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David balances a platter of blueberry pancakes, tiptoeing into the bedroom, ensuring he doesn’t wake Patrick up. A cup of coffee slides on the platter and he softly swears, righting it, and pads to the side of the bed. He rearranges a bouquet of flowers, adjusts the spoon in the maple syrup, and lights a candle in the pancakes.
Then he grins, biting his bottom lip, and nudges Patrick with his knee.
Patrick turns over, sleepy, and murmurs, “Hm? Who died?” Then he blinks, softening, and stares at David. “Oh.”
“Happy Anniversary,” says David, smirking, sliding the tray onto the bed.
Patrick’s eyes flicker with affection. “Oh. David.” He laughs, surprised. “David…”
David glances down to hide a blush. “Mm?”
“Aw...” Patrick leans to kiss him. “Aw, David...thank you…”
“Oh, don’t say that until you taste them…”
He takes a bite. David waits, anxious, and Patrick’s eyes widen. David shrinks back, not sure if that expression is good or bad.
Then Patrick says, “Okay, these are good. These are…” He shoves another bite into his mouth. “...really fucking good…”
David laughs, delighted that he swore for pancakes. He sits closer and steals a stray blueberry, watching his husband with a delicate smirk, and Patrick stretches to kiss him again. He smiles on his lips, drawing him closer, tasting maple syrup as the kiss deepens
Patrick pulls back to look into his eyes. “Thank you, I love you...”
“Mm. I love you too.” Another kiss. “And this is going to be the best anniversary we've ever had, so this is just one of many surprises…” One more kiss. “Actually, we have a lot to do today, so if you could eat faster…"
Patrick raises his brows. “You planned something?”
“You always want to do something recreational, and sweaty, and competitive," says David. "And this is your year because you spent last year in the rain, making everything perfect for us, so…"
Patrick brightens, waiting for him to elaborate.
David smirks. “Why don’t you try the orange juice?”
Patrick wrinkles his brow, gaze lingering on David, and he lifts the glass of orange juice off the tray to try it. Then he stops, noticing the tiny slip of paper underneath.
Happy Anniversary! You threw me a bit of a change-up here.
Patrick holds still, thumbing the paper, and looks at David with an expression so pure and earnest that David’s heart threatens to burst.
“You made me a scavenger hunt?”
David nods. “Mhm.”
Patrick laughs, shaking his head. Then he kisses David and says, “Guess we’re going to Ray’s.”
“Yes,” agrees David, adding, “I still don’t know what a change-up is.”
***
Twenty minutes later, they’re en route to Ray’s, hand-in-hand on Maple Street while the leaves fall. It’s cold but sunny, with a breeze that signals rain. They glance at each other as they go inside, the door gently jingling, and Ray waves from the corner, pausing as he photographs new parents and a baby.
“Happy Anniversary!” he calls, adding to his clients, “It’s their anniversary! They met here! Isn’t that so sweet? Now, big smiles!”
The baby starts to cry and David nods in resignation. He asked Ray that no clients be here on September 3rd, but that request seems to have gone in one ear and out the other. Patrick goes toward his old desk, no longer outfitted with a diploma, a globe, or the strange physics device David was too scared to ask about. It’s stacked with files and blueprints now.
Patrick smiles, searching for the next clue, and David joins him. Patrick pushes him back.
“No, you’ll give it away…”
David hesitates. “So. Full disclosure. I didn’t write the clues or hide them. Just the first one. I wanted to be able to do this together.”
Patrick softens, lifting his brows just a touch. “You hate this kind of thing.”
“Mhm. Yes. Yes I do.”
“So who…?”
“Stevie. And yes, that does scare me.”
Patrick looks away to hide a huge grin. Then he sits at his old desk, spreading his hands over it, and David sits in the seat he sat in four years ago. His gaze catches on Patrick and suddenly they’re looking at each other the way they did that day: suspended on each other, scared by their own heartbeats.
“So?” David breathes.
He watches Patrick reach into the second drawer, where he used to keep incorporation papers, and pull out the second clue.
Patrick reads it off. "I don’t look like flowers but dumbass David thinks I do."
“Mhm. So I. So I told her to be creative but now I’m realizing she wrote all of these while she was drunk.”
“Ah.” Patrick nods. “This is about poison ivy. Or oak. So the next one’s under the vase by the cash.” He glances up, assured, and grabs David’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“How -- never mind.”
Patrick pops his brows. “I didn’t get the Boy Scouts Rhymes and Riddles Merit Badge for nothing, David.”
“Okay. There are some things I don’t need to know about you.”
Patrick gestures, pretending to be confused. “So...so you don’t want to hear about my success with logic puzzles and Morse code and sudoku--”
“No,” says David, putting an arm around him as they leave. “Do you want to hear about my success with cocaine and yacht theft?”
“Already heard about that, David,” says Patrick, pocketing the clue.
David tips his head back, pained, and adds after a pause, “Is that a real merit badge or…?”
“Yep. Got that one, backpacking, forestry, mammal study--”
“I’ve never been more attracted to you.”
“--first aid, kayaking--”
“You couldn’t have done any of the sexy ones? Archery?”
“Stamp collecting?”
“Mm. Hot.”
Patrick grins. He takes David’s hand to tug him the last block to their store, then unlocks the door and steps inside.
David softens in the sunlight, looking around like he did on his first day. The room seems to change around him, black tiles out, white tiles in, mints by the cash. Suddenly he sees the layout they fell in love against.
This scavenger hunt was a bad idea. He's teary and it’s only noon.
