Revised Dec 11 2016
Patrick
A moment passed. Then another.
"What?" Patrick's blue eyes blinked in rapid succession in hopes that his sight was deceiving him. "What is this?"
He heard Elisa sigh and wished that it was one of regret. But when he raised his head, she lifted the handle of her luggage and adjusted the strap of her carry-on. "I want a divorce, Patrick."
"No."
"Pat-"
"No! Don't call it quits, El."
"Do you think I want to? I just can't handle this anymore!" She sat on the bar stool near the island of the kitchen counter and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
He walked hesitant steps toward her. Afraid that if he rushed, she would run away like a scared doe. "Tell me how to fix this," he whispered.
She wrapped her lips around a slender digit and contemplated whatever was on her mind until she finally spoke, "Music or me."
It felt like she slapped him across the face and punched him in the gut all at once.
In a breathless voice he said, "You know how much music means to me."
She returned a thin smile. "I shouldn't have to ask, Patrick."
He watched her grab the handle again and she walked out the front door.
This time he didn't try to stop her.
Patrick hated his own mind sometimes. It made him relive memories he'd rather leave behind.
Had it really been six months since the divorce? Since Elisa left him?
He knew it was probably for the best, but it didn't make the heartache lessen. He learned how to numb the pain and for now, it was enough.
"Did you really have to wear the Hollywood-camo get-up?" Pete asked.
His voice startled him and Patrick prayed to God he didn't see him zoning out. "Uh," was all he could say while he attempted to pull his mind from the fog.
"At least take your hat off. You made that thing into your own Batman signal."
Patrick finally took in account his surroundings and remembered he was in line at a crowded Starbucks. He looked up to view the rim of the hat he wore and realized that his best friend made a point. He didn't think the fedora would make him such a recognizable target. He casually lifted the hat off — ruffled his sweaty, dirty blonde roots — and gave it to Pete. "Sorry, I forgot about that. Good catch."
"What would you do without me?" he asked and bumped into Patrick roughly, making him stumble into the woman paying for her order.
"Sorry, ma'am," Patrick apologized while he glared at Pete, giving him a look that said Dude, you suck.
He just shrugged his shoulders. Rolling his eyes, Patrick gladly removed himself from his self-made pity party. It was time to move on.
"What are we even doing here?"
"We can't function without coffee. You know that," his smart mouth replied.
Was it a normal feeling to want to strangle your best friend? Patrick couldn't tell. He's had this feeling for as long as he's known Pete.
He shook his thoughts away. "No, I mean why are we in Virginia?" Patrick inquired again.
Pete was the kind of man who felt at home surrounded by chaos — if not creating it himself. He shrugged again. "You said you wanted to get away." He was also quick to point out, "'Any fucking place, man.'"
At that memory, a wry smile appeared on Patrick's face. Pete recited the last words he'd said in a drunken stupor a few nights before.
"Yeah, don't remind me," he commented. "I would have never thought Pete Wentz vacationed at Suburbia, Virginia."
"Excuse me, but I think this place is rich with history and a wonderful place to relax at."
Patrick paused for a moment. "You closed your eyes and picked a state on a map, didn't you?"
"You need to stop mind-reading, Patty-cakes."
30 years old and you would have thought that nickname had died by now. Apparently not.
Patrick wanted to complain some more until he heard a loud cough. He looked at the barista manning the cashier, all fake-smiles with the familiar green visor, ready to take the order.
"What's the order today, sir?"
One more withering glance at Pete and he turned back to the boy in front of him. "Two black coffees, medium."
The boy nodded. "Names?"
"Pete and Patrick," Pete interjected.
Patrick stared at him with fearful eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?
"Two grande americanos!" the boy repeated loudly for the baristas beside him. "Should be ready shortly." Another fake-smile and he was already paying attention to the next person in line.
Patrick released a relieved breath. "Maybe it's a good thing we're in Virginia, then," he agreed.
"Knew you'd come around to it."
The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air along with indie-pop-rock songs from the speakers. Patrick stepped for the milk and sugar station as he and Pete waited for their order. He would have been happy to stay quiet but such a dull moment never existed in Pete's world.
"Is there anything you want to do while we're here?" his best friend questioned.
Patrick sent him a strange look. "You don't have a plan?"
"Nope," he stated. "Figured we'd wing it once we got here."
Patrick just chuckled to himself. He shouldn't have expected any more from Pete. It was only the way he was. "Yeah," he settled. "Of course we will."
"Unless you want to go to a strip club. I could totally do that."
His cheeky suggestion left Patrick a fumbling mess. He forgot where they stood and knocked over spices, sweetener packets, and worst of all — thermos cups of milk — all over the table. Pete's snickers made his face redden; he couldn't discern if it came from his obvious embarrassment or his ever growing annoyance towards Pete.
"Ay!" a woman with braided black hair exclaimed. "Mira! Look at this mess!" she said with a slight accent.
She wasn't wearing the normal attire the rest of the employees wore. Instead of a green smock wrapped around her body, she wore a plain black blouse and khaki-colored pants. Her breast pocket told him she was Penelope, the store manager.
His face reddened even further.
"I'm so sorry!" Patrick apologized as Pete giggled louder than before. He noticed the cleaning equipment she carried and grasped at the opportunity of absolution. "I'll even clean it up, ok?"
She thrusted the mop to him hurriedly.
