When he emerged from the clothing rack, he held one of the most beautiful jackets I’d ever seen. I had been trying to replicate it for a year or two by then but was confused by the seemingly contradictory reference pictures I had been using.
I’m sure he had a plain sweatshirt or blazer somewhere among those racks of costuming, but I suppose he understood that I appreciated his fashion very much, otherwise I would never have made my very own replica of a jacket he happened to wear in a single set of promotional photos.
Oh but where was I? This isn’t what you asked for at all, but I suppose I can never think of your father without thinking of Patrick first. Truthfully, I fell in love with your father because he reminded me so much of Patrick. And while it’s no secret that I harbored the most intense of schoolgirl crushes on Patrick even after he and I became friends, we never ever crossed that line.
But your father? He was a sort of version of Patrick, a different incarnation. One I could touch.