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David is trying to remember the first time it crossed his mind. The first time he thought, Oh, Patrick might be good at this.
The first time is before they’re even together, when Rose Apothecary is brand new and this idea, this notion that would eventually end up taking root and turning his life upside down is barely more than a passing thought. Just an observation, really, that’s there one moment and gone the next, being batted away by a fresh order of bath salts that need to be sorted.
A woman has brought her stroller into the store and the child within it is fussy. David’s not sure if it’s a boy or a girl nor does he really care. It’s making noise, though, and he is definitely not a fan of that.
Incorrect, he might even say.
But before the mother can put down the moisturizer she’s examining (and needs), Patrick is picking up the feathered headband Alexis left by the register and gently dragging it in the air in a careful arc, low enough for the baby to see below the hood of the stroller, but high enough that its grabby fingers can’t get at it. The fussing stops instantly.
Thank God.
“See? Life’s not so bad,” Patrick murmurs with a light chuckle as the baby makes another grab for the feather.
The mother offers Patrick a grateful smile and turns to pick up a bottle of toner and a container of under-eye cream (which she needs more than the moisturizer). If Patrick’s quick thinking is going to boost their sales, then so be it.
He moves to turn back to the bath salts but not before Patrick catches his eye, and something on his face must makes him pause.
“What?” Patrick mouths but David merely shakes his head and affects a careful air of practiced nonchalance.
“Nothing.”
And in that moment, it is.
xxxxxx
The second time it happens is right after that disastrous baseball game, when David is sitting on a picnic table and stuffing a third hotdog in his mouth because he’s earned it. Patrick had gone off to find him a new ice pack and he scans the crowd, looking for his snack of a boyfriend in his cute little hat, but everyone’s wearing cute little hats (though none of them wear it as well as his boyfriend) so it’s like Where’s Waldo. David sighs and wipes his hands on a napkin, stretching his back out as his muscles protest.
Ronnie and Roland are drowning their sorrows by the beer cooler and his father looks to be giving Bob a play-by-play of David’s game-winning goal, but there’s still no sign of Patrick. His gaze skirts past the playground just in time to watch a girl take a tumble down the stairs and promptly burst into tears. He immediately stands because someone should do something but then out of nowhere, Patrick is there. Because of course he is.
David is slightly too far away to hear what they’re saying, but the girl is crying and Patrick is running a comforting hand up and down her back while he examines whatever wound she has on her knee. He says something that makes her laugh through her tears before scooping her up in his arms and lifting her like she weighs nothing at all. Granted, she is all of, like, seven, but still. David can do nothing but stare at his boyfriend as he carries her over to the table where he’s currently immobile, the ache in his back forgotten.
Patrick is murmuring to her and as he gets closer, David can just make out him say, “Where are your parents, sweetheart?” as he places her on the table and holds the calf of her injured leg in his hand.
“I dunno,” she hiccups and he brushes her hair away from her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.
“This is my partner, David,” Patrick says, squeezing his shoulder. “He’s hurt like you, but he’s going to keep you company while I go snag a first aid kit, okay?” He smiles at the girl before giving him a look that seems to say Behave yourself.
And David will because Patrick just used the word partner for the first time so behaving himself is basically a given since he can’t form coherent thought at the moment.
“How did you get hurt?” the girls asks and David blinks back to the present, gingerly sitting back down next to her. He doesn’t like kids much in general, but he definitely doesn’t appreciate it when they can talk.
“Um, I got hit. With a ball.”
“Ouch,” she murmurs, wiping her face, and he searches for a tissue before handing her a napkin. At least she’s stopped actively crying, but that doesn’t keep him from looking around to see how close Patrick is to returning. Luckily, he’s jogging over with a first aid kit in hand.
“Here we go,” he says, placing the kit in David’s lap and opening it to pull out an antiseptic swab and a large bandaid. He scoots the girl back on the table so she can extend her leg without holding it up, looks seriously at her knee, and then meets her eyes. “Looks bad. I think we might have to take the leg.”
The girl’s eyes go wide and her face pales.
“Stay here,” Patrick continues, “I’ll get the chainsaw,” and only then does the girl let loose a peal of nervous, but genuine laughter. Even David can’t help but let out undignified snort.
