Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

P atrick paced in front of the doors of the Asian Community Center. This was what he'd been doing for the past ten minutes. Occasionally, he'd open the door for someone. Mostly, there was the pacing and his nervous muttering. The last time he was this anxious was when he was a kid at his first wrestling match. He barfed twice before hitting the mat. Part of him wished he'd taken his family and Chelsea up on their offers to come with him.

He stopped pacing. In the glass reflection of the windows, he adjusted his tie. His mom suggested he wear a suit, but he always managed to twist himself up inside formal attire. "You look ridiculous," he said to himself.

"Green is your color," a teeny tiny Asian woman said from around the corner of the door. Her red and gold blouse sparkled in the moonlight as she greeted more attendees, saying hello and chatting up people as they arrived.

He glanced down at his Dartmouth green three-piece slim fit suit. The camel-color tie and matching handkerchief made him look like an Etsy model. Am I trying too hard?

"Would you like to come in?" She gave him what he'd call a sneaky smile.

Oh geez, even she knows I'm trying too hard. I should go.

She pulled him in by the elbow. "You look like you like spicy chicken wings. I made them. I'm Annie and they're oven baked. You must try some and tell me if they're good."

"I am kinda hungry." Patrick didn't mean to say that aloud, but Annie was too kind to resist.

"And gamjajeon."

"What's that?"

"A Korean potato pancake. You'll like it."

Before Patrick could blink, they were inside the community center. A band played holiday music from a stage, and decorated trees stood in each of the corners. Garlands of pine and sparkling lights hung from the windows and walls. The atmosphere was cozy with the lights dimmed low against the red fabric draped about the room.

Annie patted his arm as she walked away. "I'll fix you a plate."

Patrick nodded as he turned around to walk, looking for Sandy. He checked his coat and gravitated to the silent auction display. Spa vacation packages, gourmet wine baskets, and ski trips to Aspen were all up for grabs. But what caught Patrick's attention wasn't on any of the tables. In a section beyond the goodie tables was a gallery display of black and white portraits. He recognized a couple of the photos from Sandy's portfolio. He stopped at the nameplate of the artist:

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Sandy Holiday is a local photographer. Born and raised in Chicago, Sandy specializes in black and white portraits.

"I want my photos to tell a story. When you look at them, I want you to go on that journey with them in that moment."

He has taken commercial and product photos for Bound Books, Holiday Sports Medicine, Purple Machine, Buck's Beer, and Wilde's Watering Hole. Sandy is a member of the Chicago LGBTQIA+ Chamber of Commerce.

The serious expression on Sandy's self-portrait photo was odd. Patrick never associated the word ‘somber with Sandy's lively presence. Prying himself away from the professional face of the man he desperately wanted to see, Patrick strolled to the first piece. It was a series of three photos of an ancient, wrinkled man, eating a meatball, spilling the ball on himself, and ultimately laughing about it. Now this is what he expected from Sandy's sense of humor. As he moved along, each photo reminded him so much of Sandy's laughter, kindness, and joy. He stopped at a photo of Annie, who was near the water, laughing. Patrick glanced at the title card with the word MA written on it. The woman who'd met him at the door was Sandy's mom, which made perfect sense.

"I hoped you'd make it," a strained voice said from behind Patrick.

Patrick wiped his sweaty palms o his pants legs and turned.

And there he was, Sandy in a red vest, matching tie, and white shirt. His black floppy bangs hid part of his face, but there was a shy smile there, hidden until he finally looked up, meeting Patrick's eyes.

"People are going to think we planned this." Patrick moved his hand from his suit to Sandy's, indicating the green and red theme of their clothes.

"I won't mind, if you don't." Sandy took a few steps closer to Patrick.

"Here you are." Annie held a full plate out to Patrick with a roll of utensils.

"You two met?" Sandy's eyes traveled from his mom to Patrick.

"Of course." His mom kissed his cheek. "Go get drinks. I got things to do." And Annie was off just as quickly as she arrived.

Sandy blew his bangs out of his eyes. "How about you find a table for that gigantic plate of food, and I'll get the drinks?"

Patrick headed toward the main area in search of a place to sit. Everyone had the same idea. The only table left was in the center of the room, closest to the dance floor. He still couldn't believe what he was looking at: the people, the beautiful decorations, and the auction. It was all perfect, in fact.

Sandy took a seat across from Patrick and slid over a beer to him.

"This is a lot." Patrick circled his fork in the air, encompassing everything in the room. "How did you manage this?"

Sandy glanced around like he was noticing everything for the first time. "A Rolodex from the 1980s and my mom. She would have made a helluva dictator." Sandy cleared his throat. "I want to apologize for keeping my job a secret, but I don't want you to think that this has anything to do with that. It doesn't."

"No?" Patrick leaned forward on his elbows, curious where this was going.

