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“It looks fine, David,” Patrick said as he wrapped an arm around the shoulders of his husband, who had been standing in the middle of their guest room evaluating bedding and throw pillow arrangements for the past several minutes.
“‘Fine’ is not what I was going for,” David groused, sliding out from under Patrick’s arm. He walked back toward the bed, swapped one pillow for another, and adjusted the artfully-folded blanket at the foot of the bed. Patrick had no idea what difference that made, but the frustrated hum that escaped David’s mouth told him that, whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough.
Patrick sighed, still not sure what to do about David’s apparent obsession with making sure every single thing in their house was absolutely perfect for Patrick’s parents’ anticipated arrival. It wasn’t really about the house; Patrick knew that. He’d been with David long enough to know that swirling anxieties in his brain often led to him obsessing over minor things he could control to make up for what felt out of control. But Patrick was at a loss for how to help calm those worries when he couldn’t get David to vocalize what they actually were, and every reassurance he’d tried so far seemed to be falling on deaf ears. Yes, it was their first time having overnight guests in their new home, but this was his parents -- the last thing they’d ever do was pass judgment on anything in their house, even if it was falling down around them, which it wasn’t.
David continued flitting around the room, moving things a fraction of an inch and then standing back to reevaluate, the way he often did at the store. His hands seemed to be in perpetual motion -- another “tell” that this was anxiety related -- and his gaze never settled on one object for more than a second or two before moving to the next. Patrick hated seeing him so worked up over something so inconsequential.
In between adjustments of the greenery on the dresser and the picture frames behind it, Patrick approached David and gently took his hands, stilling them, though he could still feel the nervous energy buzzing just beneath the skin.
“David,” Patrick said softly, letting the pads of his thumbs brush over the skin of David’s hands and fingers. “Everything is perfect. Even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t care. They’re not here to write an article for Better Homes and Gardens.”
David looked affronted as he choked out something between a scoff and an indignant squawk. “Excuse you, but that magazine is nowhere near upscale enough--”
Patrick let go of one of David’s hands and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet the tangential protest. “Not the point,” Patrick said. “The point is that they’re here to see us. Not the house.”
“Okay, it’s just that a minute ago you said it was ‘fine,’ and I don’t really feel like I--”
Patrick cut David off again, this time by leaning in for a kiss, and he felt the tiniest bit of tension leave David’s body just with that simple action, only to feel it come right back when the doorbell rang downstairs. His parents had arrived.
“It’s all perfect, David,” Patrick repeated, looking David in the eye as much as he could despite David’s anxiously roaming gaze. He rubbed his hands up and down David’s upper arms as he spoke, part out of reassurance and part out of the hope that it might help release some of the tension he could feel there. “Everything’s going to be great. We’re going to relax, have a good time, and enjoy each other’s company. Try not to worry, okay?”
David drew his lower lip between his teeth as he finally met Patrick’s eyes. “I’ll try,” he said softly. “But no promises.”
“Understood.” Patrick pressed his lips to David’s again, this time lingering a bit longer -- long enough for the bell to ring again. “I guess we should probably go let them in.”
“Do we have to?”
“Somehow I think that making my parents spend Christmas outside on our porch would conflict substantially with your plan for the perfectly curated holiday visit.”
David shrugged as one corner of his mouth twitched up into a rueful smile, and Patrick gave him one last squeeze of reassurance before nudging him out of the room and toward the stairs.
As soon as they reached the living room, Patrick flung the door open to welcome his parents with a set of long-overdue hugs. They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding, and though that had only been a few months before, it felt longer because so much had happened since. He and David had spent those three months beginning to build their life together, as husbands -- closing on the cottage, moving in, and getting started on making it their own. Patrick knew there was still a long way to go to get it to David’s vision of “perfect,” which was likely also one source of David’s stress. Budgetary constraints were slowing the renovation process, but Patrick was committed to doing whatever he could to help make David’s dreams come true -- not just his dreams for the house, but all of his dreams. For the rest of their lives.