“So...” Patrick murmurs, approaching the vase David once fatefully filled with poison oak. He lifts it up and finds another clue underneath, then waves it at David. “Too easy.”
David sniffles and plasters on a totally normal, totally not-crying smile. “Mhm.”
Patrick unrolls the clue and reads it.“I'm the closest you’ll ever get to Cancun...lol. She drew a palm tree.”
David sighs. "The cafe?"
“Gotta be,” Patrick agrees, adding, “David? Are these in order?"
David folds his arms, trying not to smile and give it away. Did he arrange the clues by venue, from their first meeting to their wedding? Yes. Is Patrick going to cry at the end? He goddamn better.
“Not in any...particular order.”
“Okay. Because so far--”
“Patrick? Do you have to overthink everything?”
“No, that’s your job.”
David rolls his eyes and grabs Patrick’s arm. Patrick smirks, pleased with himself, and follows David back outside. They head for Twyla’s Cafe Tropical and when they go inside, they find that the shades are drawn and the ceiling is strung with twinkling lights. Patrick glances at David, chuckling, but doesn’t have time to speak before Twyla presents them with a tray of mimosas. She grins.
“Happy Anniversary!” She sighs. “I can’t believe it’s been a year! Gosh, what am I saying? I’m sure you can’t either! You know, I remember the very first time you two--”
David selects a mimosa. “Yes, thank you!”
“Oh, right!” she whispers. “No talking!” She brandishes the tray at Patrick and mouths, “Go on!”
Patrick glances at David, wary, and David replies with a smile that could stop traffic. Patrick shakes his head and takes a sip.
“We’re not getting drunk at noon.”
David pouts. “Why not? Just because we bought a hot tub last time?”
“Yeah, that’s...exactly why,” Patrick replies, frowning through another sip. Then he groans, drinking more. “These are really good…”
“There you go,” says David, patting his ass and sending him toward their booth.
Twyla follows, giddy, and hands David another clue. “So. Stevie told me, no matter what, I can’t help you solve it."
David finishes his mimosa and motions for another, then studies the clue. He makes a face.
“I’m cold in the middle, hot on the outside, and I lose a lot of shape when I travel...what am I?”
Patrick looks up. “You?”
David kicks him. “Ugh!”
“Could be any fried food,” says Patrick, adding his empty glass to Twyla’s tray.
David looks at her. “Why are you still here?”
“Oh!” She smiles. “I’m waiting for you to figure it out because I have to bring you the answer for the next clue.”
“What did we eat on your birthday?” asks Patrick, taking the clue from David’s fingers.
David’s eyes drift as he recalls. “Something schlocky.”
“Don’t know what that means. Mozzarella sticks?”
Twyla beams. “Bingo.” She gestures with the tray. “Two more?”
Patrick glances at David, giving in. “Maybe if we’re buzzed we’ll get Stevie’s clues faster.”
David smiles. “Mm, there’s the man I love.”
Patrick nods at Twyla. She winks and returns to the kitchen, leaving them alone. Then Patrick stretches to take David’s hands, glancing around the cafe at a million little lights. He hums, chuckling, and pulls David close to kiss his knuckles. He smiles slightly.
“Did you pick a scavenger hunt so you could do paper clues?”
“Mm.” David plays with his hands. “Did you think I wouldn’t stay on theme?”
Patrick laughs. “No. I knew you would. What’s next year?”
“Cotton,” says David, raising his brows. “So I expect sheets. And bathrobes.And lounge pants. And I’d tell you to monogram them for both of us, but I can only see PUB so many times before I call your mom and berate her about your middle name being Ulrich.”
“It was my grandpa’s name, David--”
“Did they not think PUB through?”
“No, they did.” He thanks Twyla as she returns with another mimosa, adding after a sip, “You know, it would be PUR if--”
“No no, you had your chance to take my last name.”
“I wanted to take your last name!”
“No, you wanted to hyphenate!” says David. “Then your initials would be PURB. That sounds like a skin condition, Patrick!”
“DERB isn’t much better, David.”
“Forget the initials, I am not spelling out Rose-Brewer on paperwork for the rest of my life. I don’t have the time. And think about the store.”
“We wouldn’t have to change the store, David.”
“Imagine. Rose-Brewer Apothecary. What would we sell? Eye of newt?”
“Okay,” Patrick sighs, letting go of his hands. He sips his mimosa and glances at David with a tiny smirk. “We still could, you know.”
“Sell eye of newt?”
“Hyphenate.”
“I know you think it’s romantic, but when I drive you away in five years, it will be a pain in the ass to un-hyphenate.”
“David, I’ve put up with you for four years now, which is four years longer than anyone else has.”
“Um, three years, eight months.”
Patrick covers his face, huffs a laugh, then takes David’s hands again. “Okay. I have put up with you three years and eight months longer than anyone else has. So another five is nothing.”
“Mm.” David glances down to hide a smile. “What about another ten?”
“Maybe if you keep making me scavenger hunts.”
David nods, then leans into a kiss. Twyla materializes and taps the table.
“Mozzarella sticks, right out of the fryer! You have an option of ranch, blue cheese, or cheesy marinara dipping sauce!”
They look at the platter of soggy brown blobs. A clue is sticking up from the middle, saturated in oil. David fishes it out, glowering, and Patrick touches his knee under the table so he doesn’t snap.
“No sauce,” says David, shaking a crumb off the clue. He hands it to Patrick and sucks some mozzarella grease off his thumb. “Maybe another mimosa…”
Twyla nods, departing, and David folds his arms as he looks at Patrick.