It’s such a bad joke, such a dad joke, and then David freezes because, yes. That’s what Patrick is. Perhaps not technically, but he looks, dresses, and acts like a soccer dad. A little league assistant coaching, boy scout guiding soccer dad.
“Annie?!” a woman yells, breaking David’s terrifying epiphany, and the girl (Annie, apparently) waves.
“Over here!”
“Are you okay?” the woman gasps, gently touching her leg before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Uh huh,” Annie replies. “Mr. Patrick and his friend patched me up.”
David thinks that’s generous. He really didn’t do much of anything. Patrick introduces himself and moves to the side so the mother can tend to her daughter, looping an arm around David’s shoulder and gently rubbing the spot on his back where the ball hit, just like he had done to Annie after she fell.
It’s the first time David acknowledges that Patrick is good at this. This comforting thing.
xxxxxx
The third time it happens, it’s the result of a frantic phone call from Jocelyn about needing an emergency babysitter for that evening.
“Oh God, no,” is the first thing David blurts before allowing the phone to be manhandled by Patrick from his palm. David can only hear his side of the conversation, but it’s a battle they’re most definitely losing.
“Uh huh, sure… Yeah, no problem, Jocelyn… Great, we’ll see you then.”
“What did you do?” he spits when Patrick hangs up but his fiance merely glares.
“Be good.”
“I just need you to say, ‘nice person.”
“You’re a good person.”
“That’s not nice.”
Which is how they end up with Roland Jr. being handed over in his carrier by a harried Jocelyn just an hour later as she shoves the bag full of baby paraphernalia into David’s hands.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, earning a gentle elbow to his ribs from Patrick with the arm that’s not holding the baby.
“Don’t worry, Jocelyn. We’ve got this handled.”
“Do we, though?” David asks, but Patrick just ignores him. Jocelyn says her goodbyes and blows one more kiss to the baby before David all but slams the door in her face. He doesn’t even get an admonishment from his fiance because Patrick is too busy smiling down at the drool-covered face staring up at him.
It’s going to be a long evening.
“Hey, kiddo,” Patrick murmurs as he places the carrier on the coffee table and begins to unbuckle the straps keeping Roland Jr. safely secure.
“Why, why, why are you taking him out?” David blurts, voice high with panic. “He looks perfectly content where he is.”
Patrick gives him that fond smile that makes him a bit weak in the knees, but says nothing else, merely pulls the baby to his chest and gets one hand securely under his bum and the other on his back.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“It’s been three minutes,” David points out and Patrick chuckles, perfectly catching the pacifier the baby plucks out of his mouth and tries to throw.
All in all, Roland Jr. is… not that bad, actually. Sure, he cries, but only when he’s hungry or needs a change, both of which Patrick handles like he’s been heating bottles and wrestling diapers on babies that just want to crawl away all his life.
Then again, maybe he has. He has cousins like siblings, he said. Many of them, from the sounds of it. Surely some of them have procreated by now.
Patrick is taking a quick shower, thanks to a mishap with a jar of pureed peas, but Rollie Jr. is asleep and David can’t help but crane his neck and drift closer, approaching him like the bomb squad to a suspicious package. Jocelyn didn’t give them a pen or a crib or whatever they’re called these days, so they’ve piled pillows like Hadrian’s wall around the center of the bed, and the baby is sleeping peacefully on his back, little tummy rising and falling with every breath he takes. His lips move around the pacifier still in his mouth before he drops off again, one arm above his head, the other clutching at the fleece onesie he wears.
David looks, but doesn’t want to touch. Patrick knew this without him having to say it, which is why Patrick has done all of the heavy lifting, leaving David to fetch formula or wipes or whatever else the little minion might need. But he actually looks sweet like this. Cute, even. You’d never know he was the product of Roland Schitt and what David can only assume was a very cheap bottle of merlot.
They turned the lights out and lit a bunch of candles on the mantle. This is hardly a romantic setting, but Patrick’s lights don’t have dimmers, so they wanted it to be dark enough for the baby to sleep, but not so dark that they couldn’t keep an eye on him from the living room. The bathroom door opens, spilling light into the bedroom, and David jumps, panicked at having been caught staring. Patrick just raises an eyebrow and continues tugging his t-shirt on as he makes his way over to the bed.
