Archive of Our Own ^beta

Podfic:

“I guess I’ll have the… Salty Pimp?”

Patrick’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, climbing up half an octave in that short sentence. His cheeks flushed involuntarily, making him feel like he was back in grade six, whispering with his baseball friends about things none of them knew anything about, each of them trying to sound cool and “experienced.” He knew he should have picked something else, but dulce de leche had always been his favorite flavor of ice cream. He just hadn’t counted on sounding like an embarrassed 12-year-old while he was ordering it. Then again, the name of the place was Big Gay Ice Cream, and Patrick had felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck from the moment David suggested it.

“Excellent choice,” the person behind the counter replied, giving Patrick an exaggerated wink that was only accentuated by their bright blue eyeshadow. Ash, their name tag said. “That’s one of our best sellers. And for you?”

They turned to David, whose tiny, tucked-in smile was twitching just slightly with suppressed laughter, and Patrick’s cheeks somehow got even hotter with embarrassment.

“One Rocky Roadhouse, please,” David said, shimmying his shoulders as he ordered, clearly the one in possession of all of their collective confidence today. Patrick wasn’t used to that, but it wasn’t surprising, given how out of his element Patrick had been feeling since the moment they’d stepped out of their airport taxi and onto the sidewalks of Manhattan.

David had been to visit Alexis a few times since she’d moved to the city, but Patrick had always had to stay back and run the store. Now that they had a couple of part-time employees, they were able to take a weekend off here and there. When David had first brought it up, coming to New York for the pride march felt like an exciting prospect -- a chance to be with their community, celebrating the opportunity to be themselves, open and unapologetic. But now that they were actually there, Patrick couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he didn’t exactly… belong.

It wasn’t just the city that was making him feel off-kilter; he’d been to Toronto many times for many different reasons, so he knew what a big city was like, but this just felt… different. It was supposed to feel different; he knew that. After all, they were there for what was pretty much the grandfather of all pride festivals. Patrick had thought he’d feel more settled once they got there, though, especially since New York City was essentially a giant melting pot. Everyone was supposed to belong, like they did in Schitt’s Creek. Only it didn’t feel that way at all. Not when almost everyone else he’d seen outside of their West Village Airbnb all weekend seemed to wear their identity and/or sexuality on their sleeve -- sometimes literally -- in ways that Patrick could never in a million years see himself doing. But what did that say about him?

Before Patrick could descend any further into the shame spiral that seemed to have been nipping at his heels all weekend, the person behind the counter was calling out their orders and they were picking up their ice cream.

Patrick sucked in a deep breath as they stepped outside, reminding himself that this was supposed to be a fun weekend -- a celebration of community and solidarity. But the anxious feeling gnawing at his gut refused to go away.

“I promise you that ordering a Salty Pimp does not, indeed, make one a pimp.” David’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Patrick looked up to see amusement dancing in his husband’s eyes. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I hope not. Otherwise I am woefully underdressed, and I seem to have forgotten my cane.” Patrick let out a nervous laugh that he was afraid might give away the fact that he wasn’t entirely joking, but thankfully David was distracted enough by a nearby street vendor selling churros to not say anything about it.

People were already starting to gather along the parade route, a veritable sea of color behind the metal barricades that lined the streets. There were people with rainbow hair, face paint, and even body paint, standing beside other people waving flags that represented their own parts of the LGBTQIA+ acronym. The energy was palpable -- these people knew who they were, and they didn’t give a fuck who knew it. Patrick’s gaze settled on a tall, toned man wearing a red crop top and a very tight pair of shorts that left nothing to the imagination. He found himself feeling almost jealous of the man’s confidence. This man had probably come out much like David had… by shrugging and casually telling people to “just deal with it.” Easy peasy. He probably hadn’t lied to his parents and told them his boyfriend was only his business partner. And he was young -- well under the 28 years old Patrick had been when he’d finally realized he liked men.

So many of them were young, already seeming to have figured out exactly who they were and where they fit in this world. Patrick was jealous of that, too, and the irrational anger he felt at his past self for not realizing something that should have been obvious made his gut twist uncomfortably again.

Patrick took another deep breath and tried to ground himself. He had to get it together. He wasn’t about to ruin David’s weekend with his… whatever this was. Inadequacy? Some sort of bizarre teenage angst that was just as late as his coming out had been?

