lasagna again?”
“But I like sad lasagna.”
“I’d rather cook happy lasagna.”
“Okay, David.” Patrick sat down where David directed him, and he watched his boyfriend flutter around the kitchen to grab silverware, napkins, and pull the food from the oven.
He couldn’t wait to explore his and David’s dynamic. Their balance of gestures and chores and determine the tasks that worked for them. Dividing things up in a way that had nothing to do with their gender or sexuality.
“Ray, dinner’s ready,” David called.
David poured three glasses of red wine, then placed two trivets on the table and the dinner on top of those. Patrick marveled at the ease with which David moved around the kitchen.
“David, I must say, this smells delicious. I was skeptical when you told me your plans.” Ray turned toward Patrick and stage whispered, “I nearly brought out the fire extinguisher just in case.”
Patrick bit back a laugh at David’s glare.
Ray sat down. “You’re surprisingly adept for someone who probably used to have a cook and now lives in a motel with no kitchen.”
“Thanks, Ray,” David said through gritted teeth as he removed the apron and sat down.
Patrick watched as Ray took a bite and made an approving sound, then proceeded to compliment David on the flavor profile. David glowed, well, as much as he could in a room with mustard yellow walls.
He was so damn happy, sitting there with his boyfriend and his friend, enjoying a home-cooked meal.
Later, after they each had seconds of the lasagna and garlic bread, Patrick did the dishes. David leaned back against the counter next to him and finished off his glass of wine.
“At the doctor’s office, I had to fill out a form that asked me about my sexual orientation,” Patrick said as he rinsed out the saucepan.
“Oh?” David’s expression remained neutral.
Patrick paid close attention to David’s reaction that time. It wasn’t the first time something like that had come up, but it was the first time Patrick slowed down to read David closely. He saw David’s patience, but also an undercurrent of curiosity. Patrick needed to share instead of wait for David to ask.
“It was my first time marking on paperwork that I’m gay. Other than when I said it to you, that’s the first time I’ve sort of said it anywhere else. Or indicated it, anyway.”
“That’s a big deal,” David said softly.
Patrick’s shoulders relaxed. That’s the validation he wanted. “Yeah, it felt like one.” He smiled up at David. “Thanks for understanding that.”
“Of course, honey.” David kissed his cheek.
“Um, David?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we talk sometime about heteronormativity?” While waiting for his X-ray results, he had done some research to try and find the proper words to articulate what he wanted to know.
David smiled at him. The same approving smile he had that morning a couple of weeks ago when he showed up to the store to see that Patrick had arranged the new aroma diffusers by scent profile, that he’d learned by watching David. “I’d love to talk with you about that whenever you’d like.” He scrunched his face. “Just preferably not before 10 a.m., um, because I can’t really handle patriarchal bullshit before I’m fully awake.”