“He okay?” he whispers and David nods.
“I guess so. He’s still breathing, so I assume that counts.”
“It does. Good job, babe,” he teases and David feels warmth spread through his veins.
“Thanks, honey,” he replies, leaning back into Patrick’s chest as he wraps his arms around David’s waist. It’s all very… domestic. If only Stevie could see him now. She’d never let him live it down.
Patrick leans over and runs his finger over the back of Rollie Jr.’s hand, smiling softly as he twitches in sleep.
And David can’t help the way his heart clenches because Patrick isn’t just good, he’s a natural. And it’s the first time David feels something else; something that feels remarkably like regret. Not for himself, but for Patrick. He regrets that he’s depriving someone so clearly meant to be a father of the opportunity simply because Patrick chose him. Sure, they haven’t had that conversation yet, but he’s pretty sure he’s made his feelings on the matter clear. But here, in this moment, his feelings on the matter are not as clear as they used to be. In fact, as Patrick holds him tighter, they’re downright muddy.
He doesn’t ever want Patrick to regret him. Regret them.
Silently, Patrick tugs him over to the living room and pulls him down on the couch, letting David lean against his chest as he presses a kiss in David’s hair.
The four gold rings on his left hand catch the candlelight from the flames on the mantle.
It’s a conversation they’ll have to have eventually. Suddenly, David isn’t entirely sure what he wants to say.
xxxxxx
But they don’t - not really - and the fourth time it happens, it’s their wedding day. Despite Stevie’s mockery and Ted’s assurances that it’s not possible, David is genuinely concerned he may die of happiness.
His father is holding court by the band, his mother is downing her God-knows-what-number gin by the bar, and Ted and Alexis are attempting to coax a disgruntled Stevie onto the dance floor.
The only one unaccounted for of his immediate family is his husband.
Husband.
Holy fuck, that’s going to take some getting used to.
He catches Marcy’s eye across the room and she smiles in his direction before nodding at the hallway and giving him a wink.
Oh how he adores his new mother-in-law. He snags two champagne flutes from a passing tray and makes his way down the hallway, poking his head in various open doors to find nothing but empty rooms.
He hears them before he sees them, a small voice followed by the unmistakable timbre of his husband. David gets to the last door and finds Patrick in all his finery sitting on the floor with a little girl no older than five in his lap.
“... and then he hit me.”
“And what did you do?”
“Hit him back harder.”
“That’s my girl,” Patrick chuckles, pressing a kiss to the girl’s head before catching sight of David. “Oh, hi, you.”
“Hi, you,” David replies, raising his eyebrows at the child in Patrick’s lap. In all of the insanity, he hasn’t actually met half of Patrick’s family.
“This is Sophie. My cousin’s daughter. Sophie, this is David. My new husband.”
“I know that, silly,” Sophie says and Patrick holds up his hands.
“Well excuse me."
“Do I call you ‘Uncle David?” she pipes up and Patrick smiles, but lets David answer, carefully watching him.
David clears his throat, feeling thoroughly wrong-footed. “Um, if you’d like to.” He hands Patrick the extra glass of champagne.
“Well I call Uncle Patrick ‘Uncle Patrick’ so it’d make sense if you were ‘Uncle David.”
“Indeed it would,” he can’t help but reply. She’s five going on fifty.
“We were feeling a little overwhelmed,” Patrick explains, “so we decided to make a break for it.”
“Not without me, I hope.”
“Never,” Patrick whispers and it’s the same solemn, but fierce tone he used for his vows not two hours ago. It sends a little thrill up David’s spine.
Looking closer, though, he can see that Sophie has been crying. Patrick had clearly brought her here to let her have some space and some comfort. He can sympathize.
“Sophie, do you mind if I join you?” he asks, purposefully avoiding looking at his husband’s face because he knows that he won’t be able to handle the look of love there.
“Oh you can stay,” she says as if it’s a given thing and maybe it is now. He’s family after all.