He shook his head to dislodge that particular unhelpful thought, just as David reappeared beside him, holding a churro in one hand and his ice cream in the other.

“Exactly how much sugar are you planning to consume today?” Patrick laughed -- this time genuinely, though his heart was still trying its darndest to beat its way right out of his chest. David shrugged and gave him a mischievous half-smile, his eyes glittering in the way that never failed to initiate a different type of butterflies in Patrick’s stomach, and Patrick tried to lean into the feeling. He was with his husband, celebrating love. Their love.

They walked while David ate, but Patrick found it difficult to stomach his ice cream as they looked for a good place to stand and watch the parade. He’d dressed for comfort in the summer heat, in a soft, light blue t-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts that David had already declared “incorrect” multiple times, with his favorite Blue Jays cap. At home, he would have blended right in, but in this crowd, he felt like he stuck out.

Not that David was wearing rainbows or glitter or a crop top, but he was wearing a skirt as a part of his signature black and white ensemble. David was always the one who... Well, no one ever seemed surprised to find out David had a husband. (Though they were often surprised to find out he wasn’t actually gay.) Patrick, on the other hand, had seen more than a few surprised expressions from strangers once they realized he had a husband and not a wife. He didn’t dress or act any differently now than he had when he was engaged to Rachel. Should he be? Was he missing something?

Patrick was still lost in his thoughts when David stopped suddenly, causing Patrick to nearly run into him.

“How about here?” David asked, taking the last bite of his churro before tossing the wrapper into a nearby trash can.

“Sure,” Patrick replied, his voice once again pitched differently than he’d like, thanks to his racing heart and still-rising anxiety. He knew that tone in himself -- false confidence, trying to sound like he had it all together when he definitely didn’t. Unfortunately, he knew that David was well-acquainted with it too, and the furrowed brow and slight frown on David’s face told Patrick that he’d been caught, but before either of them could say anything, the cacophony from the crowd grew exponentially louder as the first marchers in the parade came into sight.

Patrick felt David’s right hand come to rest on his waist, the warmth and familiarity of the touch helping to ground and calm him as David tugged him in close, leaning his head against Patrick’s for a moment before pressing a brief kiss to his temple. Closing his eyes, Patrick breathed in again, hoping to inhale some of the joy that permeated the festival atmosphere surrounding them, before blinking his eyes open again and taking a bite of his ice cream. It was hot and humid, and the ice cream should have been refreshing, but it settled like a rock in his stomach, making him queasy.

You’re fine, he told himself. Everything’s fine.

And for a while, everything was fine, save for the press of the bodies around them making Patrick feel a bit claustrophobic. Being right next to the barricade helped a little, but every time he felt contact from someone other than David, his heart rate would start to climb again, and he’d have to take another deep breath, reminding himself that he was safe. David was having a good time. Everyone around them was having a good time. And god, did Patrick wish he could too.

Then, a group of drag queens taking turns lip syncing and dancing along to diva power ballads started to walk past, and one wearing knee-high white platform boots and a very short, sequined purple dress to match her wig stepped out of line right in front of Patrick. It took Patrick a moment to realize what was happening as she extended her hand to grab his and tugged him through the gap between two barricades, and the next thing he knew, he was dancing on the street to Lady Gaga while the sea of people he’d just been a part of whooped and whistled and cheered.

The dancing itself only lasted about ten or fifteen seconds -- the parade had to go on, after all -- but Patrick’s ears were still ringing as the drag queen let go of his hands and moved on to her next partner, leaving Patrick on his own to get back to David. His heart pounded in his throat and his breath quickened as he scanned the throng of painted faces and avant-garde stylistic choices, his no-doubt wild-eyed gaze finally landing on his husband, whose broad smile quickly faded the moment he made eye contact with Patrick.

Before Patrick could even process what was happening, David had ushered him out of the crowd and down the sidewalk, then plopped him into a chair that somehow seemed to appear right in front of them on said sidewalk. It wasn’t until a cold glass of water was pressed into his trembling hands that he realized they were outside of a restaurant. He could feel sweat dripping down between his shoulder blades, dampening the blue cotton of his t-shirt, which stuck to him uncomfortably as David’s hand started to rub circles on his back.

“It’s okay, honey,” he heard David murmur. “Just breathe with me. Good, good… nice and slow, just like that.”

Patrick wanted to tell David he was fine, that he really wasn’t having a panic attack -- at least, not yet -- but the moment he tried to form words, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes filled with tears. Okay, so maybe it was a panic attack.