The hard set of David’s shoulders and jaw did seem to relax a bit as Marcy pulled him into a hug, and they relaxed even further when the first words out of her mouth as they separated were, “Oh, I love your tree! It’s gorgeous!”
David had spent an inordinately long time selecting and re-selecting the ideal tree from their inventory at the store before settling on a seven-foot scotch pine. He’d also spent an entire day adorning it with soft white twinkle lights and jewel-toned glass orbs, interspersed with a collection of ornaments from Patrick’s childhood that Marcy had sent them as a surprise several weeks before. Patrick didn’t think he’d ever forget the feeling of coming home that night to see his husband lovingly hanging those ornaments on the tree, and having his parents there to see it now made it even more special.
“Looks like the house is really coming along,” Clint said, looking around at the furniture and decor that David had spent days rearranging before finally settling on what he claimed was “the perfect living room layout for maximum peace and harmony.” Patrick didn’t know what that meant, but he liked how it looked, so he took David’s word for it.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a work in progress,” Patrick said. “David has a lot of plans, and we’re working on those, but we’re pretty happy with how it’s coming along.”
David and Marcy had moved closer to the tree, where Marcy appeared to be telling David some of the stories and memories attached to the handmade ornaments she’d sent, and it warmed Patrick’s heart to see his husband and mother talking and smiling. Marcy’s soft touches to David’s arm and shoulder as she spoke seemed to be helping David’s nervousness dissipate even further, and Patrick was grateful for that. He hoped that, now, they’d be able to relax and enjoy the holiday without David driving himself to the brink of madness obsessing over every detail.
Patrick and Clint brought in the luggage and gifts while David gave Marcy a full tour of the house, and soon they were all relaxing in front of the fireplace, enjoying mugs of hot cocoa while nibbling on a large plate of cookies Marcy had brought. Large flakes of snow had begun to fall outside, accumulating on the ground until the lawn was blanketed in white. Patrick had been hoping for a white Christmas to celebrate his and David’s first holiday in their new home together, and it was starting to look like he was going to get his wish. He wasn’t sure he’d been this excited for the holidays since he was a kid, but it felt like one more of the many things he was seeing with fresh eyes since starting his new life in Schitt’s Creek. Watching his parents and husband talk easily with one another made it even better -- knowing that they loved David as much as he did, and David loved them too.
***
The rest of the evening went well, with David seeming to calm even further as time went on -- particularly once Clint’s famous bourbon eggnog came out and they started the holiday rom-com mini marathon David had been looking forward to for weeks. It was a great night, and it made Patrick wish his parents were closer so they could visit more often, because having all of the people he loved most together in the same room was something he definitely wanted to do more of.
Soon, he and David were settling into bed together, peppering each other with soft kisses as they cuddled and teased one another. Patrick’s insides felt warm and fluttery -- and not just from the bourbon -- but as much as he wanted to take things further, that would have to wait another couple of nights, because the very last thing he wanted was to deal with the embarrassment of his parents hearing them have sex. Or to deal with whatever David’s reaction to that would be.
They fell asleep not long after sliding between the covers, Patrick spooning David, as they often did, already dreaming of the white Christmas he hoped they’d wake up to, and the prospect of sharing more Brewer holiday traditions with his husband in the morning.
What he didn’t expect was to wake up in the wee hours of the morning with chattering teeth and David clinging to him like a koala bear, not to mention a distinct chill in the air that was most definitely not right.
Shit.
He’d been meaning to get the furnace checked out back in the fall, but they’d been so busy with everything else that he’d put it off, since it seemed to be working fine. Which was apparently no longer the case.
Patrick huffed a frustrated sigh before attempting to extricate himself from David, who only clung tighter, nuzzling his face into Patrick’s chest with a whine.
“David,” Patrick said softly, rubbing a hand over his husband’s shoulder. “I think the heat went out.”
David’s only response was to mumble something unintelligible and burrow himself in closer.