He doesn’t sit on the floor because the suit is Tom Ford, but he does quietly watch as Sophie dives head first back into her story about a boy who was mean to her at school last week. Patrick is practically beaming with pride as she details the comeuppance she gave him. And that’s when it hits him, like that runaway bus in Speed.
He might want this.
“Okay, um, I’m just gonna say it: I am not in a place right now to be emotionally available to a baby.”
He said that once, not all that long and yet a lifetime ago. But now -
Now, he can see a little girl that he’ll dress up and take to art galleries and museums. A girl that Patrick will play catch with and teach the rules of hockey to. The image is so vivid and so real and it terrifies him so much that he actually drops his champagne flute, sending glass shards skittering across the carpeted floor.
“Whoa, hey,” Patrick blurts, picking Sophie up off his lap and jumping to his feet. “You okay?” He has one hand around the back of David’s hot neck and the other pressed against his chest, right over his thundering heart. “Babe, talk to me,” he says, pressing a kiss to the pulse point in David’s neck.
“I’m good, I’m good,” he practically gasps. “I’m sorry if I scared you, Sophie. Are you okay?” If he diverts attention away from himself, he may get out of this without explanation.
She nods, but continues to watch them both with wide eyes.
“My glass slipped,” he explains, avoiding Patrick’s eyes and bending down to pick up the larger shards. Luckily the carpet broke the fall a bit, but he knows Patrick doesn’t believe his excuse for a moment.
“Oh I love this song!” she cries, now that they can hear the band in the ensuing silence.
“How do you even know this song?” he asks. It was recorded over five decades before she was born.
“It’s one of Uncle Patrick’s favorites,” she states and that finally gets him to meets his husband’s eyes. The flush in his cheeks proves she’s not wrong.
“Then should we dance?” David asks, and Patrick raises an eyebrow, but Sophie is already jumping up and down, clearly ready to rejoin the party. He tosses the glass in a nearby trashcan and gestures for Sophie to lead the way.
“She has anxiety,” Patrick whispers in his ear as he threads his fingers through David’s and let’s Sophie take his free one. “Big events like this aren’t easy for her.”
David nods and wonders if he didn’t just marry the best man in the universe.
If anyone missed them, no one’s showing it. The reception is in full-swing and the dance floor is bustling with couples swaying back and forth.
“Shall we?” David directs down the five-year-old who is clearly the apple of Patrick’s eye.
“Can I stand on your feet?” she asks. “My daddy lets me do that.”
He’s about to respond, but Patrick swoops in.
“Here, Soph, how about you stand on my feet. David’s shoes are a lot fancier than mine.”
“I don’t mind,” David blurts and Patrick’s eyes go wide.
“But - those are Ferragamos.”
“So?” he says, so determined to get this right that he can’t even be proud of the fact that Patrick knows the designer of his shoes. And he finds he means it. He truly doesn’t mind if Sophie Brewer scuffs up his leather.
And that’s how they dance, the three of them. David has a hold of Sophie’s hands as she balances on his feet, and Patrick’s hands rest on David’s shoulders, sandwiching the little girl between them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Marcy and his mother dabbing away tears as Alexis films the whole thing on her phone. Even Stevie seems choked up, hiding her face behind her hand as she gnaws on a nail and tries not to smile.
“Are we going to talk about what happened back there?” Patrick murmurs, bringing his focus back in front of him. He doesn’t look judgmental. Maybe slightly worried, but fond, as always.
“Eventually,” David replies. And they will. They have to.
Because that future that seemed so abhorrent to him years ago and just downright confusing mere months ago is now not completely outside the realm of possibility.
And watching his husband watch them with love practically beaming out of his eyes, he knows it’s there if he wants it.
xxxxxx
Which brings them to now, three months later, driving back to near Patrick’s hometown to visit the woman with whom Patrick was supposed to have that life. With every mile they clock, the knot in David’s stomach gets tighter and tighter.
After the barbecue that heralded the first speed bump of David’s relationship with Patrick, Patrick and Rachel had a come to Jesus talk and ended up the better for it. They were able to salvage their connection and become what they had been to begin with: friends. Quite good friends, actually.
