Archive of Our Own ^beta

1987

Just before midnight, Clint and Marcy Brewer woke up to the shrill sound of their infant’s cries. Clint glanced at the clock on the side table and patted his wife’s hand before climbing out of bed with a small groan. Marcy had gotten up an hour ago to feed their son. It was his turn. 

At 36, Clint was feeling every year of his age. His joints cracked as he stood and stretched and slid his feet into the slippers he kept near the foot of their bed. He didn’t necessarily need them (his feet always ran warm), but after he stepped on a nail that had just started coming out of one of the floorboards a few years ago, he decided to take precautions. 

Patrick was sitting up in his crib, something he had just recently learned to do. Clint picked him up and, after a quick diaper change, they settled in the wooden rocking chair and leaned back against the quilt that was folded and draped over the back. Clint’s mother gave it to them at their baby shower. It wasn’t until recently that she admitted she started making the quilt when he and Marcy first told her they wanted to start a family, nearly a decade earlier. 

Clint met Marcy in college and they hit it off immediately. By the time they walked across the stage at graduation, Marcy had a ring on her finger and a date was set for the following spring. 

They were so excited to start a family. It was one of the things that drew them together in the first place. They both came from very different backgrounds, but they wanted the same thing: Steady jobs, a house, a few kids, maybe a dog or two. Unfortunately, life had other ideas. 

Patrick wiggled and shuffled around for a while, fussing and crying as Clint rocked him and hummed quietly. After a few attempts, Patrick accepted a pacifier. The infant grew still and in the strip of moonlight coming in through the window, Clint watched as he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep. 

Clint knew he should transfer Patrick to the crib. He read the baby books. He knew the importance of self soothing, but he wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. He wanted to enjoy this moment. As the two of them sat in the rocking chair, Clint felt a rush of love for his son. He had waited so long for this (mostly) happy, endlessly energetic, perfect little person, and he was going to enjoy this moment with him. 

Clint sat there and rocked Patrick, and as the minutes ticked by, he began to feel that familiar stab of fear start to creep in again. It was a fear that started percolating from the very first moment he saw his son in the hospital. Beneath the overwhelming joy and pride and relief that Patrick was finally here, there was a nagging voice in his head that told him he had no idea what he was doing and he was going to screw it up. 

Over the past six months, Clint had been mostly able to keep that voice at bay but now, sitting in a rocking chair in a moonlit nursery and holding Patrick, he let that fear in. Just for a minute.

There were so many things that could go wrong here. Illnesses and broken bones and slamming doors and silence. Clint felt the panic rise inside him at the thought of all possible catastrophes, but he tamped it back down. Yes, there was a lot to worry about, but whatever happened, at least he wouldn’t have to face it alone. He had Marcy. 

Marcy bloomed as a mother. Clint had lost count of the number of times he’d come home for lunch to find his wife holding a nursing infant in one hand, and a pen in the other, with the home phone held between her neck and shoulder and her glasses perched on her nose. He didn’t think he’d ever loved his wife more than he did in those moments. 

Some days were tough. Of course they were. They bickered a lot in those first few weeks after they brought Patrick home. Marcy wanted to take care of everything on her own. She didn’t want to rely on Clint too much. Clint wanted to be an equal partner in this, and didn’t appreciate being sidelined. It took time, but they talked it through and worked out a good system. They had a plan for who did what when and that helped. Some days were still tough. Of course they were. But the Brewers were a good team. Together, they could handle anything. 

Patrick sank into a deeper sleep. His face was calm and impassive. The pacifier in his mouth still moved every so often as he sucked on it. He seemed content, lying in his father’s arms. Clint looked at him and felt a lump rise in his throat. 

“I hope you’re made of something stronger than your old man.”  He whispered, watching Patrick sleeping in his arms. 

1992

It had been a tough year for the Brewers. Patrick started kindergarten in the fall and brought home a new cold or flu or ear infection every other week. At least one parent was almost always up half the night with Patrick while the other tossed and turned in bed, as neither could sleep well without the other anymore. 

Marcy got a promotion over the summer. While this meant higher pay and better benefits, it also meant that she was working longer hours. Clint was feeling her absence at home more than ever. He rushed out of work every day to pick Patrick up from his after school care before they closed. The house was never clean and the most recent dry spell between Clint and Marcy was quickly going from “weeks” to “months.”

