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Waking up to fresh, undisturbed snowfall is one of Patrick's great small pleasures of living out in the sticks during winter. As a kid, fresh snow meant snowmen in the backyard, snowball fights with his cousins, his mom standing on the porch watching Patrick empty powder out of his hood and shake himself off before she'd let him back in the house.
As an adult, fresh snowfall means waking up to David staring out of the bedroom window before sunrise, looking out over the fields behind their cottage, mesmerized by the gentle swirls of flakes falling to the ground. It means bowls of chunky vegetable soup and freshly baked bread, eaten off their laps in the sunroom while they listen to the gentle thud of snow hitting the glass all around them. It means the thick blanket pulled out of the chest under the window in the bedroom and tugged high over their bodies to keep the chill out at night.
When snowfall coincides with the holiday period it means one of Patrick's favorite winter traditions: hikes with Stevie.
It had been a surprise, at first, when she'd shown active interest in coming out on walks with him during her periodic stays at the cottage, pulling decent walking boots out of the trunk of her car and suggesting forest trails he'd never noticed before.
"Not to bring up what David tells me was a very traumatic few minutes in the infant stages of your relationship, but I did actually enjoy the 'being in the woods' part of sleeping with Jake. You know, outside of the whole, sleeping with Jake thing."
It feels like a million years ago, the borrowed apartment for the night, an unexpected Jake, a flustered David and Stevie. Patrick’s lost count of the holidays spent with Stevie and Ruth crashing in the nicest of the cottage’s guest rooms, in spite of the barely-used apartment they own less than an hour away in Elm Valley. Stevie’s as good as family, David had reasoned, and part of staying put in Schitt’s Creek was the unspoken agreement that they’d host family whenever the need arose.
It’s routine now. A week before Christmas, David will go on an Impending Guest cleaning spree, pulling bedding from storage boxes, vacuuming the entire house, strategically placing scented candles in the guest room, and putting together a welcome basket of seasonal Apothecary goods to leave in the guest bathroom.
“They’re for Ruth,” he explains to Patrick every year. “Stevie neither uses or appreciates good skincare, despite my ongoing efforts.”
The couple in question will arrive on the doorstep of the cottage a few days before Christmas, their flight from New York inevitably delayed and some kind of RMG drama keeping them busy through the increasingly dark and rural streets of Elm County. David will order pizza and open multiple bottles of wine, Patrick will help carry luggage up the stairs, and they’ll eventually all collapse in the living room in sweats, slightly wine drunk and carb laden, the holiday season finally ready to start.
Every year, Patrick waits for the first fresh snowfall after Stevie arrives, checking the weather forecasts and assessing the skies before bed each night. This year it’s late, Christmas Day rapidly approaching without a hint of a flake in the sky. On the 23rd, Patrick leaves David curled up under the duvet at daybreak, heading downstairs in search of tea and the beginnings of breakfast. He wanders through the house with his cup, eventually finding Stevie sitting in the sunroom, nursing a mug of coffee and staring out over their backyard, the snow fading in patches where the sun hits most.
“Snow’s been really weird this year,” he murmurs, wincing when she jumps, her mug thankfully empty enough that nothing is spilled.
“It’s still freezing though. I forget how cold it gets out here, which is weird. Not like I spent the first thirty-something years of my life freezing my tits off every time December rolled around.”
“Yeah, the log burner’s been getting a workout this winter. David runs colder than any human being I’ve ever met in my life.”
“It’s an excuse for the sweaters. He’s probably trained himself to run cold for the fashion.”
“Definitely a commitment to the cause.”
Stevie smirks into her coffee, staring back out over the yard.
“You think it’ll snow before Christmas?” she asks, a strange hint of concern lacing her voice.
Patrick sits next to her and stares out of the window, twisting his body awkwardly so he can stare up at the sky.
“I don’t know, the sky looks kinda heavy, it might still happen. Smells like it might, if you go outside. We can still go out tomorrow though, even if it hasn’t snowed. I don’t mind a bit of mud. It might still be snowy out at the point, the sun doesn’t hit the trails much this time of year.”
