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“Honey, you got a package,” David calls out, setting it on the small bench by the door.
“Can you bring it in here?” Patrick calls from the kitchen.
David wasn’t really planning on doing any additional manual labor today, after being at the store alone all day, but it’s easier to bring Patrick the box than deal with the jokes. Last time, Patrick made David a smoothie for dinner, because he didn’t want David to have to exert himself by lifting a fork or chewing. It was a good smoothie, at least, and David ate some of Patrick’s pizza anyway.
David sets the box down on the island. Patrick is clearly cooking something—there’s a pot of boiling water on the stove and also a pot of milk. Are they having oatmeal for dinner? That’s not what he meant when he said breakfast for dinner is always a good idea.
David spots a box of pasta—that makes more sense. Mac and cheese, of course.
“I didn’t get the delivery notification, I’ve been waiting for this.” Patrick comes over to kiss David hello.
Patrick opens the box and it’s… cheese. A lot of cheese. From Murray’s.
“Is that all cheese?”
“Yes, I’m tired of Brebner’s only carrying two types of Gruyere—neither is even aged.”
“This is… a lot of cheese. Was there a sale?” David is slightly confused, this seems like a lot of money for Patrick to spend.
“You’re the one who says you can’t put a price on happiness.”
“And in this case, happiness is a lot of cheese delivered from New York?”
“Well, I realized when Alexis took us there—”
David makes a disgruntled noise. Alexis did not take them to Murray’s.
“Fine, when we went there with Alexis, I realized the cheese here is holding me back. I could never make great mac and cheese with mediocre ingredients.”
“I mean, can cheese ever be mediocre.” David doesn’t even bother making it sound like a question, even okay cheese is good.
“So we’re still working on our mac and cheese recipe?” David doesn’t actually mind the mac and cheese fixation of Patrick’s, it’s much better than the french omelet phase. David hasn’t been able to eat an egg since.
“I think we’re close. I made breadcrumbs with garlic and extra parm this time for the topping and I got fontina and two types of gruyere. I also got the Jasper Hill one you liked, and some Ricotta Di Bufala—and a couple of other things.”
“This seems like….a lot of money to spend on cheese?” David is surprised his fairly frugal husband would do this—not that David minds, it’s cheese.
“Well, it’s less money than we spent on the rental car to go see a rock wall that looked just like the one at the edge of my grandfather’s farm.”
“Ugh!” David throws his hands up. He knows Patrick is just trying to work him up but it’s working. “You said you wanted to go to Storm King—you said it looked nice. And that was an Andy Goldsworthy.” David remembers that day—Patrick was underwhelmed with the sculpture park, but happy David wanted to spend anytime outdoors.
“Well, I think the George Brewer one is equally nice.”
“Patrick, it’s not the same thing. Your grandfather’s is a shrink-wrapped cheese from Brebner’s and the rock wall at Storm King is a fresh made, small batch ricotta. It’s an intricate wall, winding through the trees—not just some old fashioned fence.”
“Not sure I love my grandfather being subpar mass-produced cheese in this analogy.” Patrick teases.
“Not him. His wall. Anyway, tell me more about these garlic breadcrumbs.” David gives a little shimmy, he is not fighting about art with his numbers guy tonight.
“Okay, David. Can you shred this cheese while I put the rest of this away?” Patrick sets three blocks of cheese to the side.
David grabs the box grater, and starts telling Patrick about his day. It’s nice, the easy rhythm they have. Patrick nods along as he stirs the cream sauce. David eventually has a huge pile of cheese and he watches carefully as Patrick adds handful after handful to the pot.
Patrick grabs a spoon and tries a bite, and makes a face David has only seen a few times outside of the bedroom. “You have to—” Patrick dips the spoon back into the pot, which isn’t really sanitary, though David supposes he knows where Patrick’s mouth has been.
Patrick tips the spoon into David’s mouth and—it’s exceptional, creamy and salty, the very expensive cheese making a very delicious sauce.
“The problem is now I’m only going to eat this mac and cheese. You’re going to have to add a cheese line to the spreadsheet.”
“We do what we have to,” Patrick laughs, leaning in for a kiss.