"This event is about your family and the business. I need to help because I care about all of you, but I don't want to pressure you about us. Does this make sense?"

Patrick understood, and he appreciated the sentiment. "You really didn't have to do this."

"I did. And oh sweet gingerbread men, someone gave my mom a microphone." Sandy stood, holding a finger in the air. "Be right back."

"Ladies and gentlemen and nonbinary friends . . . " Annie stood on the stage, squinting into the bright lights. "Can we dim this?"

Sandy swooped in next to his mom and slipped the mic out of her hands.

"Don't forget to project from your diaphragm," she suggested. The microphone still caught every word she uttered.

"I have a microphone and an amp. Do I really need to?"

"Sometimes you mumble."

"What? Never."

"Debate team. Sixth grade. You got a D." The boisterous laughter from the crowd filled the air.

Sandy placed a hand over his eyes. "On that note, the silent auction will begin momentarily. All proceeds from this evening's event will go to the McCormick Family and the Children's Health & Dental Clinic. Please enjoy your night, and don't forget to tip the band because they're playing for free."

"Ask him to dance." Annie's voice was still being caught by the microphone.

"Ma, you're pushing."

"All good romances need a push," she shouted as a version of "Christmas Baby Please Come Home" started up. Sandy left the stage, rejoining Patrick at the table.

"You're probably wondering about the Children's Clinic. My step pop is a sports doc, and since we basically broke his Rolodex to get people to come out for this event, we did a combination of sorts."

Overwhelmed with the love at this display of Sandy's kindness and generosity, but mostly with the need to get his hands on him after so many days apart, Patrick wiped a napkin across his mouth. "Do you want to dance?" He stood up and held out his hand.

Sandy's mouth opened, but no words emerged. Patrick took Sandy by the arm, encouraging him to stand with a tug.

He led them to the center of the dance floor. A few other couples joined in once they saw Patrick and Sandy. "This is amazing. Seriously, what you did here is impressive. And I'm glad the kids will benefit from this function. Honestly, they could take it all. With the insurance covering everything and your GoFundMe page, we really don't need much more to pay off the bills and shut down."

"No reopening in Mayfield?"

Patrick shook his head.

"What will you do? Move to Madison?"

"Nope, I'm out of the family business and Dad is set to retire—Mom made sure of that. I haven't a clue what I'm going to do next. It's a very uncomfortable feeling and nice at the same time." The song ended and they moved off the floor, heading to the silent auction. Patrick dipped his head down. "I owe you an apology. I overreacted about your job with Lance Right. It wasn't my place to tell you who you should work for, and nowadays, you can't give up a decent-paying job."

"Please—I should have said something. It's my fault entirely. I'm the one who's sorry. I hope I can earn your trust back in time."

Patrick stopped them at the display of Sandy's photos. "Look at these photos. You're so talented. I'm in awe of it. This one of your mom is incredible."

Sandy glanced at the photo. "Technically, that's supposed to be my Christmas gift to my mom. Don't tell her." Sandy's eyes widened at something over Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick turned around. A woman didn't realize it, but her wrap had gotten caught on a Christmas tree.

"Oh, holy night! Be right back before she topples the tree." Sandy ran toward the oblivious woman.

Patrick studied that amazing photo of Annie. He couldn't let Sandy lose his gift to her. Patrick dashed to the silent auction table. He located the clipboard for Sandy's photos and bid as high as he could go. Now wasn't the time to be spending his money, but he had enough saved from working nonstop over the years that he could splurge. And Sandy was worth everything. He scribbled two thousand dollars before rejoining Sandy at the saved Christmas tree.

The two worked together to rehang silver ornaments back on the branches.

A stray silver ball rolled next to Patrick's foot. He bent down to pick it up, then hung it on one of the limbs. "Saving trees and strangers . . . you're an exceptionally nice person," he said to Sandy as he adjusted a snowflake that looked on the verge of falling.

"Bite your tongue. Everyone knows I'm a snarky self-centered drama queen. Personally, I blame you for all your Wisconsin-nice rubbing off all over me and bringing out the best in me, which is legit annoying."

A devious smile stretched across Patrick's lips. "Rubbing off on you, huh?"

Sandy backhanded Patrick in the bicep. "Shut up."

He caught Sandy's hand and brought it to his chest. "I'm not saying this because of what you did here for my family . . . I like you. I want us to go on hikes, go to see a musical, and go camping."

"Fuck no. Did you name three things that I absolutely detest on purpose? How are we even compatible?"

Patrick dropped his hand and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. As the fire surged in Patrick's stomach and then to his cock, he knew they didn't need to do any of those things. And from the growly sound that Sandy made, he was onboard with whatever they did next.

Sandy pulled back from the kiss. "Want to get out of here?"

"You don't need to stay for the auction?"

"After that kiss? Are you for real? Ma can text me the highlights."

Perfect, because I already have several other activities in mind that we'll both enjoy.