“It’s tradition though. The snow falls, we hike, David and Ruth bake and gossip about us. Without the snow, it all feels a bit—not wrong, but not quite right, you know?”
Patrick looks at her properly for the first time since he got downstairs. She’s fidgeting slightly, picking at her fingernails—an anxious tell that reminds him so much of his husband his heart aches a little.
“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching over to rest a hand on her arm. “Everything okay?”
She looks up at him, her eyes wide like she’s caught in the headlights.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry, there’s some RMG stuff that’s been bothering me a little but it’s nothing too important. Nothing that can’t wait until the new year.”
Patrick’s not convinced, but he’s closing in on nearly a decade of friendship with her, and the longer they remain friends, the more impossibly similar she and David become. When she wants to talk, she’ll talk, and if she never wants to talk, that’s something Patrick will just have to let lie. If he’s learned anything in eight years, it’s that the Roses do what they want, when they want, at the pace they decide, and neither heaven nor earth will change that.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure.”
A series of creaks from above the dining room behind them indicate the rising of what sounds like both David and Ruth, and Patrick starts thinking about breakfast.
“Breakfast?” he asks. “I’ll make waffle batter if you chop fruit?”
“Deal,” she says, smiling softly at him.
❄❄❄❄
The snow starts falling early afternoon, while David and Ruth are out doing a last minute grocery run for holiday baking supplies. Patrick wanders the house looking for Stevie, eventually finding her tucked up against the window of the smallest bedroom, her face all but pressed against the glass.
She turns to him as he pads across the carpet. “You said it was going to snow, and look at that. You’re like a snow whisperer.”
“I’m a man of many talents.” He sinks down next to her, watching the flakes twist and swirl in the air, already creating a thin blanket of white where they’re hitting the ground. “Guess we’ll get our hike after all.”
“I mean, we were gonna go anyway, right? At least this way we don’t break the streak. How many years has it been now?”
Patrick works backwards in his head. “How many years have you guys been staying here for the holidays? Four? Five?”
“Five this year, I think. Now I’ve said that you’ll probably try and make some kind of anniversary out of it. Do not try to throw together some kind of gift in the next eighteen hours, I swear to god I will kill you.”
Patrick throws his hand across his chest in mock outrage. “Do I look like the kind of person that would hastily throw together an anniversary gift for a dear friend?”
“You look exactly like that kind of person, and you know it.”
“Okay that’s fair. I solemnly swear not to try and celebrate our hikeaversary with some kind of gift of last minute origins.”
“No gifts at all. Let the snow be our gift.”
He looks back out over the yard, the snow now coming down with force. David’s raised garden beds are slowly disappearing, the bird feeder becoming unrecognisable. He hopes David and Ruth make it back from the grocery store before it gets too bad, that they haven’t been waylaid by the Apothecary. They have staff now, people to man the weekends and holiday seasons, but the store always has and always will be David’s baby, and he can’t help but check in sometimes.
His thoughts are interrupted by the crunch of tires on snow, the slamming of doors, and the flurry of sound as the front door swings open and David and Ruth make their triumphant return.
“It’s fucking snowing!” David calls through the house.
“We can see that, dumbass.” Stevie says as she and Patrick descend the stairs, shivering at the chill brought in through the open door.
“Did you get everything you needed?” Patrick asks, giving a double thumbs up at Ruth’s answering grin and nod, her arms wrapped around an overfilled tote.
“What the grocery store didn’t have, your store did, so we stopped in on the way back.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Patrick says, raising an eyebrow at David.
“Our store has what we needed! And we paid for it, thank you very much. Retail price and everything.”
“So you weren’t checking in on Finn and Max? They’re perfectly capable, David.”
“I know they’re perfectly capable. They checked me out very efficiently and valiantly tried to upsell me at the cash. I’ve trained them well.”
David sheds his coat, scarf and shoes and ushers the group through the house to the kitchen, taking the groceries from Ruth and spreading them out on the counter.