“Alright, this one,” Patrick mumbles, “says you’ve done regrettable things between my sheets, I’d know, I have the receipts …”
David breathes out. “I regret asking Stevie to do this.”
“So, the motel,” says Patrick. “Which room did you two…? You know.”
“Um, she better not have hidden a clue in that room considering this is our wedding anniversary, not the memorial day of my dignity.”
Patrick glances down, bursting with the urge to laugh. He nods and plays with the stem of his glass. “So which room would be appropriate for our anniversary?”
“Mm, the room we had a private, romantic moment in? Let’s see…”
Patrick chuckles. “Right.”
“Literally zero privacy.”
“None. We had more privacy at my place.”
“With Ray.”
“Who basically stood by my bed like the Mean Girls cool mom.”
“Honestly!”
“Yeah. One step removed from asking if we needed help."
“Which we didn’t.”
“Sure didn’t.”
They glance at each other, both smiling over the rim of their glasses. David’s eyes go dark and his lips twitch in a telling smirk. Then he finishes his drink and slides his knuckles along Patrick’s wrist, musing and intentional.
“Ready?” he murmurs.
Patrick nods, drinking the last sip of his mimosa. They look apologetically at the mozzarella sticks as they slide out of the booth, then slip toward the door. David gestures at his stomach as he passes Twyla.
“Big breakfast,” he mouths.
She waves this off, wiping a nearby table. “No problem! We use leftover mozzarella sticks in our Italiano smoothie!”
David nods, withering inside, and looks at Patrick as they step onto the curb. He opens his mouth and gestures in silent outrage.
Patrick pats his back. “I know, David.”
David seethes. “God!”
“It’s a unique restaurant.”
“A cheese smoothie!”
Patrick rubs his back, soothing him. He huffs, stunned that he lives in a world where cheese smoothies are a thing, and leans on Patrick for support. Patrick turns his head and sets his chin on David’s shoulder.
“David?”
“Mm?“
“This was really sweet of you. Seriously. This whole thing.”
David softens a little, eyes drifting into his. He purses his lips but smiles. Then he nudges Patrick’s temple with his nose and kisses him above his ear. Patrick chuckles and stretches to kiss him, slowing as they walk toward the motel.
“Um, cheese smoothies notwithstanding,” David says quietly, stopping at a crosswalk, “I love the cafe. And not just because of our first date. That’s obviously one of my favorite memories there. But…” David pauses to bring Patrick into his arms. “Not my very favorite.”
Patrick settles into him. “That right?”
“Mm. No, my favorite is when your parents visited, and I overheard you tell them we were together, because you…” David breathes in. “Um, you said that with so much conviction, and I knew you were afraid you would lose them, but you decided I was...you decided I was worth it. So.” He sniffles. “So that’s my favorite memory.”
Patrick nods, suddenly serious. “Mine too.”
David hums, overwhelmed. “Why?”
“Because I knew whatever happened, you’d be there,” he says, adding as he presses closer, “David, I knew you loved me, I -- I knew you loved me more than you’ve ever loved anyone -- but that day’s when I actually felt that. And it’s the day I decided to ask you to marry me.”
David’s breath catches and he makes an embarrassing little snhuh sound. Patrick laughs, flushed, and slides his hands down David’s arms.
“Really?” David squeaks.
“Yeah. Really.”
“And you waited all of...two weeks to think that through?”
“I almost asked you that night.”
David swallows. “My God.”
“Yeah. Without a ring.”
“Ooh thank God you didn’t do that.”
Patrick laughs again. “I know.”
David shakes his head and kisses him hard, then bumps their noses together and tugs him a bit closer. They take hands, playing with each other’s fingers.
“How would you have asked me?” David murmurs after a moment. “That night?”
“I would have blurted it out as soon as we got home,” says Patrick. “But you uh…” He laughs again. “You distracted me.”
“Mhm,” agrees David, adding after a heady breath, “God that was good. It’s always good, but…”
“No, that was…” Patrick still thinks about that night sometimes. “Top five.”
“Mm. I think the dancing went to our heads."
Patrick kisses him. “Yeah, it was the dancing.”
David nods, hugging him closer. “Definitely the dancing. Not the fact you wanted to propose to me while we were…”
He trails off because words don’t seem to cover making love like the sun fell out of the sky.
“Would you have said yes?” Patrick asks.
David rolls his eyes, annoyed with himself. “Yes. Yes.”
“Like, mid-thrust, if I had--”
“My God!”
Patrick hangs his head and laughs in apology.
“Still yes,” David admits.
“Good,” says Patrick, kissing him again.
They sway here for a moment, staring at each other. Then David grumbles, tangles their fingers together, and mumbles, “Let’s get this over with.”
“The scavenger hunt?”
“Yes, Patrick. The scavenger hunt.”
They continue to the motel, walking slow along the baseball pitch, past the Schitt’s house, and around the dusty corner marked by a misprinted speed limit sign. It says 3 when it should say 30 and David used to stare at it every time he passed, haunted by the fact it never got fixed, terrified it was a metaphor for his life as it screeched to a halt. Maybe it was, but he’s happy going 3 instead of 30 now.
They cross the parking lot, headed instinctively for David’s old room, but Stevie interrupts them. She walks out of the lobby like she still works there, holding a room key and wearing a mulberry flannel, already emotional. David would rebuke her for her boozy clues, but he can’t now.
“So,” she manages, sniffling. “I gave you David’s old room but you have to be out by three.”