"Toma. I want it spotless," she demanded in a frenzy. Her fleeting eyes taking in the crowd of customers.
"Tia Peti, what are you doing?!" another voice interjected. He vaguely saw a tiny girl — she must have been if he had to look down — stand next to him in his peripheral vision. "You can't treat customers like that! It's bad for business, not to mention rude."
"Gris, look at what he did to la mesa! Y el piso, tambien!"
Patrick dropped his gaze to the floor and noted that most of the liquid dripped on the floor. He did cause quite the mess.
He heard the girl's jaw tick loudly.
"Get your employees to clean it up. It's what you pay them for, isn't it?"
She whisked away the mop from Patrick before he could stop her. He found his voice a second later and told her, "Look, I really don't mind. It's my mess."
The girl shoved the cleaning equipment back to the manager; much like the same way the distraught woman did to him. Without sparing a backwards glance, the girl said, "Don't let my aunt guilt-trip you. She may be the manager but she's lazy."
The manager — Penelope, Peti, whatever — pinched her niece's side. "Callate vos!"
The girl just smacked her hand off. "You shut up! Pay attention to the rest of the customers. Give the mop to a minion or something."
If Patrick hadn't felt so embarrassed, he would've thought the exchange was funny. It didn't seem like a typical aunt-niece relationship but he didn't contemplate on it too much.
He watched the girl stroll for the pick-up section as she chatted away with the baristas. He heard her change their orders, and mentally shouted many praises to the baristas for not mentioning their names.
Pete felt his best friend jump when he clamped his arm around him. "That worked out better than I thought," he jeered.
Patrick jerked his arm off. "You're too much, you know that?"
They heard some more arguing between the manager and the girl. Patrick understood enough Spanish to know that Penelope didn't agree with her niece getting them free stuff.
"They don't look too happy," Pete noted.
They watched as the girl defiantly slapped a plastic card on the counter as she openly scowled at the manager. She just threw her arms up, exacerbated by her niece's actions, and let the barista charge the card.
He didn't say anything more as the girl approached them. She was still speaking with the crew behind her, carrying two large coffees in both hands, so she didn't notice the puddle of milk she was going to step on.
Patrick watched as she slipped and slid across the floor like a bad imitation of the infamous Risky Business scene.
He winced, waiting for the impending crash but Pete and him were stunned as she regained her balance without spilling a single drop of hot, scalding coffee. She managed to stop directly in front of them, and Patrick sent a silent thanks to the gods she didn't end up scalding him and Pete, either.
She inspected herself a quick minute before sending them a charming smile. "Whoops! Close call."
As soon as everyone regarded each other, Patrick noticed her slacked jaw and he readied himself for a fanatical scream.
They'd been recognized.
Instead of squealing her head off like he expected, she just shook her head and schooled her features.
"Sorry for staring. I think I need to check on my eyes again," she said in a self-chastising tone. She handed the coffees to them, along with a large bag of pastries he hadn't noticed. She even added sandwiches for them both. "Little consolation upgrade for dealing with my nutty aunt."
They were relieved she hadn't outed them. They played along with her little excuse so long as they wouldn't get exposed.
"You didn't have to do that," Patrick declared.
She scoffed as she waved her hand. "Peti likes to make things a bigger deal than they really are. She needs some supervision of her own."
Patrick grinned at the girl. "Thank you, um…"
"Grey," she filled in, offering an outstretched hand to him.
He took it amiably. "I'm — " Patrick realized he couldn't reveal his real name without having the girl reconsider her excuse so he went with the next best thing. " —Martin. Name's Martin."
Her dark brown eyes squinted at him in suspicion and he wondered how much of a fan the girl was.
Pete redirected her attention to him to break her train of thought. "And I'm Lewis. Nice to meet you, Grey."
It seemed that she decided to ignore the similarities and continued. "All I ask is that you don't complain about Peti. I don't think there's a job in the world that can handle her."
Just then they heard a familiar shrill at the counter.
"Cooper, la mujer said no whip cream!" the manager shouted nervously at the boy from earlier. "Ay, Dios, dame la fortaleza de no matar este niño."
Grey slapped her forehead as Patrick bugged his eyes out at the comment. Pete looked at him for an answer, since he was the only non-Spanish speaker.
"'God, give me the strength to not kill this boy.'"
"Drama queen," the girl grumbled. She whirled to watch the scene with an irritated huff. "I better go back there. She's only like this if it's super busy." She bid them farewell with a small flick of her wrist and rushed to her aunt's side.
Pete took a small sip of the coffee as he watched Grey smack the back of her aunt's head.
"Just use a spoon to scoop up the whipped cream! No need to make death threats!"
"I should embarrass you more often. We meet very interesting people that way," Pete remarked.
"You need some supervision, too."
"Probably."
They decided it was best to leave the store. Like Grey said before, they had enough close calls for the day.
It was the first time, Patrick noticed, that he didn't think about the divorce, or even Elisa for that matter.
Maybe things were looking up after all.
A/N: Hello, there. Hopefully I didn't lose you there!
You have finished reading the new and improved Chapter 1 of Pavlove! Woo-hoo!
And if you kept up at all with the story, I have to apologize for not updating for 9 months. I'M SO SORRY!
Anyways, I hated how the story was going originally so I decided to hit reset, so to speak.
Let me know in the comments below what you thought! Hate it, love it, meh - I want to know!
Until next time,
L