Work Text:
Patty heard keys jingle at the front door of the apartment. She jumped up from the tiny kitchen table where she had been sitting and began pacing in front of the door, waiting. The door began to open.
“You're a ladybug!” Patty was pissed.
Simon walked to the door, startled by the harassment.
“You're a ladybug and I’m a bee.” Patty was pointing accusingly now.
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Simon asked aggravated.
“You're a ladybug. I'm a bee. And this is not gonna work out.”
Simon’s stomach flipped involuntarily. “Patty,” he said more deliberately, “What are you talking about?” Patty shoved a wrinkled, slightly sweat damp flyer into Simon's chest. Simon caught it and began to read.
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Before Simon could even look up from the flyer, Patty continued. “You're a ladybug. You like an empty space! I mean not really an empty space, but, but I'm a bee and I like to see my stuff. I like to see my stuff, Simon!”
“Patty, where did you find this,” Simon asked still completely confused.
“A housekeeper, no, an organizer came into the print shop today. She was making flyers for her business or whatever, and we got to talking. She was telling me and CeCe about about the birds and the bees. No no, the butterflies and the bees. I read her handouts off the printer. And we're not the same.” Patty sounded urgently resolute in her findings. “How can we live together?” She looked distraught by her conclusion.
“I don't think about that shit. What do you mean, that we can't live together?”
“You like everything out of sight. You’re always shoving stuff into your book bag. You keep our records in the stove. You just have to, like, push everything away. I,I need to see my stuff. I need to know where my journals are. I need to see my…”
“Stop. Patty. I use the stove to store our merch because it’s busted. It's a great place to store stuff,” Simon replied, baffled, “That doesn't mean that we break up.”
“Okay, but you still hate stuff lying around… like the mail. When the mail’s lying on the counter, it drives you crazy! Or when the trash bags are out, it drives you crazy. You like to just make it go away!”
“Patty, you're right. Random trash makes me pissed. But, your journals, or Chompy, or your Reface. Uh, they're not junk. They don't make me anxious.”
Patty exhaled, finally. Her anger gone, a wave of self-consciousness over took her. She looked down at her hands, twisting and interlacing her fingers together.
“I grew up in a ladybug house. I wasn't allowed to touch the kitchen.”
“I know,” Simon said quietly.
“I wasn't allowed to use the living room.”
“I know,” Simon confirmed quietly.
“The only place that was mine was my room. And now you're a ladybug, and you're not gonna allow me to touch anything.”
Simon went over to Patty and braced her shoulders. “Patty, this is your place too. I like that your journals are organized by color over here. It cracks me up that Chomby is manning my drumset over there.” As Simon said this, his head would nod to “here” or “there,” but his eyes never left Patty. “They're you. They remind me of you.” Relief flooded Patty’s face. “You belong here. Hell, don't forget you pay the bills.”
Patty smirked, finally, and said. “Oh, yeah.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Simon confirmed.
“Fuck, yeah,” Patty responded more confidently. Her head turned toward the wall above the couch. ‘It doesn't bother you that I save the flyers from all the shows you take me to.”
“Are you kidding? Of course not. My music girlfriend has the best fucking taste in music. You know how I can tell?” Patty smiled and shook her head. “I can tell if you really like something by how much you decorate the flyer with stickers, or, if you thought the band was shit because of the obvious lack of stickers.” Patty stared at the wall now seeing the pattern, her eyebrows raised in recognition. “Your stuff tells me about you.”
“Like my love letters,” Patty smiled bashfully now.
“Like your fucking brilliant love letters,” Simon exhaled. “And yeah, I shoved them into my backpack, not because I thought they were junk I didn’t want to see around, but because I wanted them with me, everywhere.” Silence settled comfortably between them.
“You feel better now?” Patty nodded. “Good,” Simon released his hold on her shoulders and shrugged his own, releasing his back pack down his arms. He handed the organizer’s ad back to Patty. “Throw that away.”