“I assume, with the snowfall, you two will be going on your little Christmas hike tomorrow?”
Patrick nods. “That is correct.”
“Okay, well Ruth and I will need at least four hours without you guys harassing us in the kitchen, if that fits with your plans?”
“We’ll see how we go, we can always drop by the café on the way back if you need more time.”
“Thank you, honey. Now, off you go.'' David says, kissing Patrick softly and shooing him out of the kitchen.
“Do you want tea?” Ruth calls as he leaves.
“Yes please! My husband has banned your girlfriend and I from the kitchen and we will need sustenance to survive this rejection. Please tell me you bought the good donuts.”
“Okay, I have not banned you, I just require more space than four people in here will give me. Go and plan your little walk with Stevie, I will call you both back when I need you.”
“Donuts, David!” Patrick sings, fluttering his eyelashes as best he can.
“You’re an animal. Stevie, please take my husband somewhere else and occupy him somehow. I don’t care how.”
“That’s disgusting, David.” Stevie says, a grin spreading across her face.
“You know what, I’ve had enough of both of you. Shoo, begone! Go away!”
“Ouch, David.” Stevie and Patrick manage to say in perfect unison, slowly turning to each other and grinning when they hear themselves.
“I’m divorcing you both and marrying Ruth instead. She’ll appreciate me, right?” David whines, turning to Ruth for validation.
“Damn straight,” she says with a wink, grinning at Patrick and Stevie.
Patrick feels Stevie freeze beside him, her good luck with that, landing slightly awkwardly, her tone ever so slightly off. Neither Ruth or David seem to notice, already fussing around with whatever they’re planning for a late lunch.
He doesn’t say anything, but keeps a close eye on her for the rest of the day. She teases David over lunch, wins an intense game of Monopoly in the afternoon, curls into Ruth’s side when David insists they watch The Holiday after dinner. In the gaps between activities, when she’s banished from the kitchen so David can load the dishwasher or prepare snacks for games and movies, Patrick catches her staring out of windows and worrying at her nails. She lets Ruth sit with her, tucks herself into Ruth’s side and happily receives kisses to her temple as they watch the snow fall. They’re okay, they seem okay, but there’s something there, something Patrick hopes she’ll open up about at some point.
The snow eases off late into the night, a thick blanket covering the front yard and the cars stacked in their driveway.
“What time are you going tomorrow?” David murmurs into the back of Patrick's neck, half asleep.
“Early,” Patrick whispers. “You want me to wake you up?”
“No thank you, I have an alarm.”
David goes quiet, his breathing evening out gradually. Just as Patrick’s about to let himself drift off, David speaks up again, a half asleep mumble, something he clearly remembered he wanted to say just as he fell asleep.
“See if you can figure out what’s up with Stevie, s’drivin’ me nuts.”
Well at least it’s not just him.
❄❄❄❄
The blanket of snow the following morning is perfect. Crisp and undisturbed, the morning light causing a gentle sparkle across the yard. Patrick fills insulated mugs with coffee, packs a handful of chocolate chip brioche rolls and fills a Tupperware with his winter trail mix. He pulls on his heavy winter coat and double layers his socks inside his boots, wraps a scarf around his neck and pulls a thick knitted toque down over his forehead to ward off the cold. Stevie appears in the kitchen as he’s double checking he has everything, bundled in the same parka she’s worn for years and a charcoal grey hat, sunglasses perched on her nose in anticipation of the snow glare.
“Ready?”
“Absolutely. Please tell me you’ve made coffee?”
Patrick grins and hands her a mug, clinking his own against hers and murmuring a soft ‘cheers’.
“Let's go, before people ruin the trail.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Stevie stares at him, and despite most of her face being covered Patrick feels the burn of her gaze, grabbing his keys and brushing past her before she can hit him.
“We’re going! We’re going,” Patrick says, following Stevie out of the house and pulling the front door gently closed behind them.