So that year, Clint convinced Marcy to go to their friend’s annual New Year’s Eve party. They hadn’t been there in a few years, and they missed their friends. More importantly, they desperately needed some time alone together. Just the two of them. 

As December wore on, their excitement about the party grew. Marcy and Clint traded quick kisses and heated smiles, and the long, sleepless nights were more bearable knowing that a break was coming soon. But then Patrick brought home yet another cold for Christmas. It wasn’t severe (a low grade fever, a runny nose), but the day before the party, Marcy started to have second thoughts. 

 “Maybe we should stay home. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go to a party if Patrick is sick.” 

Clint knew she was probably right, but he didn’t do a great job of hiding his disappointment. If Patrick was sick, they should stay home and take care of him. But he hadn’t been out on a date with his wife in months. Clint Brewer had a choice to make. And for once, he chose to be selfish. 

“We should go.” Clint told her confidently, as Patrick sat in the living room, building a lego tower and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s just a cold, Marcy. He’ll be fine.”

Patrick loved his babysitter Maggie, a teen who lived just down the street. On New Year’s Eve, Clint called Maggie’s mom, who assured them she would also be around for the evening, in case of an emergency. 

Marcy was still hesitant, but once she saw Patrick curled up next to Maggie on the couch watching Beauty and the Beast, Clint saw her relax. 

They gave Patrick some Tylenol and checked in with Maggie again about the plan for the evening. Marcy tried to give Patrick an extra kiss before they left, but she was blocking the TV, so Patrick wiggled out of her grasp and kept watching as Lumiere started singing “Be Our Guest.”

Clint and Marcy smiled at each other, waved at Maggie, and left. 

It was a twenty minute car ride to the party. Conversation between the couple was flirty and charged. It was the first time they’d been alone together outside of the house in nearly a year. 

They made it to the party and as the night wore on, tension between the two disappeared. They had a glass of champagne and chatted with lifelong friends they hadn’t seen in nearly a year. 

After a second glass of champagne, the two became outwardly affectionate, which was unusual for them, even around their friends. They winked at each other and traded flirty smiles from across the room. Marcy trailed her hand across his back when she passed him on her way to the buffet table. 

They met up again later in the evening, when their buzz had worn off but the heat between them was as alive as ever. They were just talking about finding a quiet place to go make out, when Sharon came up to them. “Maggie’s on the phone,” she said. 

A cold wave of dread passed through Clint and he saw Marcy go pale. There was only one reason for this call. 

“Mr. Brewer? Patrick’s really sick.” Maggie’s worried voice said over the line. 

Clint could hear Patrick whining in the background. Patrick never whined. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s puking.”

“Okay, we’re leaving now. We’ll be there soon.”

It was a very tense drive back. The flirty atmosphere was gone. Clint could read his wife like the back of his hand, especially after nearly two decades of marriage. He could hear the words she wasn’t saying- If we had just stayed home like I wanted to… 

Clint didn’t say anything. Now wasn’t the time. So they sat and stewed in frustration, anger, resentment and overall, concern for their son, for the entire twenty minute car ride home. 

When they walked in the door, Patrick was curled up asleep on the couch. Maggie looked a little frazzled, but otherwise okay. Marcy went straight to Patrick and bent down, placing a hand to his forehead. Clint took some cash out of his wallet, and handed Maggie double their agreed upon rate. After all, this was not what their 17 year old neighbor signed up for. 

“How’s he doing?” Clint asked. 

Maggie sighed. “He’s better now. He had some water and a little juice before he fell asleep. I cleaned up the mess and put the sheets in the wash. There’s a bowl next to him, just in case.”

Marcy looked up from her place next to Patrick and smiled at Maggie. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

“Anytime.” Maggie said. Then she got her coat and Clint drove her home. He was back in a matter of minutes. 

Marcy was sitting on the couch next to Patrick. His head was next to her legs and her hand was resting on his back. Tentatively, Clint walked over and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She laid her free hand over his. He heard her let out a long-held breath. 

“Is he okay?” Clint asked. 

Marcy looked up and nodded. “He’s okay.”

Clint paused. “Are we okay?”

Marcy smiled and squeezed his hand. “We’re always okay.”