David was skeptical at first, but then Rachel found a man that she adored and, more importantly, that adored her in a way Patrick never could. Patrick and David had both been invited to their wedding, and they had invited Rachel and her husband to theirs, but at eight months pregnant, she wasn’t doing much traveling at the time.
“You okay?” Patrick asks and David hums, offering a vague nod. “We really didn’t have to do this, you know.”
David smirks, but doesn’t take his eyes off the passing scenery. “Yes, we did.”
“Okay, well you didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course I’m coming. How else is Rachel going to know I curated that gift basket for her personally? You’d probably take all of the credit.”
Patrick swats his thigh but rubs it gently it right after. “Rude.”
There’s a baby gift in the backseat, which David allowed Patrick to wrap while he supervised.
“What’s her husband’s name again?”
Patrick snorts. “We went to their wedding.”
“And?”
“It’s Aaron.”
“Hmm, Rachel and Aaron. How Biblical. And the baby?”
Patrick pauses, before responding, “Joshua.”
David barks out a laugh and Patrick squeezes his thigh as he chuckles. David puts his hand on top, running his thumb over Patrick’s knuckles, watching his wedding rings glint in the sunlight.
“Is this going to be weird?” he asks, and Patrick frowns.
“No, why?”
But David merely levels a look at him.
“Are you asking if it’s weird that my husband and I are driving to see my ex-fiancee, her husband, and their new baby? I wouldn’t say it qualifies as something I saw myself doing five years ago, but no. I don’t think it’s going to be weird.”
Deep down, David doesn’t think so either. He actually likes Rachel. A lot. He likes her husband, too, even if he can’t remember his name. They live in the suburbs outside of Toronto which is a decent enough drive. Rachel offered them the guest room for the night, but they didn’t want to impose with only a few-week-old baby in the house. They booked a hotel room in the city, instead, looking forward to a nice restaurant with decent food for once. There was also an exhibit at MoCA that David wanted to check out.
They started on the road early, so by time they pull up, it’s only noon. Patrick leans over the console and presses a kiss to David’s cheek before exiting the car and stretching with a groan. David touches the skin that still feels Patrick’s lips because he’ll never, ever tire of that feeling. He exits the car just as the front door to the small house opens and Rachel stands there, smiling and (admittedly) radiant with new-mom glow, despite the bags under her eyes. Patrick heads up the walk to say hi while David grabs the presents from the backseat, giving them a quick moment.
By the time he joins them, Patrick is pulling away from the hug and Rachel is reaching out for him, because that’s what they do now. Patrick grabs the bag of Rose Apothecary products from his arm so he can reciprocate halfway.
“You look great,” he says and he means it.
Rachel rolls her eyes and jokes, “Did Aaron pay you to say that?”
“Say what?” the man himself asks, appearing from the kitchen with a tiny bundle against his shoulder.
Rachel moves away from the door and beckons them into the living room. David can’t help but stare at the tiny baby, whose face is tucked up against his father’s neck. He looks entirely too fragile to just be, like, out in the world like that. Aaron walks over and shakes Patrick’s hand first, followed by David’s - the baby small enough to be held securely with one arm.
Patrick’s hand slides across David’s lower back and he glances over at his husband who’s watching him closely.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
“This,” Aaron announces as he carefully maneuvers the baby from his shoulder to the crook of his arm, “is Joshua.”
He’s, well, adorable, David can at least admit that. He can’t tell who he looks like yet, but the red, scrunched, potato-vibe that most newborns usually rock is gone, leaving pale skin, barely there eyebrows and lashes, and lips that are perfectly parted in sleep.
Patrick’s arm around his waist tightens.
“Rach, he’s beautiful,” he breathes. When he looks up, his eyes are watery. “Good job, you.”
“She was a rockstar,” Aaron admits. “Wanna hold him?”
“Oh, um,” Patrick fumbles, but David knows he’s dying to, so he gently checks him with his hip. “Sure, love to.”
They head over to the couch and Patrick sits, holding out his arms so Aaron can carefully place the sleeping baby in them. Rachel sits in the chair across from them, leaving David to sink into the seat next to his husband and hook his chin over his shoulder. Aaron returns to the kitchen and David can hear the opening and closing of cabinets and the clink of cutlery.