Patrick rubbed David’s shoulder again, then set to work on peeling his fingers from the grip they had on Patrick’s t-shirt, despite David’s protests. “I know,” Patrick soothed. “It’s cold in here, and it’s early. But I need to get up so I can go downstairs and check it out.”
David groaned, but he did at least let go of Patrick, who was finally able to climb out of bed. He put on his fleece slippers and tugged on a hoodie over the well-worn t-shirt that was now nowhere near warm enough. He came out of the bedroom just as his father was opening the door to the guest room, apparently having also been awakened by the cold.
“Need any help?” Clint asked, rubbing his hands together to warm them up as he stood in the dimly lit hallway in his robe.
“I have no idea, but… probably,” Patrick admitted. As much as he would have loved to impress his father by fixing the furnace entirely on his own, he knew nothing about it other than how to clean it and replace the filter. Both of which he’d just done less than a month before.
Patrick grabbed his small toolbox from the laundry room, then led the way down to the cellar below the kitchen. Their furnace and hot water heater lived down there, along with several old, wooden shelves that Patrick hoped they could one day fill with home-canned fruits and vegetables from their own garden.
They started off checking the obvious things -- the filter, the pilot light, and whether or not the gas was flowing -- but all of those things appeared to be in working order, despite the unit’s stubborn refusal to even activate its fan when prompted by the thermostat. They disassembled as much as they could, but whatever was wrong was clearly not obvious and would probably require an actual HVAC technician. And it was a holiday, to boot. So even if Patrick could get ahold of someone, he’d feel guilty for making them take time from their family to help him with something he probably could have prevented had he just had someone out for the stupid inspection.
Frustrated with himself as much as the furnace, Patrick wanted to kick something, but he knew that wasn’t going to help anything either. Nor did he know what they should do. It was snowing, and they had no heat. They could go to the motel, he supposed, but the likelihood that anyone would be at the desk at this hour was between slim and none. Plus, the very last thing Patrick wanted was for David to have to celebrate another holiday at the motel -- especially since Patrick was the one ruining Christmas with his own procrastination on essential home maintenance.
Patrick felt his father’s warm hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. “We’ll figure something out, son,” he said, his voice calm and cool as always. God, Patrick wished he’d inherited his father’s seemingly unflappable disposition, rather than his mother’s impulse to try to fix everything single-handedly.
Patrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed a game plan, which was normally his strong suit. However, thinking things through in a rational manner was difficult with his brain continually reminding him that if he’d just found an hour or two to schedule an inspection, he might not have been standing in the cellar staring at a broken furnace at two in the morning on Christmas Day.
“Hey, why don’t we go build another fire in the fireplace and all crash in the living room for now?” Clint’s voice broke through Patrick’s spiral of self-flagellation. “Then, once we’ve had a little more sleep and got some daylight, we can look at it again. Watch a few YouTube tutorials and see if we can figure it out. And if we can’t, we’ll call somebody.”
And there it was: the Brewer plan of attack, provided by Clint, since Patrick seemed to be unable to think at the moment.
“I don’t know who to call.” Patrick sighed as he raked his hands roughly through his curls, realizing his frustration was beginning to edge into petulance, so he softened his tone before speaking again. None of this was his dad’s fault, and Patrick shouldn’t take it out on him. “But… yeah. Not much else we can do, I guess.”
“C’mon, let’s get started on that fire.” Clint gave Patrick’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze before they both turned to head back up the steep wooden staircase.
Twenty minutes later, they had a decent fire going, which was already beginning to take some of the chill from the room, and Patrick went upstairs to fetch his husband while his dad started gathering every blanket he could find. It took several minutes for Patrick to convince David to leave the bed, but eventually he managed to get David up, into his house Uggs, wrapped snugly in their down comforter, and led down to the living room, where his mother was just setting four steaming mugs of chamomile tea on the coffee table.
“Appliances sure have a way of knowing exactly when the most inconvenient time would be for them to break,” she tutted as she settled onto the sofa. She leaned forward to grab a mug and took a sip before setting it back down. “I’ll never forget that Thanksgiving when we pulled a half-cooked turkey out of a cold oven right before dinner was supposed to start.”