Clint leaned down and kissed her. He got her a cup of tea and got ready for bed. Then he went back downstairs and scooped his son up from the couch. As he laid him down in the twin bed that replaced his crib years ago, Marcy got ready for bed too. 

After the new year, once Patrick, and then Marcy and finally Clint all got over that stomach bug, Marcy called her sister in Toronto and she and Clint spent a weekend alone at a lakeside cabin. It was freezing outside and the cabin was buried under a foot of fresh snow, but they weren’t bothered. They never left the bedroom anyway. 

2003

The landline rang late on New Year’s Eve. Clint and Marcy both jerked awake and looked at each other. Clint could see the concern in Marcy’s face and, just as he had done many years ago, he patted his wife’s hand and threw back the covers. He went downstairs into the kitchen and picked the phone up off of the receiver. 

“Dad?” Clint’s blood ran cold as he heard his son, who was supposed to be sleeping upstairs, say his name in that panicked tone. 

“Patrick? Where are you?”

“I uh. I don’t remember.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because… because…” Clint heard him take a deep breath and say in a rush.  “Someone passed me a joint and I smoked some of it and now I can’t remember where I am. I’m so sorry, dad. I’m so sorry. Can you come get me please?”

Clint’s shock and fear faded almost immediately. His son might not remember their conversation from the day before, but he sure as hell did. 

“Are you at Will’s house?”

“What?”

“Your mother and I told you not to go to the party tonight at Will’s house. Did you go to that party, Patrick?”

“Yeah!” Patrick said suddenly, relieved. “Yeah I did! I’m at Will’s house. Can you come get me?”

“I’m on my way.” Clint said, rubbing his temple. “Go wait for me on the front porch. Fresh air will clear your head a bit.”

“Okay. Okay, I will. Thanks dad.”

Clint pulled on his winter gear and grumbled at the inconvenience, the lack of sleep and the insubordination of his son as he turned on the car and waited for it to warm up. 

Clint didn’t like Will. Or, more accurately, he didn’t like who his son became around Will. Patrick was a good, level-headed kid but whenever Will was around, Patrick would end up agreeing to things that were very unlike him. Like sneaking out of the house and going to a party. 

And yet, as disgruntled as he was, Clint also couldn’t help but feel proud as he drove to pick up his high sixteen year old from a house party. No, he did not agree with underage substance use. But he also knew that it happened. And he knew that he did far worse things as a child himself. 

Despite the circumstances, Clint felt proud that his son called him when he was in trouble. Patrick felt unsafe, he was in over his head, and he called his dad for help. Clint’s relationship with his own father had always been strained on a good day. They butted heads constantly while Clint was growing up and then one day his dad decided he’d had enough and left. Clint was sixteen. They hadn’t spoken since. 

He didn’t want that with Patrick. He told his son early on that he could always call if he needed help. Clint would always be there for him. And so Patrick needed him. And Patrick called him.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of Will’s house. Patrick was waiting for him out front, as instructed. He hurried over to the car and opened the door. The pungent smell of beer and weed slammed into Clint before Patrick sat down.

“Thanks, Dad.” Patrick sounded slightly out of breath, but he also sounded much less panicky than he did on the phone. 

Clint made a noncommittal noise and drove away. They were quiet for a few minutes. Clint could sense Patrick’s eyes darting over to him and away again. 

“Are you mad?” He finally asked. 

Clint sighed. “You lied to me, son.”

“I know.”

“We told you not to go to this party.”

“I know.”

“If you knew, then why did you go?”

Patrick sighed heavily. “Because Will said he wanted me to be there and I didn’t want to let him down.” His voice was small as he added, “I didn’t know there was going to be weed there.”

Clint bit his tongue against everything he wanted to say. He could feel Patrick watching him. 

“Please say something.” Patrick said eventually. 

Clint heaved a sigh and considered his words, knowing there was still a fifty percent chance Patrick wouldn’t remember most of them tomorrow. 

“I’m not mad that you smoked weed tonight, Patrick. I don’t like that you did and I really wish you hadn’t. But that’s not why I’m mad.”

“Then why are you mad?”