She gives David the key and it feels so familiar in his hand that he almost cries. He nods.
“No exceptions. Happy anniversary.” Her chin trembles but she keeps it together when she hugs David, then Patrick. Then she raises her brows. “Hope you like the room.”
“Ominous,” says David as they walk away.
“We should turn back,” Patrick agrees.
David unlocks the door as Stevie returns to the lobby, then inches inside, unsure if she installed live chickens, or lava, or two of his exes.
But the room is as it was -- well, except for rose petals on his bed, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and two chocolate-covered strawberries. Oh, and a book called Sex for Seniors: Getting it On In Your Golden Years.
“Okay this?” asks David, picking it up by the corner. “This is not funny.”
Patrick presses his lips together, clearly on the verge of hysterical laughter. He shakes his head. “No. Not funny at all.”
“It’s our first anniversary,” David complains.
“Well. You are 39.”
David snarls, ready to kill Stevie, his husband, and himself.
“Open it,” says Patrick. “Any hot tips?”
David flings it at him, knowing he’ll catch it. “Um. You open it.”
He does. His eyebrows shoot up. “There are diagrams.”
David closes his eyes, breathes out, then puts his hands up to his mouth in prayer. Patrick looks closer, making the face he made as a kid whenever he was studying a bug.
“This one’s called the Texas Two-Way --”
“Okay,” sighs David.
“Looks ambitious for seniors, honestly--”
“Patrick. If you don’t put that down and Texas-Two-Way me right now, I’m leaving.”
“Well, I would…” He turns the book to show David the diagram in question. “But I don’t think you can stand on your head like that.”
David holds his hands up at the image. “My God!”
“Yeah. That’s a trip to the hospital waiting to happen.” Patrick flips a page, hums, then gestures at David like he’s about to impart crucial info. “David. Did you use extra denture cream? Because the book says--”
“Okay,” says David, crossing the room to take the book from him and throw it wherever. It thuds on the nearest wall and he grabs Patrick’s face in his hands. “I’ll never forgive Stevie for this. Shut up and I’ll get us champagne.”
“Shouldn’t we keep that?” Patrick murmurs, looking at the book. “I mean, as seniors, we--”
David pushes him onto the bed, going for the champagne, fighting a smirk. Patrick chuckles, loosening his collar, and David eyes him.
“If you say seniors one more time,” he murmurs, putting a glass into Patrick’s hand, “I’ll murder you.”
Patrick kisses him. “Okay.”
David smiles on his mouth, reluctant but helpless. “Happy anniversary.”
“Huh.” A grin, a deeper kiss. “Happy anniversary, David.”
David tries not to melt at his own name, but he does. Buckles a bit, almost flails. He’s still so in love that he’s dizzy. He swallows. Today’s for Patrick. This stupid scavenger hunt is designed to make Patrick messy, not him. He gets out one incoherent syllable before Patrick pulls him onto the bed.
“I didn’t think about doing this here this much,” Patrick murmurs, “not to do it now…”
David nods and rucks his sweater up. “No, of course not…”
Patrick chuckles, teeth catching David’s bottom lip. David surges to kiss him. He tastes like chocolate and champagne, but mostly he tastes like Patrick. His husband. That indefinable taste that’s only his.
“I love you,” David mumbles.
Patrick smiles. “I love you, David…”
The champagne goes forgotten for the next hour. Or two. Maybe three. By the time they’re catching their breath, the sun is low in the sky. David grins, uncharacteristically open, and Patrick hooks his finger under the silver chain around David’s neck to keep him close. Their lips are sore, bright and brighter pink with every kiss.
“Mm so...I had plans for you…” David says.
Patrick breathes in, sleepy. “Did you?”
“Um, yes,” says David, affronted. “There are like...ten more clues.”
“Oh no,” says Patrick, faking concern.
David rolls his eyes, thumbing his clavicle, and kisses him softly. “Did you tire yourself out?”
Patrick grins. “Yeah. Didn’t I tire you out too?”
“Yes, you did, my legs are literally jelly but someone has to keep us on schedule.”
“That’s my job,” says Patrick.
“Mhm. You’re not very good at it.”
Patrick raises his brows slightly, then drifts into a deeper kiss. “I’m good at other things…”
David pushes him away, trying not to laugh. He forgot how suggestive and unapologetic Patrick can be -- the first time he encountered this side of his personality, he almost fainted. Fuck he loves his husband like this…
“You have to stop,” he murmurs.
“No I don’t,” says Patrick, fingers skimming David’s wrist, palm, hip.
David closes his eyes and inhales. He’s about to give in, scavenger hunt be damned, when the door shakes with a resounding knock.
“Let’s go, lovebirds!”
David sighs. “Why is Stevie still here?”
“To make sure we leave?” suggests Patrick.
Another knock. “It’s almost four!”
Patrick hops up, pulls on his boxers, and goes for the door.
“Put your clothes on!” David yells.
“Why? Think she wants some of this?”
“Okay, I know she does, she’s proposed a three-way like, ten times--”
“Well, that’s not happening,” says Patrick, putting on his sweater. “At least not today…”
David covers his face and breathes out. Cum-Dumb Patrick, Pain Killer Patrick, and Baseball Patrick occupy the same Venn Diagram of saucy, reckless disregard.
Patrick opens the door. “Hey Stevie.”
Stevie blinks at him, then looks at David. He raises his brows in solidarity.
“We’re gonna need a few,” says Patrick.
She nods, stone-faced. “Clearly.”
He glances at David, grabbing his jeans off the nearest chair. “I’ll get the car. I’m assuming the next stop is Stevie’s place?”