“Ew,” David muttered from beneath the duvet, in which he was now completely enshrouded from head to toe, curled up on one end of the loveseat.
“Thankfully, we had plenty of side dishes -- too many, actually -- so it worked out,” Marcy continued. “And we got a memory out of it.”
Patrick gave a noncommittal hum. He remembered that Thanksgiving, and he knew his mom was only trying to make him feel better, but the combination of lack of sleep with the frustration churning inside him at the entire situation made him likely to say something he didn’t mean, so he figured he’d better keep his mouth shut. He was already batting a thousand on ruining David’s perfect holiday, and starting a fight would most definitely be considered “incorrect.”
Thankfully, that was the moment his father came downstairs with an armload of blankets, which he distributed among the four of them. There were two electric throws, so he and David had one to share and so did Clint and Marcy, and the fire was actually doing a pretty good job of warming up the room. Forced togetherness aside, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad night after all.
“I’m going to set a couple of alarms on my phone to get up and stoke the fire,” Clint said, still taking charge, which Patrick was thankful for. “I closed as many doors and curtains as I could, so that should help too. I shut off the gas line to the furnace for now, but I’ll take a closer look at it once we’ve all gotten some sleep. Does everybody have enough blankets?”
Patrick interpreted David’s silence from beneath his mound of covers as a “yes,” and nodded his own agreement as he clicked the switch on the electric throw and pulled it over his legs. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Not a problem, son,” Clint said. “It’s what we do.”
Patrick watched as his mother intertwined the fingers of her left hand with his father’s right before she leaned in for a kiss, her eyes twinkling in the firelight as she gazed lovingly at her husband of forty years. Patrick hoped that would be him and David someday -- still surprising and adoring one another as much as they had on the day they said their vows.
Marcy had just settled herself back against Clint’s chest when David suddenly popped his head out from under the duvet. “You know, this reminds me of being in Seoul with the Hilton sisters and making sure everyone had an appropriate amount of soju to get tipsy off of,” he said.
Patrick felt his surly mood evaporate as he barked a laugh at the confused-yet-fond look his mom was giving David.
“What?” David asked, the look on his own face just as confused as he looked around the room at everyone else. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been at a really terrible party with insufficient alcohol before,” he added, shuddering. “Not a great way to spend the night.”
Patrick couldn’t help but smile as he wound his fingers through David’s before bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing David’s knuckles. “I love you, David Rose.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw his parents exchange a knowing glance, and suddenly he felt like he was back in high school again, with everyone’s eyes on him and Rachel, the weight of their expectations heavy in the air. Except this wasn’t Rachel; this was David, his husband, and instead of feeling awkward like it always had with Rachel, this time it felt… nice. Like being seen and loved, and accepted for exactly who he was.
“Goodnight, my sweet boys,” Marcy said, a warm, contented smile tugging at her lips as she settled into Clint’s embrace and closed her eyes.
Patrick watched as Clint pressed a soft kiss to Marcy’s temple before uttering his own quiet, “G’night.”
David’s arm came around Patrick as he cuddled up closer, tugging the electric throw and the duvet over both of them before leaning his head on Patrick’s shoulder and letting his eyes close. Not long after that, David’s breathing settled into the deep, even rhythm of sleep, and Patrick allowed himself to do the same.
***
The next time Patrick opened his eyes, the room was bright with sunlight being reflected off the snow that blanketed their yard, the crackling fire casting its own warm glow over the stone surrounding it. The familiar scent of butter, cinnamon, and yeast drifted from their kitchen -- no doubt his mother baking the homemade cinnamon rolls she’d started the night before, which no Brewer Christmas morning was complete without.
He felt David begin to stir beside him, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of David’s head.
“Morning,” Patrick murmured as David tilted his face up toward Patrick’s and kissed him on the lips.