The drive is quiet, Patrick’s playlist of "Winter Songs that Aren’t Christmas Songs They Just Feel Wintery” playing quietly as the car crunches off the driveway and crawls through the not-quite-clear streets of Schitt’s Creek until they hit the wider, more well-travelled and therefore more regularly salted roads. Stevie drums on the dashboard and hums along with the songs she knows, sipping at her coffee and pulling a brioche from Patrick’s backpack.
“You gonna share that?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wow, Budd. I manifest snow, I get up early, I drive you out to the forest, and this is the thanks I get?”
She takes an overambitious bite of the brioche and waves it in his face.
“It’s our hikeaversary, I can do what I want.”
“I can see that! Which trail do you wanna do today? Dealer's choice.”
She stares out of the window and Patrick lets his gaze flick between her and the road as she thinks.
“Loop around the lake? That’s what, an hour and a half in this weather? Then back via the café to keep out of David’s hair? It’ll be nice to see Twy before Christmas.”
Patrick smiles softly. “Sounds good. You know she has black forest hot chocolate on the menu again this year?”
Stevie’s soft ‘fuck yeah’ is the closest to herself she’s sounded in days. It’s like music to Patrick’s concerned ears.
❄❄❄❄
The trail is as quiet as they anticipated, the snow undisturbed save for a single set of footprints and pawprints that are already fading. The lake looks fully frozen over, and Patrick makes a mental note to ask around at home to see if it can be skated on, wondering whether he’d be able to convince David to join him if it is.
They make gentle conversation as they walk, the crunch of their boots on the snow punctuating anecdotes from the last few months of working, tales of the antics of Schitt's Creek’s most notorious residents traded for stories from the road and the ever increasing repertoire of motels Stevie oversees for RMG. She breaks off a low hanging branch as they pass a dead looking tree, using it to flick snow around and tap the leaves that sit just out of reach, causing small blizzards to fall down the back of Patrick’s neck. He squirms and yelps, shaking his body out to try and free the freezing drips now making their way down his back. He retaliates with a hastily scooped snowball launched badly at her head, the moment devolving into a full blown snow fight, two fully grown adults pelting badly formed handfuls of snow at each other, their faces red, their coats speckled with white.
Patrick throws his hands up in defeat after Stevie inexplicably manages to get snow shoved up underneath his multiple layers, the freezing water trailing uncomfortably down his belly towards his waistband.
“Enough! Truce! TRUCE!” he yells, startling a few birds from the trees surrounding them.
Stevie’s doubled over with laughter, her hat lost in the drifts of snow surrounding them. She hiccups as she finds it and shakes it out, stuffing it back onto her head and brushing the powder off her coat and out of her hood so she can pull it up around her face.
“Happy hikeaversary!” she giggles, reaching a hand over to help Patrick brush the snow from his shoulders. They still have half their walk left, and he’s hoping the exercise will keep him warm enough to not freeze to death before they get home.
“My husband’s gonna kill you if I freeze to death this close to Christmas.”
“He wouldn’t dare. He’ll just marry Ruth.”
And like that, the strangely tense atmosphere is back, sweeping across them like a wave.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You know David’s just fucking with you, right? He’s not—we’re solid.”
Stevie shakes her head and starts walking, creating a trail of small footprints leading away from their circle of carnage. Patrick stares after her and breaks into the best jog he can in the snow, catching up to walk alongside her in silence.
“I think Ruth’s going to propose,” she finally whispers, her words almost lost in the crunch of their steps and the slight breeze flowing through the surrounding trees.
Patrick lets out a long breath. “Holy shit, Stevie.”
“Yeah,” Stevie says, her face completely neutral, almost unnervingly expressionless.
"Has she said anything? Or are you just getting a vibe?"
"I can just feel it. We've been together for years now, and she said some stuff at Alexis' wedding—just like, open stuff, no questions or anything, but she's clearly thinking about it, and she's, I don't know. I can just feel it."
Patrick doesn't really know what to say. Stevie's entire vibe feels so weirdly neutral on the entire subject, like she doesn't have any feelings about it whatsoever. But she's talked to him. She's finally brought up the thing he assumes is bothering her, and Patrick wants to keep her momentum if he can.