“Why would you assume that?” asks David.
“Because you’re going in order,” says Patrick.
“You weren’t supposed to figure that out.”
Patrick pats the doorframe, ignoring this. “Back in ten.”
David waves him off. Stevie steps aside so Patrick can leave, then pops her brows at David, mouthing wow.
“Don’t--”
“Is he always like that?”
“Mm bossy and confident? Only when he tops.”
Her eyes widen in delight. “Didn’t need to know, but now that I do know--”
David holds up a finger. “No. Mm no.” He turns away from her, snuggling under the sheets. “You already know too much.” He breathes in, urging himself to wake up, and blinks a few times. “Where are my pants?”
He listens to her walk away, apparently unwilling to find his pants. Rude. He lingers another moment, still shaky, then gets up and gets dressed. He bullies his hair into a style that says no I didn’t just have messy motel sex all afternoon then tugs on his jacket, glancing outside as Patrick’s car pulls up. He rolls his eyes at the undeniable thrill that rolls through him, top to toe like he’s sixteen again.
Then he exits the room (leaving a path of rose-petal destruction behind him) and slides into the passenger’s seat.
“So,” he says, breathy, taking Sex for Seniors from under his jacket. “Obviously we’re keeping this. For posterity.”
Patrick grins, about to speak, but the next clue falls out of the book onto David’s lap.
“Of course,” says Patrick.
David rolls his eyes and picks it up, reading, “You weren’t supposed to drink me .”
“Her whiskey?”
“Definitely her whiskey.”
They both nod. Then David smiles and leans to kiss Patrick, echoing their first kiss, one parking space over. Patrick chuckles and thumbs over David’s knuckles, then puts the car in gear and backs out, turning toward Main Street.
“If we're reliving our relationship,” says Patrick, “we probably should have saved what we just did for Stevie's place…”
“We're retracing our relationship,” David says. “Not reliving it. If we were reliving it, we would have eaten those mozzarella sticks and regretted it for the next 4 hours, and I would have told Alexis I kissed you.”
“You told Alexis you kissed me? That night?”
“Mhm. Instantly.”
“Not Stevie?”
“Um, Stevie took too much credit for our relationship without me telling her that.” David pauses. “I told her too. I texted her, like, a line of exclamation points with no context.”
“She did recognize we were on a date,” says Patrick, turning onto her street. “Unlike some people…”
“Oh my God. How would I have known that was a date?”
“I was doing everything I could to show that I liked you, David, so…”
“Okay, I'm not great at reading between the lines, and no one as nice or normal or sane as you had ever been interested in me so--”
“What did you need? Skywriting?”
“That would have been helpful, yes.”
Patrick chuckles as they pull along Stevie's apartment. They meet eyes, lingering here, still a bit drunk on each other. Then they go inside, walking slow through the familiar hallway, and push into her apartment, 3B. David heads for the shelf above her stove, grabbing the whiskey, and yanks the next clue out from under it. Then he frowns as two more clues fall. She was supposed to spread these out at Patrick’s old apartment and the baseball pitch, but she went against his instructions.
He picks up the clues and reads all three. “So. We’re skipping two stops because Stevie thought we’d run out of time at the motel.”
“Which we did.”
“Which we did,” David says softly, adding, “So the next clue says... I’m infested with ticks and I make David sick, but I’m where Patrick gets his kicks…
“The...forest?” suggests Patrick.
“Mhm, the…” David trails off, glancing at him with a slight smile. “You know.”
Patrick softens. “Oh.” He breathes in. “You’re going to hike with me?”
“Only far enough to find the next clue…”
Patrick smiles. “Deal.”
David nods, pocketing the clues, and joins him in the doorway. They return to their car and head for a nearby wildlife preserve. David hums as he stares at Patrick, eyes bright, almost sparkling. His cheek’s dented with a distinctive laugh-line, an expression that belongs to Patrick alone; no one else sees him like this, even Stevie.
“Patrick?”
Patrick glances at him as he merges onto a dirt road, slowing by the trailhead.
“We should do this every year,” he says.
“Hike?” Patrick asks in disbelief.
He nods, not sure where this came from. “Mhm. This...this is our place. More than any other place. So I can put up with ticks. And bears. And foot injuries.”
Patrick stops the car by a massive pine, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Yeah?”
David nods again, bursting. “Mm.”
Patrick shakes his head. “Okay.” Then he laughs and stretches across the car to kiss David hard. “I love you.”
David grins. “I love you.”
He nudges Patrick out of the car, hopping out too, and he goes to the trunk. He pulls out a first aid kit and tosses it to Patrick, eyeing him, then grabs a picnic blanket and rolls it under his arm. Patrick glances at the sky, nose slightly wrinkled, checking for rain.
“We have an hour,” he murmurs, studying a brooding cumulus cloud. “Maybe less.”
“Mhm, did you also get a weather badge as a boy scout?”
“Actually yeah.”
David nods, thrusting the blanket into his arms. He chuckles and turns, reaching to take David’s hand, and they walk toward the trailhead together. Then Patrick looks at David’s shoes -- bright black sneakers that cost more than his car.
“You had to wear those?”
“Yes, they went,” says David, gesturing at his outfit in annoyance.
“So when they get muddy, you aren’t going to get upset?”
David hesitates, staring at his shoes. Five minutes later, he’s following Patrick up the trail, two dog-poop bags fashioned around his shoes to protect them from the elements.
“Could you make more noise?” Patrick murmurs as David crinkle-squishes up the path.