“Morning,” David echoed, squinting against the light streaming through the windows. “Remind me to invest in some blackout curtains before the next time we have to sleep in the living room.”
Patrick sighed and let his head come to rest against David’s shoulder. “Let’s hope there won’t be a next time, and that I can find someone to come out and take a look at it today so we won’t have to do it again tonight.”
David hummed as he rested his cheek against the top of Patrick’s head. “Already taken care of.”
Patrick sat up and turned to look at his husband. “What? How?”
David blinked at Patrick, suddenly looking sheepish. “I… might have texted Stevie last night, while you were down in the cellar.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Um, yes.” David raised his eyebrows like the answer should have been obvious. “Twelve bottles of wine, remember? I knew she’d be up. Anyway, apparently Jake has a side hustle in HVAC repair. She said she’d send him over once they were ‘done.’ Which, I don’t really want to think about what exactly that means, and I didn’t ask, but--”
Patrick cut David off with a kiss -- his tongue pushing into David’s mouth, teeth dragging gently over David’s bottom lip as they separated. He opened his eyes to see David blinking at him, his expression one of surprise mixed with confusion.
“Thank you,” Patrick murmured as he wrapped his arms around his husband. “And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” David pulled back, the crease between his brows deepening. “What are you sorry for?”
“For messing up your perfect holiday. You worked so hard to get everything just right, and I should have had someone out to look at the furnace months ago. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t have found ourselves in this situation.”
“Okay, first of all, cuddling with my husband in front of the fire on a snowy Christmas morning? Rom-com perfection, thanks so much. So if that’s the ‘situation’ you’re speaking of, I am perfectly content with said situation. Particularly since I’m pretty sure I smell cinnamon rolls, and there are gifts under the tree that I didn’t buy for myself. But unless you took a sledgehammer to the furnace when I wasn’t looking, the heat going out is not your fault.”
Patrick closed his eyes and shook his head. Sometimes he wondered what he’d ever done to deserve this man, who somehow always knew the exact right thing to say to make everything okay, even when he seemed to have no idea he was doing it.
“Cinnamon rolls are ready!” Marcy’s voice rang out from the kitchen, and David was up and off the loveseat immediately, the duvet dragging behind him. Patrick chuckled as he put on his slippers and started to follow, stopping short when he heard a knock on the door.
He opened it to reveal Jake standing on the other side, toolbox in hand as he looked Patrick up and down appraisingly. “Nice to see you again,” Jake murmured, his lips curving into a pleased smile. Patrick didn’t particularly like feeling ogled, but since Jake was here to help them in a pinch -- on a holiday, no less -- he figured he could put up with it for an hour or two and hope his parents didn’t notice. “Pony said you guys were having some trouble with your heat.” Jake somehow managed to make that sentence far more sexual than it should have been, and Patrick felt face go hot as he stepped back to let Jake in.
“Uh, yeah,” Patrick stammered, nudging the door closed again. “Not sure what’s going on with it. It was fine last night, but… Anyhow, thanks for coming out today. We really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem, man. I got you.” Jake paused as he hung his coat on one of the hooks in the entryway. “Just show me where to go, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Patrick nodded and led Jake into the kitchen, hoping he could get Jake past his parents and down to the cellar with minimal embarrassment. That hope, however, faded quickly when Jake greeted David with a kiss that lingered far too long. Then things got worse when Clint started to introduce himself and Jake used his outstretched hand to pull him in for an unexpected hug, followed by the same appraisal he’d just given Patrick at the door.
“I see where Patrick gets his good looks,” Jake purred with a low, satisfied hum, winking at Clint and then Marcy in turn.
Patrick’s cheeks blazed, growing even hotter when his mother reached out to shake Jake’s hand and received a surprise hug of her own. Marcy’s expression was a combination of confusion and amusement as she made eye contact with Patrick over Jake’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so, the furnace is down in the cellar,” Patrick managed to choke out, sincerely wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “So I’ll, uh… I’ll just show you where that is.”