"How do you feel about it? Like, if it did or does happen?"
She shrugs, tucking her chin down into her coat and letting her hair fall around her face. Patrick bumps into her side, elbowing her gently in an attempt to coax actual words out of her.
"What if I'm not ready?" she finally says.
"I think that's a conversation you'd need to have with Ruth. I don't think that's an answer I can give you. That has to be you and her," Patrick says carefully.
"It's not that I don't—" she pauses and takes a breath. "It's not that I don't want to. I just—is it normal to feel like, equal parts terrified and kinda excited? Because it is equal parts but also like the terrified part is totally overwhelming everything the longer I think about it. Like, if she does propose, half of me won't believe she means it?"
“Did David ever tell you about the day we got engaged?”
Stevie stares at him, tilting her head slightly in question. “With the stick in the foot and the piggybacking? Yeah, he was pretty vocal about that. Honestly I was amazed he volunteered to hike with you on his back, the power of Mrs. Rose really coming out in full force there.”
“Okay well I’m glad he felt that that was the key takeaway from the day. I meant the actual proposal though.”
“I mean, it was mostly ‘stunning lookout, picnic blanket, Patrick on one knee, four gold rings’, but I feel like that’s not what you’re getting at.”
“I was on one knee, after that entire shitstorm of a day. David had the ring box in his hands, I did a whole speech, asked him to marry me, and the first words out of his mouth were: ‘Are you sure?’”
“Oh my god, David,” Stevie whispers.
“It was the easiest goddamn decision of my life to ask him to marry me, you know that. You and I had that discussion weeks beforehand. I wanted nothing more than to marry him, to be with him for the rest of my life, and in that split second, David still needed to make sure, he still had that moment of self-doubt.”
“Okay, but that’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“David always wanted a big romantic love story. He had a wedding binder, he had plans, he had dreams. His endgame was to be someone’s husband, like, that’s how he pictured his perfect love story: getting married to someone he loved. You gave that to him. Like, he was getting everything he’d ever dreamed about, of course he needed to have a little check before committing. That’s just David. I’ve never—that’s never been something I’ve dreamed about, or planned for, or wished for.” She kicks at a root that’s poking up through the snow. “Why would someone want to marry someone who’s never thought about being a wife before?”
Patrick shrugs. “Because she wants you to be her wife, even if you’ve never dreamed about it.”
Stevie kicks at the snow with more aggression, shoving her hands into her pockets and staring down at the ground.
"I just feel like. Like it took me thirty-something years to figure out maybe I liked more than just red wine, and some days I feel like I'm still figuring out that part of me and having a wife is something I never even considered on top of not expecting to ever have the opportunity for the whole general marriage thing, and it's just so much, you know?"
Patrick stops and looks at Stevie, waiting for her to make eye contact.
"You know there's no time limit on figuring yourself out, right? You can marry Ruth, if you want to, and still be figuring yourself out, and that's okay? You know she doesn't and won't ever hold that against you. You know that."
She nods, but Patrick can see the tension in her jaw, the emotion she's trying to hide.
“What if she asks, and I say yes, and I make a terrible wife? What if she regrets it and we break up? When it’s so good right now as it is.”
Stevie's voice is small, scared. Patrick tugs at her arm, turning her around so he can pull her into a hug, her face pressed against his chest, the giant pom pom on the top of her hat tickling his nose.
“Do you love her?” he whispers.
She nods.
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her?”
Another nod.
“Then the rest is just details and paperwork. A bit of bureaucracy with witnesses. You’ve been a great partner to her so far, if she’s planning on proposing it’s because she thinks you could be just as good a wife as you are a partner, if not better.”
He holds her close to his chest for a minute more, until Stevie wiggles out of his hug and stares up at him, her eyelashes damp.
“You wanna keep walking?” Patrick asks softly.
“Yes please,” she whispers, pulling one hand out of a mitten to wipe her eyes.
They don't have far to go, the snow a little thinner and easier to navigate where the trail dips further away from the lake into the forest. Stevie doesn't say much as they walk, just a handful of comments about the scenery and what she's going to order at the café on their way back. When they reach the car, Patrick stops at the driver's door, looking at Stevie over the roof.