“No!” says David, annoyed. His offer to come here every year already feels like a distant memory. “No, Patrick, I couldn’t--”
One of the bags snags on a stump. He stumbles, catching himself on Patrick, and Patrick glances over his shoulder.
“Should I carry you?”
“You can’t carry me!”
“Wanna bet?”
David turns him around and smacks his ass. “Just walk.”
Patrick looks over his shoulder again. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice today?”
“Um, this is nice considering I’m in the woods, wearing poop bags!”
“You picked this, David. We’re here because of you.”
David rolls his eyes, unable to refute this, and follows Patrick at a faster clip. He eases into the hike eventually, watching Patrick, musing and mellow as he drifts in his mind. Patrick seems to sense his shifting mood, because he glances at him from the crest of the next hill.
He smiles. “David?”
David presses his lips together, fingers trailing on the bark of a nearby cottonwood. He glances up, unsure if Patrick spoke or his voice was in his head.
Patrick leans on a tree. “You coming?”
“Mm. Yes. I was just…” He catches up and pauses with Patrick, staring over a valley. Then he looks at him, gentle and smiling. “I was thinking how I would have asked you to marry me."
“You would have asked me to marry you?”
David holds still, then smirks, unable to resist. “You thought I wouldn’t?”
“Why do you think I asked you?”
“Oh my God. Were you waiting on me?”
“No, not at all, but I didn’t think…” Patrick trails off. “How would you have asked me?”
“In the store,” says David, meeting his eyes. “After we closed. In the back. I actually…” He pauses, leaning his head back, determined not to cry. “I asked your grandmother if I could have her wedding ring. I was going to have it resized. And have the opal taken out, obvi…”
Patrick stares. “You asked my grandmother that?”
“Mhm. She said no. And yelled at me for asking.”
Patrick starts to laugh, stunned. Then he shakes his head and pulls David close, thumbing his temples as he kisses him.
“David?"
“Mm?”
“She only said no because she knew I was asking you. I told her right after my parents visited.”
“So you...you called and said hi grandma, I’m gay and I’m proposing to David?”
“Yeah. She has a strong heart, so.”
David chuckles.
“She knew,” Patrick adds. “About you, I mean. Knew I was in love with you from how I talked about you. I was talking to her once when I first met you, and she told me...well, you know how she is…”
David raises his brows. He's only met Patrick’s grandmother once, but that meeting was plenty to go on -- she's five feet two inches of gun-toting, sarcastic ferocity.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Yeah. She told me you sound like a goddamn pain in the ass--”
David laughs.
“--but I’d be an idiot to let you go.”
David softens, nodding. “She said that when you first met me?”
“Yeah. And I told myself she was talking about us being business partners. But I knew she wasn’t. And she knew I knew.”
“Mhm. That’s very sweet but I’m wondering what you told her that made her call me that.”
“Oh. I told her about the voicemails.”
“Of course you did,” sighs David, latching their fingers together as they continue down the path.
They reach the summit a few minutes later, both quiet as they look over a sweeping, verdant stretch of forest; the leaves are just starting to turn, red and gold dotting the canopy like colorful snow. Patrick breathes in, at peace, and David glances at him. He presses his lips together, then smiles hard, squeezing Patrick's hand.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs.
Patrick laughs and meets his eyes, then kisses him. “Happy anniversary.”
“We’re still on a scavenger hunt,” David reminds him, smiling more softly. “But the sun is going down, and last time you went on a night hike you broke your ankle, so I’m going to help you.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know where she hid the clues.”
“I know where she hid this clue,” says David, stooping by a rocky overhang. “Because without guidance, she would have hid it in the middle of the forest, and we would have wandered around for days, eventually succumbing to dehydration and exposure--” He swears, one finger scraping on a rock as he digs around for the box Stevie left. He pulls it out and opens it, then blinks. She left the clue, as promised. She also left a joint, a lighter, and a walkman. “Mm.”
“What?” asks Patrick, pausing as he spreads the blanket out. He leans over. “Ah.”
David takes the joint and gestures with it, naughty. “Ooh.”
Patrick hesitates. “Oh no.”
“Ooh, yes--”
“That’s my walkman,” Patrick interrupts. “From high school.”
“What?” asks David.
“Yeah,” says Patrick, pained. “I...remember the wrap-party for Cab?”
David raises his brows. “Better than you do. You were drinking whiskey out of a lampshade at one point.”
“Yeah. Well, while I was doing that, Stevie and I were talking about high school. And music. And she asked if she could borrow my old walkman. She said she had an idea.”
David balks. “So you gave it to her?”
“Mm. Yeah.” Patrick’s eyes are slightly glazed, like he’s reliving time in the trenches. “Why do you think I ran home in the middle of the party?”
“I wasn’t thinking about why, Patrick. I was too busy chasing you with your shoes.”
“Yeah.” Patrick folds his arms, staring at the walkman. “What do you think she did to it?”
David glances at it, then softly smirks. He pops the case open and looks at the cassette inside. “I think...she made us a mixtape.” He twirls the joint between his fingers. “Shall we?”
Patrick looks at it, wary. Then his lips twitch. “Okay. But only because I trust you.”
“Oh,” David says wickedly, lighting the joint. “You shouldn’t…”
He pops up to join Patrick on the picnic blanket, buzzing with excitement, and takes a deep drag. Then he twitches his finger at Patrick so he leans close, kissing him to exhale the smoke. He chuckles when Patrick coughs.