“All healthy? All good?” Patrick asks, glancing up at Rachel quickly before returning his gaze to Joshua.
“Perfect. Despite a labor that was about ten hours longer than I would have liked, it was pretty textbook,” she replies dryly.
“Good,” David murmurs, beating Patrick to the punch.
It’s quiet for a moment, all three of them watching the baby, who, despite not doing much of anything, is quickly turning out to be one of the most fascinating things he’s seen. Despite his grasp of basic biology, it shocks him that something can be so small.
“How are you holding up?” he asks because it’s the polite thing to do and Alexis made him promise he’d pay just as much attention to Rachel as to the baby.
“I’m good, thanks. Exhausted, of course, but Aaron’s been great.”
He knows it’s not a dig in the slightest, but a part of him is still defensive on Patrick’s behalf. He would have been great, too. Still could be, in fact.
Joshua chooses that moment to squirm and slowly blink his eyes open. Patrick actually gasps.
“Hello,” he murmurs, right before Joshua screws up his face and lets out an almighty wail.
“Oh my God,” David blurts, but more out of panic than annoyance. He clearly needs something! What is it?
“He’s probably just hungry,” Rachel says, answering his unasked question. She stands and Patrick meets her halfway, handing the baby over. “I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t have to go,” David says. “It’s your house. Unless you’d feel more comfortable...” he trails off, wondering if he’s made an enormous faux pas, but Patrick’s hand on his knee is firm and he squeezes.
Rachel looks relieved as she sinks back down in her chair. “Thanks. I haven’t had to fight the breastfeeding battle in public yet. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Solidarity,” David says, raising a fist.
“Besides,” she begins with a sly look on her face, “it’s nothing one of you hasn’t seen before.”
“Oh my God,” Patrick mutters and David hides a laugh in his shoulder.
“What are we talking about?” Aaron asks as he comes back in with a lunch spread.
“Nothing,” Rachel innocently replies, which causes David to press a kiss behind Patrick’s very red ear.
Rachel throws a blanket over her shoulder, less for modesty’s sake and more so she doesn’t drop crumbs on the baby as Aaron hands her cheese and crackers for her to munch on. Conversation drifts to the store and ridiculous stories about their local vendors. Rachel asks about Alexis and her adventures in the Galapagos, which David is only more than willing to share. Eventually, Joshua finishes eating and now it’s David’s turn to hold him, a fact that they all seem to be on the same page about without consulting him.
In fact, Rachel looks downright devious as she says, “Arms out, David.”
“What? Why?” Because despite the fact that his previous interactions with children have grown since he met Patrick, the extent of his physical exchange has been letting Sophie stand on his Ferragamos.
But Rachel ignores him, standing up and gently placing the baby in arms that David automatically holds out, stiff as if he’s holding a feral cat instead of a remarkably docile infant.
“See? Easy peasy,” Patrick murmurs and David glares.
“Please never use that phrase again.”
Rachel laughs and Patrick stands, pressing a kiss on David’s temple before helping Aaron clear the plates. Rachel lowers herself into Patrick’s vacated seat, though whether it’s to be closer in case something disastrous happens, David isn’t sure.
“Patrick was right. He is beautiful.”
She hums. “Give him twenty minutes or so. What happens in his diaper will not be beautiful, I can assure you.”
He panics briefly for his sweater, but decides that there are enough layers between the baby’s behind and his Alexander McQueen to take a chance. He reaches out with his hand and ghosts his palm over the wisps of hair on the baby’s head.
“He smells good.”
“They all do. It’s like a rule.”
Returning his hand to the side, he holds his breath as Joshua’s little fingers wrap around his thumb. Those fingers are so little, he can’t help but rub his index finger over them. Out of his peripheral vision, he can tell Patrick has returned from the kitchen and is fiddling with his phone. Assuming it’s a picture, he glances up at the last second and preens, eyes squinting as he smiles.
“You look good,” Patrick murmurs.
“Not my best angle.”
“I meant with a baby in your arms.”