"Do you want to marry Ruth?"
Stevie's eyes go wide, but she answers quickly, like she's not willing to give herself the opportunity to overthink her answer.
"Yes," she says, her chin held high.
“There you go then.”
She ducks her chin and smiles, a soft expression Patrick's relieved to see back on her face. She’s more animated on their drive back into town, sharing more Ruth-centric stories and needling Patrick for intel about the gifts he’s planning on giving David for Christmas. She orders excessively large hot chocolates when they finally reach the cafe, parking them at the bar so she can catch up with Twyla while they drink. She wipes whipped cream across Patrick’s nose and swears when she realises they’re over an hour past the time David and Ruth were expecting them back at the house.
When they eventually pull into the driveway of the cottage, David’s standing in the lounge window, arms crossed.
“Uh oh,” Stevie sings under her breath. “We’re in trouble.”
“You might be, I have many ways of getting myself out of trouble with David.”
“You guys are so fucking gross.”
“Hey! You’re the one who keeps coming back to stay with us. What I do with my husband while you are here is my business.”
“Your gross business.”
Patrick looks at her, fussing with her seatbelt and patting down her pockets to make sure she’s got everything.
“Hey,” he says softly, grabbing her attention. “It’s good to have you back.”
“I didn’t go anywhere,” Stevie says, raising an eyebrow at him.
Patrick shrugs and gets out of the car, grinning at David, who’s now glaring at him through the window.
“We’re home!” he calls, opening the door, shedding his outdoor layers and kicking off his boots.
“An hour and a half later than you said you would be!”
“Missed you too, honey,” Patrick says, planting a kiss on David and silencing whatever was next out of his mouth. Stevie tuts at them as she walks past towards the kitchen, and David pulls back, a strange expression on his face.
“She okay?” he whispers.
“She’s okay,” Patrick says.
“Okay,” David says softly.
David’s pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back a smile.
“What?” Patrick asks.
“Nothing. We’ll talk later, don’t worry,” David says, his grin threatening to take over his entire face.
“David!”
“Seriously!” he says, his voice a dramatic whisper. “We’ll talk later.”
When they make it to the kitchen, Stevie has Ruth pressed up against the counter, one hand on her hip and the other tangled in her hair. David coughs inconspicuously and they break apart, Ruth burying her face in Stevie’s shoulder while Stevie glares at David.
Yeah, Patrick thinks. Stevie’s okay. They’re going to be okay.
❄❄❄❄
“Ruth’s going to propose,” David whispers into the dark of their bedroom, just audible over the soft thud of a new snowstorm against the windows.
Patrick rolls onto his side, knees knocking against David’s as he shuffles closer. “Stevie already knows. Or thinks she knows.”
“Fuuuck,” David breathes. “Is that what she was being so weird about?”
“Mmm. We talked it out a bit, earlier. You’re more alike than you give yourselves credit for.”
“Does she not want to? Ruth’s terrified she’ll say no. Oh my god I told her she has nothing to worry about, please don’t tell me I gave her the go ahead for a disaster proposal.” David tips forward and buries his head in between Patrick’s pillow and shoulder.
“She’s just nervous about it,” Patrick says, pressing a kiss to David’s temple. “You gave Ruth the go ahead?”
“She asked me for my blessing.”
“The parallels here are uncanny.”
David rolls his eyes. “So you think she’ll say yes?”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” David sighs, reaching down and feeling around until he finds Patrick’s left hand, rubbing his thumb over the wedding ring he’d placed there years before. “I did.”
❄❄❄❄
Ruth proposes six weeks after Christmas, during a long weekend away at a cabin her family owns. The Rose-Brewer-Budd-Clancy group text is filled with a stream of photos: the log burner, the hot tub, and a handful of selfies, all prominently featuring Stevie’s white gold ring.
In the midst of the chaos of notifications, Patrick’s phone buzzes with a single, private notification from Ruth.