“Shh,” David soothed. “Don’t try to talk. Just breathe.”

Patrick did as he was told, though there was nothing he could do to stop the tears from spilling over, creating salty trails down his cheeks. He felt David’s thumb gently wipe them away, which only made him want to cry more, but he managed to keep some semblance of control. Eventually, his breathing had slowed and his hands were no longer shaking, and he was finally able to focus on David’s face. But the panic in David’s eyes made Patrick feel even worse because he’d put it there, and the tears welled up again, unbidden.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you get overheated? You should drink some water. What do you… Oh god, what was I thinking, bringing you out here in the sun on such a hot, humid day? I should have been paying more attention. Lord knows you’re practically translucent!” Patrick could hear the pitch of David’s voice climbing, and he desperately wanted to stop the impending spiral, but he also couldn’t get a word in edgewise because of how fast David was talking. “We should go back to the apartment, get you cooled down. But how am I going to get you to a street where we can get a cab? Do you think you can walk? I’d offer to carry you, but--”

“David.”

Patrick finally managed to force the word out, though it came out shaky, which didn’t seem to do anything to alleviate David’s panic. He repeated it, thankfully managing to make it sound stronger this time, and loud enough to make David stop and look at him, and that was all it took for the proverbial dam to finally break. All at once, all of the emotions Patrick had been struggling with all day came pouring out, and soon he was gasping for air as he cried in David’s arms, blubbering about feeling like an imposter… a fraud.

“Wait, what?” David reached out a hand to gently tilt Patrick’s chin upward so that they were making eye contact again. “Why would you feel like a fraud? Or an imposter for that matter? Unless you have some secret identity I don’t know about, or a wife and two kids in some other town, I’m pretty sure you are neither of those things.”

Patrick sucked in a trembling breath and swallowed hard before speaking. “Because, David…” He paused as his voice broke, and he looked up at the sky for a moment before lowering his gaze again, blinking back tears as he looked at David. “Look around. I don’t… None of this is me.”

“I don’t understand.” David’s brow furrowed as he looked Patrick over one more time, as if some flashing neon sign might magically appear to clue him in. Honestly, Patrick wished it would, because he wasn’t even sure how to explain it.

“Everyone here is just… I don’t know… They all know who they are… where they fit in this community. But where do I fit?” He paused and inhaled again, thankful the breath was steadier this time. “It’s like some part of me is still that teenage boy struggling to reconcile a whole set of confusing feelings with everyone else’s expectations… trying to fit in this box that everyone else thinks should fit that just feels so… wrong. Sure, I played the Emcee in Cabaret, but that was in Schitt’s Creek… and it was a character… it wasn’t me. I almost married a woman, for god’s sake, even though it never felt right. And sometimes I feel like I’m still that person. The one who did everything that everyone expected of me and never questioned it, at least not outwardly. It’s like… everything has changed, but at the same time, nothing has.”

“It has changed. You’re not that person anymore.” David’s dark eyes were full of compassion for his husband as settled his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over the tense muscles there. “You didn’t marry Rachel. You figured it out in your own time, and you found your path. Maybe the way there was bumpy, but you got there.”

Patrick leaned in to David’s touch and nodded silently, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“There’s no one way to be gay, or queer, or anything else. All that matters is that you’re you. You’re Patrick Brewer. You’re my husband, and I love you… end of story.” David leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Patrick’s as he whispered, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Patrick breathed, his voice still cracking with emotion as he blinked at his husband, trying to internalize David’s words.

“Your journey is yours and no one else’s. And it doesn’t matter if you came out at 13 or 30, or what you wear or what you look like. You do belong, just as much as anyone else here does.” David kept his voice soft, the pure love and care in his gaze warming Patrick from the inside out. “That’s a big part of pride, too… celebrating what makes us different as much as we celebrate what we have in common. At the end of the day, you don’t need to be anyone but you.”

David cupped Patrick’s jaw between his hands, tilting it upward just enough for a kiss that, combined with everything David had just said, left Patrick reeling.

“Also, I promise I’ll still love you whether you’re wearing a rainbow Dr. Seuss hat, or more of these monstrosities you manage to unearth at the Elmdale Mall,” David said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry smile. “Although I may have to pretend I don’t know you, should the hat be worn in public.”

Patrick huffed a laugh and shook his head, dampness still lingering in his eyes, softening the image of David before him as his shy smirk turned into a full smile.