Clint shifted in his seat. “Patrick, you can’t let other people influence you so much. You are the only one who can decide what is best for you, because you’re the only one who has to live with the consequences of the choices that you make. Of course Will wanted you to go to a party. He won’t be the last person who wants you to do something. But you could have said no tonight. And it worries me that you didn’t.”

“Oh.” Patrick said. Eyes heavy. Body slumped forward. 

Clint sighed. “You’re a smart kid, Patrick, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. But you have to stop letting other people tell you what to do.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

They fell silent. Clint hoped Patrick was thinking about tonight but he was most likely still too high to remember anything. Be that as it may, he couldn’t leave their conversation there. 

“I love you, Patrick. You know that right.”

“Yeah.” Patrick said, but it came out more of a sigh, and he sat back farther in his seat. “I love you too.”

Clint let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and smiled, feeling like maybe tonight could still count as a parenting win. 

As they got close to the house, Patrick spoke up again. “Hey dad?”

“Yeah son?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Choose your next words very carefully.”

“Don’t tell mom.”

Clint fixed him with a look before turning his attention back to the road. “I won’t.” He said. 

“Really?”

“Yes. Because I don’t need to tell her. You are going to tell her.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Patrick, you made a mistake. You lied to me and your mother. You did something you weren’t supposed to do and a man owns up to the mistakes he’s made and he does what he can to make it right.” Clint sighed heavily as he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. “Your mom is sleeping. You can tell her in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“And Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you called me tonight. You can always call me. You know that. Right?”

“Yeah, dad. I do.”

2016

Clint knew for a fact that Marcy Foster was the love of his life. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but from the beginning, she was his partner, his equal in every way. They challenged each other and took care of each other. Life was not always kind to him and he stumbled a lot, but Clint knew that as long as he had Marcy, he could get through anything. 

That’s all he wanted for Patrick. He wanted his son to find a girl who would help him through the tough stuff. Someone he could lean on when times got tough. Someone he could share his good heart with. 

Patrick met Rachel in high school and it was truly remarkable, the effect she had on him. Patrick was always a pretty serious kid. He took school seriously. Sports seriously. Himself seriously. With the exception of Will, most of his friends were serious too. 

Rachel was different. She seemed to just get Patrick. She knew where to poke and prod him to get him to open up, and she got him to smile when no one else could. Clint and Marcy loved her immediately. 

For a while, everything was great. There was a comfort and an ease between the two of them, at least at first. Eventually though, Clint started to notice the tension. They didn’t fight, exactly. But there was an underlying tension between them. Sometimes Patrick would withdraw and become distant and Rachel would get angry and defensive and they would bicker and Patrick would withdraw even more and then they’d break up. They’d cool down. They’d try again. 

Clint wanted to help, but he didn’t know what to do. Their relationship looked so different from his and Marcy’s, and this was a different generation. He told Patrick he was always there if he ever needed someone to talk to, but his son didn’t seem to need to talk. At least, not with his dad. 

Patrick and Rachel’s relationship continued to cycle through high school, college and beyond. They would break up and get back together almost annually. It became something of a joke among their friends and extended family. But then there was a good stretch. A really good stretch. They were together for five pretty solid years. Patrick seemed happy, Clint thought. He and Marcy didn’t see him as often as they did when he was younger, but whenever Patrick came to visit, he seemed happy. 

Patrick was visiting for the holidays that year. They had a lovely Christmas with Rachel, but then she spent New Year’s Eve with her family, and Patrick stayed with his. 

Marcy went to bed around nine that night. Their friends were traveling this year and therefore not hosting their usual New Year’s Eve party. Clint and Patrick stayed up and watched the old Jays games Clint had saved on VHS tapes for years until Patrick finally converted them to DVDs. 

As they sat and watched the games together, Patrick suddenly asked, “How did you decide to marry mom?”

Clint looked over at his son. His eyes were on the game. He had one arm stretched across the back of the couch and his other was wrapped around the beer bottle that sat perched on his knee. As he waited for Clint to respond, his knee started to bounce. 

“Well. It wasn’t a tough decision, to be honest with you. I was hopelessly in love with her the moment I met her. I don’t know why exactly, I just knew I wanted to marry her one day.”

Patrick nodded, eyes still on the screen. 

“It doesn’t work that way for everyone though.”

There was a pause. Then Patrick asked, “How did you know you were ready to get married?”