Patrick could hear David snicker behind them as he opened the door to the cellar and led Jake downstairs, barely sticking around long enough to see if Jake needed anything before practically running back up to the kitchen, where everyone’s eyes were immediately on him.
“Well, he seems like a nice young man,” Marcy said, a teasing tone very present despite the sincerity of her words. “Very… friendly.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” David chimed in from the table before taking another bite of his food.
“Jake is, well… He’s Jake,” Patrick said, cursing how flustered he still sounded, his embarrassment ratcheting up several more notches when he saw the amused looks on both of his parents’ faces.
“You can say that again,” David said, through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.
Marcy cleared her throat as she handed Patrick a plate and nudged him toward an empty chair. He sank into it and inhaled half a cinnamon roll in a single bite, mostly to keep himself from giving anyone else in the room more fodder material. Marcy poured a mug of tea and slid it in Patrick’s direction before sitting down with her own plate of pastries and a bowl of fruit. They ate in silence for several minutes before Marcy spoke again.
“It looks like you boys are building a nice life for yourselves here,” she commented as she speared her fork through a sliced strawberry and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, her eyes still gleaming with mischief. “And Jake seems like a really great… friend.” Her lengthy pause before settling on the word “friend” gave Patrick just enough time for a flush to creep across his cheeks again. “Good friends are just so important, you know?”
Patrick set down his fork and buried his face in his hands with a groan. He was not having this conversation with his mother.
“Sweetheart, there’s no need to be embarrassed.” Marcy failed to conceal her amused giggle as she rubbed a hand over Patrick’s shoulder. “After all, your father is a very attractive man.”
“Mom,” Patrick whined, his hands still covering his face. “No.”
“What?” Marcy asked, her voice laced with faux innocence. “It’s the truth!”
“Oh my god, please stop,” Patrick moaned, letting his forehead fall to the table with a dull thump.
Meanwhile, David’s snickers turned into full-on laughter beside him. A few seconds later, his parents were laughing too, and Patrick couldn’t help but be drawn in to join them. Soon, they were all wiping tears from their cheeks and trying to catch their breath, just in time to hear the furnace rumble to life in the cellar below them.
Not long after that, Jake’s heavy work boots clomped up the stairs and into the kitchen, where his explanation for what had been broken and what he’d done to fix it went in one ear and out the other as Patrick tried to focus all of his attention on writing a check and getting Jake out of the house before he could say or do anything else potentially mortifying. He thought he’d been successful when they made it all the way to the front door without incident -- at least until Patrick offered a polite handshake and Jake instead pulled him in for an awkwardly long hug.
“Hey, I’m having a get-together at my place a little later,” Jake said, looking between the four of them with a flirtatious twinkle in his eyes before allowing his gaze to linger on Clint for a beat too long. “I’d love it if you stopped by for a whiskey.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Patrick said quickly, cutting his dad off just as he opened his mouth to respond. “But we already have plans.”
“Alright.” Jake shrugged as he opened the door and stepped outside. “No worries. Just shoot me a text if you change your mind. You know you’re always welcome.” Jake then gave Patrick a suggestive wink… in front of his parents… and were it possible to actually die of embarrassment, Patrick would have. Gladly, just to end this torture.
“Will do,” Patrick agreed, a false brightness in his voice and his hand already on the door. “Thanks again for your help!”
Patrick didn’t wait for a response before closing the door between them, finally letting out the breath he’d been holding as he collapsed against his husband, who was still quietly snickering.
“This is all your fault, you know,” Patrick mumbled into David’s chest.
“Mmm-hmm, okay honey,” David cooed as he petted Patrick’s hair. “You tell yourself whatever you need to.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and lightly punched David’s shoulder before allowing himself to be pulled close against David’s chest again. He pressed a kiss to the side of David’s neck and leaned in, breathing in the comforting scent of David’s rosemary mint lotion.
And if his mother whispered, “What do you think he meant by stopping by for a whiskey?” as she and his father turned to go back into the kitchen, well… Patrick was content to pretend he didn’t hear it.