Meddling – Robin 22

My father needs to get his own life.

Ever since he's come back from the dead he's been trying to make up for lost time by giving me advice. Very inappropriate advice that would have scarred me for life if he had given it to me while growing and seriously threatens my sanity as it is.

The fact that he's out of town on assignment makes no difference, apparently. Yesterday he called to make sure that Patrick and I were still playing "pattycakes," an allusion that actually made me laugh but I covered the phone because I didn't want to encourage him. Today, he called to tell me that he was coming home to help me move into "Pat's" apartment. For once I had a great comeback – my mother is coming to Port Charles and already volunteered to help. The silence on the other end of the phone amused me.

Apparently their reunion didn't go well. No one died and the injuries weren't life-threatening, but I know that my father isn't eager to repeat the experience. Maybe both my parents will be too distracted with each other to meddle too much in my life? Or, I sigh and looked around at the mess we've made, is that too optimistic?

Patrick and I are at my apartment packing my things up to move into his place at the end of the week. Truthfully, I could do it all much faster without him, but he insisted on helping. Generosity is not his sole motive, I've sussed out after hours of painfully not casual of questions about whether I "really need" to bring the pastel pillows on my couch or the watercolors I got in Provence. It's obvious that cave man stirrings are coming to the surface as he's beginning to realize that it's not just me and my lingerie moving into his place.

"Really. This?" he asks with a pained expression on his face and one pink and one blue elaborately carved candle in each hand.

I bite the inside of my cheek and blink innocently. "Of course, Patrick. Those are very special to me." Special only in the "a gag gift I couldn't bring myself to throw out and the movers tossed it in with everything from Paris" kind of way. I mean, those candles are apparently the specialty craft in some mountain town in Switzerland, except I the teddy bears stamped on them were a special addition by a sadistic friend just for me. They're hideous and I definitely plan to donate them to someone with kids. Torturing Patrick is just a side bonus.

Patrick pastes on a smile and turns to put them into the box he's filling. I think he's looks a bit green, in fact, the same tone as the stuffed frog just underneath the candles. I take pity on him.

I walk over to him and put my hand on his back and reach into the box and take out the stuffed frog.

"You're getting rid of that?"

"No. Everything else in that box can go. We'll give it to charity."

He closes his eyes and breathes an audible sigh of relief. "God, I love you." He opens his eyes and winks at me and grabs the stuffed frog. "Are you sure about this, though?" He bounces it up and down as if it's hopping.

"Don't press your luck." I take the frog back and smile up at him. "We haven't gone through your stuff yet."

"My stuff?" His eyes widen. Clearly the fact that he's going to have to shift his stuff to make room for mine has not occurred to him. Figures.

I grin and go back to my packing. I hear him mumble something about getting Robert on his side. Well, if my mother doesn't distract my father, having Patrick try to rope him into conversations about domestic situations should send him running in the other direction quick enough.