Clint let out a breath and thought back to those early days. He grimaced. He didn’t know if it would help, but he knew his son needed an honest answer. 

“I’m not sure I was.” He admitted. “I always wanted to be with your mother, but I don’t know if I could say I was honestly ready for marriage back then. I didn’t fully appreciate the weight of that commitment. I just knew I wanted to be with Marcy. And I’ve never once doubted that decision.”

Patrick finally looked away from the screen and smiled at his dad, but it was unsettling. His mouth was drawn tight and his eyes had a worried look about them. It didn’t look natural. Clint wanted to say something else, or do something else. Whatever it took to make that look go away. 

“The thing is son, marriage is a partnership. Love is an important part of it, of course it is, but if you’re going to marry someone you need to know that they’re a good partner for you. You need to ask yourself: Do you work well together? Do you balance each other out? Is she the person who will face all life’s difficulties with you? Because marriage is a beautiful thing, but it’s also hard work. And it takes both of you to make it happen. If one of you isn’t paddling, the boat’s gonna spin in circles.”

Patrick fully smiled at this, and Clint felt himself relax. It was nerves, he told himself. Patrick was just feeling nervous. It’s natural to feel that way. Clint was young and dumb when he met Marcy and he jumped into love with both feet. Patrick wasn’t like that. He was more cautious. More calculated. It’s one of the many ways they were different. 

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, Patrick.”

They fell back into an easier silence than before. Clint glanced at his son as they kept watching the game. Though he seemed slightly more relaxed, his eyes were glazed over and knee was still bouncing. Clint wasn’t sure he even noticed he was doing it. 

Patrick didn’t say anything else for the rest of the night, outside of commentary about the games. Clint thought about bringing the subject back up, but he didn’t want to make Patrick uncomfortable. 

As they watched, Clint kept thinking back to those early days with Marcy. He remembered how he felt after they got married. He felt settled. Whole. He knew what the rest of his life looked like. It was a good feeling. 

Clint and Marcy faced a lot of challenges together, and not just external ones. They were both stubborn and independent and it took a while to learn how to compromise. Together they faced infertility. Job loss. That winter a snowstorm blew in their roof. But through it all, he had a fierce partner in Marcy Brewer. 

Patrick and Rachel’s relationship didn’t look quite the same, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good, or that it wasn’t worth it. Maybe, he thought, getting married would be good for them. Maybe it would settle them. Maybe then they’d finally feel that same sense of certainty he had. Because through it all, Clint didn’t get that same feeling of certainty from them. Something between them felt… off. 

Clint loved Rachel. He and Marcy both did. But sometimes he wondered if Patrick did. There were certain things that Patrick did, certain reactions that he had, that seemed strange to Clint. He sometimes wanted to. talk to Patrick about it, but he didn’t. 

He remembered once asking if his son was happy. Patrick assured him he was. The Please don’t ask again was implied. 

2017

The house was quiet. It had been quiet for years, ever since Patrick left for college, but the silence was never like this. 

Clint can still remember clearly the last day he saw his son. Patrick was loading his stuff in that old carolla he bought years before. 

“ Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, dad.” Patrick said wearily as he loaded another suitcase in the trunk. “I just need to get away for a while.”

Clint laid a hand on Marcy’s shoulder and didn't ask any of the questions he was dying to ask: do you really have to leave? How long will you be gone? Is there something I can do? Is it something that I did? 

“Okay. Just be safe out there.” Marcy said. 

Patrick straightened up and looked at his parents. He tried to smile.  

“I will. I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

Six months was apparently not enough time. Patrick settled in a town called Schitt’s Creek. Clint had heard of it before but he didn’t know anything about the town, and Patrick revealed very few details of his life there, the few times they did talk on the phone. 

Patrick was always guarded in those conversations. Always. He sounded happier now than he did when he left, though, so it seemed like the move was a good choice for him. 

Clint knew very little about Patrick’s new life. He knew that his son did some freelance business consulting for a few months before going into business with a man he just met, which was not something the Patrick he remembered would ever do. But then, Clint wasn’t sure that Patrick even existed anymore. 

These days his son sounded happy on the phone… but he was guarded. Always. Choosing each word carefully before he spoke. Hesitant to give too much away.  As though he were protecting himself… from them. Clint hadn’t told anyone, even Marcy, how much that distance hurt. He didn’t have to. He knew she was feeling it too. 