“There he is,” David murmured, his hands finding their way back to Patrick’s shoulders as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Patrick’s. “That’s my husband.”

For a moment, it felt like they were in their own little world, their knees pressing against one another’s as they sat in adjacent chairs on a restaurant’s patio, David’s eyes still appraising Patrick with gentle care and concern. Then, a deep, somewhat gravelly voice cut in.

“He’s right, you know.”

Patrick looked up to find the owner of said voice sitting on the other side of the table where he and David were now sitting. The man had kind, blue eyes, his hair and close-cropped beard more salt than pepper. He was holding hands with another, smaller man with wild, silver curls sticking out from under the brim of his sun hat. They were both dressed in polo shirts and khaki shorts, and their matching wedding bands were visible, though any conceivable doubt about whom they might be married to was soon removed as the larger of the two men leaned down to kiss the cheek of his apparent husband.

“I’m Monty, and this is Jim. Met him right here, back in ‘93,” he said, smiling fondly at the other man. “At the time, I was… newly single. Before that, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly being honest about who I was, with anyone, including myself. I had a wife and kids, and I should have been happy -- I had it all. But I wasn’t happy. I was the imposter. And maybe it was right, or maybe it was wrong, but regardless, I couldn’t keep up the lie, so I left. Didn’t have much choice, really.”

“That must have been hard,” David said, shifting to interlace his fingers with Patrick’s, his thumb rubbing small circles over the back of Patrick’s hand while Patrick nodded along, still not quite able to find words to express the swirl of thoughts and emotions circling in his head.

“It was,” Monty said, seemingly lost in the memory for a moment. “I felt lost, even though I knew I couldn’t stay. I came down here to try to figure out who I really was, and that’s when I met Jim. My kids are still one of the best things that ever happened to me, but staying with their mother would have been the worst thing I could have done for any of us, especially them. We’re all better off now. That’s not to say that it doesn’t still get a little awkward sometimes, but for the most part, we’re one big, happy family.”

Patrick smiled through his tears, sniffling a little as David continued to rub the back of his hand. “That’s really nice,” Patrick said softly.

“We come back here every year now on our anniversary,” Jim cut in. “Finally made it official a few years back, but I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him right here on this corner.”

“I love that,” David said, his eyes soft in the way they always got whenever he watched his favorite rom-coms. “That’s so sweet.”

“Well, I could have done without him stepping on my foot,” Monty interjected, giving Jim a teasing grin and a playful shove before turning back to Patrick and David. “But I’ve always believed everything happens for a reason. Every step on our path helps make us who we are, even the wrong turns we take along the way. I love this guy, and I don’t know where I’d be without him. Guessing you two might feel the same way.”

Patrick was still trying to digest the full impact of Monty’s words when Jim suddenly asked, “What do you say we buy you both a drink? It looks like you could maybe use a little something.”

David looked first to Patrick, who nodded gratefully as he blinked away the last of his tears, the anxious pit in his stomach finally beginning to abate. Patrick ordered himself a beer and David got a cosmopolitan, and the four of them settled into an easy conversation despite their generation gap. The way that Monty and Jim liked to gently tease each other reminded Patrick of himself and David, and he hoped that some day, thirty years down the road, he and David would still be just as happy and in love as Monty and Jim seemed to be.

They chatted over appetizers for over an hour, and Patrick became Facebook friends with both Monty and Jim before the two couples went their separate ways -- the older men heading back in the direction of their hotel while Patrick and David took a few minutes to check out the street fair. Somehow, David managed to find room for even more deep fried delicacies as they wandered hand-in-hand from one vendor to another, the pulse-pounding music from the nearby main stage reverberating in Patrick’s ears as he looked around at the people gathered in the streets and on the sidewalks. This time, however, he felt like he was seeing it all through a different lens than he had earlier. Not only noticing more of the people who did look like him -- and there were many -- but also taking in the full beauty of what surrounded them. There were literally thousands of people, representing many different identities and orientations, races, ages, and walks of life, a metaphorical patchwork quilt of people and experiences, stitched together by love and belonging.

Patrick didn’t even realize that happy tears had begun to well up in his eyes until he felt David’s hand gently cup his cheek once again, followed by a quiet, concerned, “Everything okay?”

Patrick smiled and blinked up at his husband, then lifted himself up on his toes to press a kiss to David’s lips. “Never better.”