“Mm…” He spirals his knuckles over Patrick’s throat. “Relax. Ignore your gag reflex.” He pauses to smirk, pure evil. “I know you can--”
“Okay, David?” Another cough. “I don’t need to think about that right now.”
David wags his brows. “I’m thinking about it right now…”
Then he frowns at himself. Stevie, of all people, should know how horny he gets when he smokes. At this rate he’s going to be the second Mr. Rose cited with public indecency in a national park. But he shrugs, giving in, and kisses Patrick as he passes him the joint.
“Have you ever had sex outside?” he murmurs.
Patrick sighs. “Yes, David.”
David pops his brows, delighted, and opens his mouth in surprise. “When?”
“With you, genius,” he replies, taking a skeptical puff.
David jumps back. “What? When?”
“Canada Day? In our backyard? Two months ago? Do you have dementia?”
“Oh my God, that was not outside,” says David, stealing the joint back. “That was on our patio.”
Patrick looks at him, worried. “Which is...outside.”
“Mm no. I mean outside outside. Like this.”
“In the woods?” asks Patrick. “Who does that?”
David boops him. “We could.”
“Yeah, David, unless Stevie also hid lube somewhere--”
David laughs and kisses him, then passes him the joint. He flicks his side to encourage him when he hesitates, nodding as he inhales. Patrick wrinkles his nose, shaking his head, coughing harder.
“Don’t like this.”
David takes the joint back and sucks on it, then lays back on the blanket and spools smoke into the air, chuckling as it rises. “You will. C’mere…”
Patrick lays beside him and their hands find their usual places -- Patrick’s on David’s chest, David’s on Patrick’s side, nose-to-nose and tangled up, stargazing in each other’s eyes.
“Hi,” laughs David.
“Hi,” Patrick murmurs. “Should we play the mixtape?”
“Mm. Do we value our ears and/or sanity?”
“We did listen to Twyla’s remix of A Little Bit Alexis, so…no.”
David grimaces. “Mhm.”
Patrick kisses him, then reaches behind him for the walkman. He puts one earbud in David’s ear and the other in his own, then looks into David’s eyes, finger hovering over play.
“Just do it,” David sighs.
Patrick clicks play, snuggling closer. Then they stare at each other, recognizing the voices instantly. It’s the Jazzagals. It’s Always Be My Baby. And it’s note for note like their wedding. David starts to cry, fanning himself, shaking his head. Patrick laughs, nuzzling into him, sniffling hard.
“When did they do this?” David squeaks.
“You thought they didn’t do a studio version?”
“Oh my God,” whispers David, wiping his face. “My God, okay.” He breathes in hard, whines against the urge to sob, and nods. “Okay. Okay.”
Then Patrick grins and sings along with the chorus. David shuts his eyes, melting, and pushes against him as he cries.
“No no. Not fair.”
“You’ll always be a part of me...I’m part of you, indefinitelyyyy…”
David laughs, shaking his head again. Then he sing-songs, “Boy you know you can’t escape me…”
Patrick laughs hard, beaming, and kisses him. “Aw, David--”
David cuts him off with another kiss; this one’s undeniable, hot and hungry, and it lasts to the very end of the song. Patrick pulls back, almost shy, and swipes his thumb over David’s chin as the guitar fades out. He’s about to speak, but a familiar voice crackles on the walkman.
“Is it recording?”
“Yes, Mrs. Rose!”
David looks at Patrick in surprise. He hasn’t heard his mom’s voice in weeks. Hearing it now, recorded, almost makes him cry anew.
“Hello? Is it on?"
“It’s on!” Stevie yells.
“David?” Moira continues on the recording. “Hello, David. Hello, Patrick.”
She sighs and David’s sure she put her hand on her heart.
“ It is your wedding day. And Stevie, oh...lovely Stevie! Stevie asked me to record something for your anniversary. Anniversaries! Many! Twenty-five at least, unless David leaves you for Tilda!” She scoffs at the idea. “So. I am supposed to...Stevie? What am I supposed to do?”
Stevie huffs in the background. “Give them your advice for a long, happy marriage?”
Moira screams softly, excited. “Yes! Yes, that’s right!” She pauses to clear her throat. “David…” Then she stops, choked up. “Can I have a moment?”
“No,” says Stevie.
“Well then,” Moira murmurs, and David can picture her adjusting her glasses as she reads her notes. She clears her throat again. “David. Patrick. My sweet sublime bébés.” A sniffle. “I only have one piece of advice, because already, you are a better couplet than anyone I know, myself and John excluded of course!” Papers shuffle. A pause. “My advice...is to believe in what you have. Never doubt how good it is. Never think anyone has more.” Another sniffle. “No.” Her voice takes on a rare smile. “No one has more than you two have. But more to the point... you will never have more than you have right now. Whether you see it or not, and one day you will...you will!...you’ll know you have the world. The whole world.”
The tape clicks.
“Is this the mic? Oh, I should start now?”
Johnny taps the mic and Patrick and David both wince at the feedback.
“Yes!” shouts Stevie from afar. “Just -- no, don’t touch the -- yeah. There you go.”
“So I talk now?”
“Yes!"
Johnny clears his throat. “Well well well! It’s your wedding day!”
“No, their anniversary!” says Stevie.
“But it’s--”
“Yes, Mr. Rose, I know it’s their wedding today. But this is for their anniversary.”