And before he can respond, Aaron comes by and offers Patrick a beer, which David urges him to take since he’ll be making the drive into the city. He could have one, too - one beer won’t hinder his ability to keep the car on the road - but he decides to stay sober with Rachel in solidarity.
Patrick disappears once more - something Aaron wanted to show him out back - but the look on his face had been… odd. Not bad. Just different.
“What about you guys?” Rachel asks, interrupting his thoughts.
“What about us?”
She nods down at Joshua. “Is this in your future?”
“Oh. Um…” and he trails off because he really has no idea what to say. He certainly didn’t expect to be having this conversation with his husband’s ex before, you know, his husband.
“Sorry - I didn’t mean to pry,” she immediately backpedals, sensing his hesitation.
“No, it’s okay. I…” and he needs to get it out. Maybe Rachel actually is the perfect person for this moment. “I thought I didn’t. I hate kids.” He laughs at himself and nods down at Joshua, who’s so clearly content to be in his arms. “Clearly.”
Rachel smiles, but doesn’t say anything, letting him continue in his own time.
“It was never something I wanted. Or, never something I thought I’d succeed at. My experiences with kids were, granted, limited but not great overall. They were loud and messy and annoying. But then a baby came into the store and Patrick was just - he just knew what to do. It wasn’t anything grand, it was just instinct. And I thought that maybe I hated them because I was scared of them. Maybe I didn’t want them because I didn’t want to deal with them alone. And I spent the majority of my life thinking I’d be alone. And then…”
“And then Patrick came along,” she finishes for him.
“And then Patrick came along.” Wow that was more unloading than he intended to do at 3pm on a Saturday afternoon. “I would just want him or her to have what they need. And I’m not sure I can give that.”
“A good dad?”
“Yeah, Patrick would be great.”
Rachel cocks her head and her lips curl up into a soft smile. “I meant you.”
“The idea of me life-coaching another human being should scare you.”
His own words come back to haunt him, but Rachel’s voice pulls him back from the panic attack brewing in his chest.
“Patrick will be amazing. I’ve known that since I was 16.” She smiles and there’s no sadness there. “But you? You love so hard. Anyone with eyes can see it. And what you two could be together? Man, that child is going to be so goddamn lucky.”
He bites his lips because the sob that’s lodged in his throat is threatening to escape.
“Thank you, Rachel,” he manages when his voice decides to cooperate again.
She nods and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for making him happy.”
And of course, it’s that moment that a loud, unpleasant rumble escapes the tiny body in his arms and David and Rachel stare at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter.
At least the diaper was strong enough to save the McQueen. He makes a note of the brand -
Just in case.
They stay until the sun starts to set before leaving the new parents to enjoy the few hours they get by themselves before Joshua wakes up again.
David fishes the keys out of Patrick’s pocket as they walk to the car, getting handsier than is strictly necessary, but Patrick doesn’t seem to mind. He still seems distracted though, and David finds the easy contentment of the afternoon, the weightlessness from finally having voiced his fears out loud, giving way to apprehension.
He looks over to find Patrick staring at his phone. Again. He can guess what he’s looking at, but he’s tired of guessing. Tired of assuming. If they’d just talk, then maybe they’d actually get somewhere.
“You’re quiet,” Patrick eventually murmurs, but David’s defensive hackles are immediately up.
“So are you.”
“But of the two of us, I’m usually the more contemplative.”
Deciding he can’t take it anymore, David pulls off the road and slams on the breaks so hard, Patrick has to put a hand on the dashboard to keep from flying into it.
“David, what the hell?”
“Do you want this?” he blurts out.
“Want what? Jesus Christ!”
“Kids.”
“What?” Patrick can’t seem to reconcile the topic change with their near roadside collision.
“Do you want kids?” he reiterates, slowly.
“Is that what this is about?”
“You’ve been staring at a photo of me holding a baby for the last three hours. Yes, that’s what this is about.”
“David,” he says and it’s so soft, it nearly cracks his heart in two. “I knew before I asked you to marry me that you didn’t want this. I knew that going into it. I thought I wanted a life with kids, but leaving Rachel and finding out who I truly was made me change my priorities. Whatever I may or may not want, I will always want you more. It’s a beautiful picture. It makes me happy. That’s all.”
