“Patrick!”
He pulled Adam in for a tight hug and pressed himself maybe a little too close to his old friend’s muscular torso. Over Adam’s shoulder he spotted Cassie kindly engaging Maisie and Grant as they pointed to each ornament they’d hung on the Christmas tree. It was sweet, he thought, and disorienting: his interest in his niece and nephew outweighing his interest in Adam’s torso. He didn’t like that one bit and, spooked, he let go of his friend and took a step back. “Prince Adam.” It was a nickname Patrick had bestowed for Adam’s He-Man physique.
“What has it been,” Adam asked. “Years?”
“Something like that.” Probably since they walked off of Stage Four on the Disney lot and Patrick never looked back.
“So this is where you went. You’re the talk of the town. The disappearing Patrick O’Hara. Or, were. People eventually forgot about you.” He gave Patrick a slap on the back strong enough to dislodge a hard candy.
“Yeah, well. It’s not like any of you are setting the town ablaze.” It was perhaps a bad choice of words, given the number of fires Southern California had recently endured. But it gave Patrick some solace, the lack of anything from his castmates approaching success. Adam had starred in a movie as a former tennis pro named Tony who came out of retirement to play a last match against a child prodigy with a mean backhand; the film was laughed out of South by Southwest （how it ever got in was anyone’s guess）。 And that was enviable—a movie. The others had short-lived series on some of the lesser streaming services, none of which warranted two seasons.
“You keeping tabs on me, brother?”
“No, but I still have access to IMDbPro. And my agent tells me.”
“Your agent.”
Patrick lifted his arm and pointed at Cassie as Adam frowned in her direction.
“Great dress. But she brought her kids?”
“They’re mine. Kids and the dress.”
Adam barely had time to react before Daisy Morales and Jennifer Skeen stumbled into Patrick’s sight line with wide-eyed curiosity, like they had just stepped off the bus from whatever small town still sent their most attractive ingenues to Hollywood via public transport. “Um, HELLOOOO,” Patrick bellowed, and when they turned their heads and saw him, they immediately crouched into two-thirds of the classic Charlie’s Angels pose. Patrick wasn’t keeping track of how many drinks he’d had （he wasn’t an amateur, so what was the point?）， so was surprised when he opened his mouth and gasped a high-pitched wheeze. Daisy and Jennifer were his other two costars on The People Upstairs. Patrick couldn’t form words, so instead fell in formation as Kate Jackson until the entire party turned around and applauded, and then they broke, hugged, and screamed.
“I hate you for ever leaving,” Jennifer pouted. “LA’s just no fun anymore.”
“Was it ever fun?” Patrick asked.
“Yes, silly. When we were young and famous!”
Daisy leaned her head on Jennifer’s shoulder. “I was on the lot for a meeting the other day and I went by our soundstage and they totally painted over where we signed our names on the back wall! Everything’s been undone. It’s like we were never even there! Come back.”
Patrick wiped a drop of nervous sweat from his forehead. He hadn’t had to be so on in some time. “Well, gee. You do make it sound enticing.”
“Pat-riiiiick,” they whined, stomping their feet. He studied their faces; they looked both older and younger, copies of their former selves plumped with Botox and fillers （although by a very skilled hand）。
“Come, come,” he said, eager to move on. “I want to introduce you to my wards.”
They spun around and Patrick pointed at Maisie and Grant.
“Oh . . . my . . . god.” Jennifer covered her mouth, as if her ovaries had taken control of her speech. Patrick felt something akin to pride. If the kids were anything, they were cute—especially in their matching outfits; he could see why they would be the object of maternal desire. “You have a tree!”
What? “Not the tree, the children.”
“Are they yours?” Daisy grabbed him by the shirt collar and pressed herself against him. “I begged you for your sperm and you said no.”
“Well, I didn’t know you wanted it to make babies.”
“What did you think I wanted it for?”
Patrick grasped for an answer. “Decoupage?”
Jennifer laughed. “Ugh. God, I missed you. I missed this. I miss us.”