“Ah!” Johnny chuckles and David can picture him adjusting his second suit button. “Testing? Testing! Hi, son...it is...September 3, 2020, and you’re getting married in a few hours. It’s really coming down out here. Cats and dogs. Well, when Moira and I got married, it was raining too. Of course, we were in the Fairmont Miramar, not outside...oh, Stevie’s telling me to wrap it up. So. It was raining, and your mother was wearing silk, so…”
“You can’t get silk wet,” David murmurs to Patrick.
“Ah,” he murmurs back, listening with a pure, sunny smile.
“...and no one brought umbrellas. No one. I mean, this was LA in July! But it was raining nonetheless.” He clasps his hands. “So. I gave her my jacket, and she gave me her shoes, and she sprinted past the cameras and...anyway, this was my long way of saying...let the rain in sometimes, because that’s one of my best, very best, memories.” He chuckles. “Boy, could she run when the paps were after her--”
The tape cuts again and Alexis starts to speak.
“Oh, so cute, okay, hi! So.”
She clears her throat like Moira and David’s sure she’s tossing her hair over her shoulders.
“My advice is short and sweet. Like Patrick. So. In my experience, which is more than both of you have combined, love can make you someone you aren’t. It can box you in and make you small. And before Ted, and before you met each other, I thought that’s all it was. But I realized real love lets you find yourself. It lets you grow.” A loud sniffle. “David? You went from caring about literally nothing to buying a house for your husband. And Patrick? You moved away from home, hoping you’d find something to be brave about, and you did, and you were. So. Sometimes I ask myself if I’m better off after we lost everything. I know I am. And I know you are too.” She laughs. “I love you. Happy Anniversary!”
Patrick wipes a wandering teardrop off David’s cheek. David shakes his head slightly, lost in love for his husband, his family.
The tape transitions to Stevie. She sounds like she’s walking.
“So,” she murmurs, “I’m walking to Marcy and Clint’s room. But in the meantime, I’ll say what I wanted to say.” Her breath shakes a bit. “So. Happy Anniversary. Yes Patrick, this is what I wanted your walkman for. Because even then, I knew you’d get married.” She swallows and laughs. “David, um, you know I don’t have advice you haven’t already heard. So I’ll just say this. I love both of you, so much, and my life wouldn’t be what it is without you. So…” She’s crying openly now. “Thank you.”
Now Marcy’s talking, ecstatic. “Patrick! David! Oh, hi! Oh my goodness, Happy Anniversary my sweet boys...let’s see, marriage advice?” She chuckles. “I’m not sure you two need any. But here’s mine. You’ll wake up together, you'll make the same coffee, the same breakfast...you’ll do the same job and come home to the same person...and sometimes the days will blur together. Well. I’m here to tell you love’s not always exciting. It’s just….oh…” Her Ontarian accent really shines on the last syllable. “It’s just home. So if you find yourself repeating day after day, don’t worry. It just means you found your person.”
Another click on the tape.
“Patrick?” Clint pauses to chuckle and so does Stevie, pushing the mic closer. “Hi son. Hi David. Well, I heard Marcy’s advice and I can’t top that, but I will say one thing.” He breathes in. “David, well, I like to think I know my son pretty well. And I liked to think that all through high school, college, his MBA...but until that night at that cafe, until he told me about you, about who he is, I didn’t really know him. So I want to thank you, because you brought us closer. And because I know when I’m long gone, he’ll have someone who understands him. And son? I want to thank you too. Because you taught me something. You taught me to be brave, and that’s no small thing. No sir. Love you. Love you both, happy anniversary.”
The tape rumbles for a moment and David expects it to shift to another song. Patrick’s crying -- really crying, and he never cries -- and their fingers are tangled hard, almost painful. David opens his mouth to speak, shaken, but another voice comes through.
“Is this for TikTok?”
“No ma’am,” says Stevie, withholding laughter.
It’s Patrick’s grandma.
“Good,” she says flatly.
David may have met her just once, at Christmas; he may have been drunk. But he knows her well enough to know she was puffing a cigarette while she talked. He knows she was sequestered in her motel room as the rain poured, saving her energy for the ceremony.
“Marriage advice? Huh. Don’t yell at each other. Have plenty of sex. Get chickens. Chickens will annoy you more than you’ll annoy each other. Or have kids. Chicken or kids.” A pause, a shift and squeak of the floorboards. “No.” A chuckle, the sound of a cut-crystal whiskey glass being set down. “No, none of it matters. You know what matters? It matters that you want each other to be happy. That’s it. If you ever don’t want that, split up.” Then she hums. “And Patrick? I love you sweetheart, you go on, you be happy, and don’t you worry about me.”
David’s sure this is the grand finale. Nothing could top Patrick’s grandma. But another voice crackles on the tape. His voice. Stevie never told him she was recording.
“--what if he says no?”
“David, he’s not going to say no…”
“But…”
“David.”
He remembers this conversation. It was a nameless boozy night, clear and hot, and he was in her apartment with a glass of merlot in both hands. He was tipsy enough to float a proposal, soft enough to cry, gesturing through every word like he couldn’t believe it.
“I love him so much.”
“I know, David.”
“No,” David says. “No. I love him. Love him like I’d die for him.”
“I know, David,” she echoes, a touch softer.
A big inhale. The sound of glasses being refilled. Music in the background like a metronome.
“This is it, isn’t it?” asks David, voice breathy and high.
“This is it,” says Stevie.
The tape clicks one more time, finally spent. David and Patrick look at each other, soft and tearful.
“I love you,” David mumbles, earbud half out, trembling with every breath.
Patrick kisses him. “I love you.”
David laughs, shaking his head. “Happy anniversary, Patrick.”
Patrick grins. “Happy anniversary, David.”