Sandy couldn't stop smiling as Patrick pressed him into the front door of the Brownstone, ravishing his neck with kisses. Blindly, he fumbled the key, trying to shove it into the lock as Patrick's hands pushed open his jacket, rubbing them across his nipples. That combination did it for him. Patrick pushed against Sandy as if he was about to fuck him through his clothes. Finally, he twisted the lock home and got them into the foyer. He grabbed Patrick by the lapels and shoved his tongue down his throat, kicking the door shut with his foot and fumbling to flip the dead bolt closed.

Patrick peeled off his own jacket and then Sandy's. This was one time Sandy didn't care about being tidy. He discarded his shoes and then stripped Patrick's suit coat off as he moved them in the direction of his bedroom. Once he got to the vest, he stopped. "Seriously, double breasted and eight zillion buttons? You couldn't find a corset?"

"They were all out." Patrick loosened Sandy's tie.

Sandy flipped on the standing light at the entrance of his bedroom and then started to unbutton his own vest. Patrick did the same with his.

"Before we do this, promise me I never have to do any of those things you listed. This body was not made to sit through three-hours of singing nor cavorting with bugs."

"What about volunteering? Or doing some travelling together. You could take pictures."

Sandy flung off his vest, shirt and pants and practically ran over to remove the rest of Patrick's clothes. "Done. I'll give until I can't give no more, and then I'll photograph you naked."

Patrick's fingers dug into Sandy's ass as he pulled him into him for a kiss. Sandy groaned as Patrick's hardness rubbed against him. He couldn't wait any longer to taste Patrick. Sandy went to his knees and pulled Patrick's fitted boxers down his legs. "Hold on, Santa, this is going to be a bumpy ride." He wrapped his mouth around Patrick's cock and grasped his ass.

There was ringing. Loud bells ringing. Loud, annoying bells ringing. Sandy wished whoever decided to bother him after he and Patrick spent the majority of the evening exploring each other's bodies would fall into a pile of snow. He rolled over onto his back, glancing at his bed mate, who was unfortunately covered by the duvet. Sandy sighed as he slipped into his pajamas and slippers and started down the stairs to the front door.

He could only assume the tiny figure on the welcome mat bundled under a hundred layers with a scarf around her face was his mom. Her eyes blinked and then her glasses fogged once she stepped inside the warm interior. Sandy swung the door shut for her, seeing as she was barely gripping a large, wrapped, rectangular box.

Mom knocked off her boots on the rug and held the box out to Sandy. He put it to the side to help her pull her scarf away from her mouth for her to speak. "Good morning."

Sandy pulled off her foggy eyewear and wagged them in the air to clear the cloudiness. "What are you doing here and why at the crack of dawn?"

"It's seven in the morning. Why are you still in bed?" She took her glasses back and placed them on her nose.

Patrick came down the stairs, tying the drawstring on what looked like a pair of Julia's old sweatpants. The pants were tight and short. Sandy's eyes bugged out once he glimpsed the visible bulge between Patrick's legs. He quickly grabbed Patrick's coat off a hook and hurried his boyfriend into it before his mom saw more than he wanted her to ever see.

"Where did you find those?" Is he my boyfriend? Oh . . . I have a boyfriend?!

"In a drawer." He shrugged. "I thought they were yours."

"Purple with stars? Do I look like a unicorn?"

"Now I see why you're cranky, even though you shouldn't be after hanky panky," his mom smirked knowingly.

Patrick's cheeks turned red, and Sandy couldn't help the foot stomp and sigh. "Stop. Please stop. And what is this?"

"It's for Patrick. Something from the auction."

"Actually, Annie, that's yours," Patrick replied.

Her features scrunched up and then a smile appeared. "But you bid on it."

"I did, but not for me, for your son."

The petite woman shook her head. "Show me what it is." She untied her boots as Sandy brought the box into the kitchen. He set it on the counter and grabbed his Xacto knife from a drawer.

"When did you have time to bid on anything?" Sandy said out of the corner of his mouth to Patrick.

"When you dashed off to save a stranger from a tree." Patrick helped open the box.

Together they extracted the portrait and laid it on the counter.

Mom stepped closer to get a better view of the photo. She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh no . . . you shouldn't have. This is too much."

"Your son told me he wanted to give this to you for Christmas, so . . . "

"She wasn't supposed to know that, and you're supposed to save money when you're jobless, not spend it." Sandy nudged Patrick with a shoulder.

Patrick gave Sandy a side squeeze. "It was for a good cause."

"I absolutely love it." She beamed at the photo and rested her head on Sandy's shoulder.

Sandy's heart sped up as he glanced between his mom and Patrick. He could get used to these feelings of love and warmth, and feeling that he was part of something bigger than himself. It was better than the scent of baked sugar cookies fresh out of the oven.

He couldn't deny it—this was the best feeling in the world.