They were close, when he was growing up. As close as Patrick let them be, but now? Clint didn’t even know his own son anymore. Because his son didn’t want to know him. 

As the clock struck midnight, Clint’s phone pinged with a text. He opened his messages. 

Patrick: happy new year, Dad! 

Clint: happy new year son. We love you. 

Patrick: I love you too

Please come back. Tell us what’s going on with you. Tell us why you left. Please talk to us. Your mother hasn’t slept well since you left. 

He said none of this. He wouldn’t place that burden on Patrick. It wasn’t his son’s place to worry. That was his job. 

Marcy looked over from her spot beside him on the couch. They felt far too old to still be staying up this late, but tonight was different. Tonight, they were hoping that maybe…

Marcy smiled at the text when he showed it to her, smiling in that same strained way that Patrick had last year. Was that really only a year ago?

It scared him sometimes, how much changed in a year. On the really bad days, Clint wondered what he did wrong. What he could have done differently. He didn’t blame Patrick for any of this. Patrick needed to get away, and it seemed to be the right choice for him. Clint just wished… he wished Patrick would call more. But then when they did talk, there it was again, that wall. That distance. The implied do not ask me about my life. 

Clint couldn’t help but feel that this was it. The final straw. Patrick was gone. He put up a wall. And it was never going to come down. 

2022

“Oh, hey dad, I got that.” Patrick reached out his hands and took the champagne flutes from Clint and passed one to his mother and another to David, who kissed his cheek in thanks. 

Clint watched as David affectionately rubbed his husband’s shoulder. Patrick slipped his arm around David’s waist and the two clinked glasses. David said something Clint couldn’t hear and Patrick laughed, head thrown back, shoulders shaking. 

Clint smiled. Damn near giddy at the sight before him. This was everything he ever wanted for his son. This love. This contentment. This certainty in his future. His heart felt full as he watched them together. The love there was so evident, but that was only part of it. 

Patrick was comfortable. Relaxed. Happy with who he was and what his life was. Comfortable in his own skin. Clint never realized how tightly his son had been holding himself together until he didn’t need to anymore. 

Patrick said something, David made a face and Patrick laughed again. Loud and unguarded and happy. Clint closed his eyes, delighting in the sound. There was a time, not long ago, when he wondered if he’d ever hear it again. 

Their son was home. Not just physically. Not just today. He was back in their lives and the immense ache of his absence had healed. In a lot of ways, they had David to thank for that. Not just for loving their son, but for helping him come back home. 

Patrick and David now called them every Sunday night. Patrick also texted Clint when the store stocked a new product he thought his dad would like, or whenever the Jays lost. He called once on a Tuesday when he found a dilapidated shed at the back of his and David’s property and wanted to know how best to fix it up.  Sometimes, he called just to talk. Those were Clint’s favorite conversations. 

Patrick also made a conscious effort to come see them regularly (something else his husband encouraged him to do. Clint was quite grateful for his son-in-law).

They took fishing trips and went to Jays games  and they talked about the past with the new, full context. They talked about Patrick’s crush on Will, and the crush on his eighth grade shop teacher. They talked about Patrick’s more active role in Schitt’s Creek, and how he thought about running for town council the next time they had an election. They talked about all the things they had in common, and all the ways Patrick allowed himself to be different. 

Clint thought back to that first year after they brought Patrick home from the hospital. Each day was wild and different. Each day he learned something new about his son. It felt like that now. Ever since Patrick met David, ever since he shared with Clint and Marcy who he really and truly was, it felt like he was getting to meet his son all over again. 

Of all the many wonderful conversations he’s had with his son over the past few years, there was one conversation that Clint would remember for the rest of his life. Patrick called him up one day, shortly after he came out to them, and told the story of how he met David. 

“ Honestly, I think I started falling for him the moment he walked in the door. I’d never felt anything like that before, but I just knew I wanted to be with him. It was like I could see a whole future with him. Immediately. Is that crazy?”

“No, son. That’s not crazy at all.”

On the TV in the corner, Ryan Seacrest prepared to do the final countdown. Keeping with family tradition, all four of them shouted along with him. 

“Happy new year!”