“What if you change your mind? What if you resent this?”
“Resent you?” His voice cracks and he cups David’s face in his hands. “David Rose, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. The very best. I will never, ever resent you."
“But what if…” he stops and swallows, breathing out hard, “what if I want this?” he whispers and he can actually hear Patrick inhale and hold his breath.
“What are you asking?”
“Would you want kids if I said I wanted them too?”
Patrick visibly swallows. “Do you?”
“I think I do.”
“David, this is - we just had a wonderful day with a well-behaved baby. This isn’t what having kids is like.”
“I know that,” he says, nearly petulantly. “This isn’t a new thought.”
Patrick runs his thumb under David’s eye, looking so goddamn terrified and hopeful. “No?”
“No,” he whispers, as if they speak any louder, whatever bubble of truth they’re in will pop.
“Since when?”
“The wedding. Before then, if I’m honest.”
“Oh my God,” Patrick murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was scared. Still am, honestly.”
“What changed then?”
He gives a little shrug, thinking of Rachel and her patient gaze and unwavering faith in them. “I realized that I wouldn’t be doing it alone.”
“No,” Patrick whispers, laughing even as a tear escapes his eye. “Never alone.”
For the first time, his hopes and fears are in the air and the sky hasn't fallen.
They're going to be okay.
xxxxxx
In the end, he didn’t expect that he would be the calm one. In the end, he thought he’d be the one pacing the house and hoarding different kinds of diapers and color-coding their onesies.
Which is why he’s taking such delight at watching Patrick grab a screwdriver to check the build of the crib one more time. As if it’s not the third time he’s done it this week.
“Honey, I think it’s good.”
“You can’t be too careful.”
“In fact, you can. We are not sending our daughter to school wrapped in bubble wrap. This isn’t that bad Jake Gyllenhaal movie.”
Patrick’s face does that thing, that thing where it goes all soft any time David refers to the baby as theirs. Our daughter.
“How are you so calm about this?”
And David truly has no fucking idea. And no, he didn’t sneak a Xanax into his tea.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of dating you, it’s that you are going to be amazing at this.”
“David - ” Patrick starts to argue, before getting a finger firmly pressed to his lips.
“Shush, you are. You already have been.”
He thinks of the nameless baby in the shop and Annie on the playground and Rollie Jr. who can walk now and it’s terrifying and Sophie who facetimes them every week and whom David loves so, so much and Joshua who looks more like Aaron than Rachel which is really a shame.
And now they have a new girl - ready to be born literally any day as their surrogate is in an apartment just down the street. They used Patrick as a donor because David argued that the “Brewers are saner than the Roses even on their worst days,” and Alexis, Moira, and Johnny couldn’t help but agree. Thoroughly outnumbered, Patrick grumbled (he wanted mini-Davids running around) but eventually acquiesced.
Which is why both of their phones are now never on silent and the new house has become a den of semi-organized baby chaos.
David grabs his husband’s arm and leads him around the couch, gently pulling him down next to him and taking his little button face in his hands.
“You are literally the only person on this earth I want to have children with. I didn’t think I wanted them at all, but I want them with you. If that doesn’t speak to your skills, I don’t know what will.” It’s not exactly Kirsten Dunst’s pep talk from Bring It On, but it will do.
“I’m terrified,” Patrick admits, swallowing hard.
“So am I,” David replies, leaning in and touching their noses. “I think something would be wrong with us if we weren’t. But guess what?”
“What?”
“I have you. And you have me. And what more do we need beyond a crib, a mountain of diapers, some tasteful onesies, and your mother on speed dial?”
Patrick laughs and nods, pressing their lips together.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Suddenly, the phone rings, Tina Turner’s voice echoing around the apartment as their surrogate’s name flashes on the screen. They stare at each other.
“Oh God,” Patrick breathes. “Are we ready to do this?”
David takes his face in his hands once more, looking into his eyes and trying to pour every ounce of love he’s ever felt for him into that two second glance.
“Answer the phone,” he says, in the exact same tone Patrick once used for Open the doors.
That was one dream. This is another.
He’s ready.