But it's better if you do
title: But it's better if you do
pairing: Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13
summary: Patrick Stump is the new trophy-husband of successful billionaire Peter Wentz, whose son Pete is not entirely thrilled with the idea that his step-dad is younger than him, is he?
disclaimer: don't own neither the people nor the prompt
A/N: for an anon_lovefest prompt...I'm a masochist,I wrote it even if I'm deep in troubles with the bingos T-T
“I have news, son.”
“A-ah. You always say that when you’re gonna get married. How old are they? Are they legal, at least?”
“His name is Patrick and he’s 26,” Peter Wentz senior answered without taking in his son’s rude tone.
“WHAT?!”
“You heard me well. I expect you to be my witness, Peter, wedding is in two months.”
‘I’d rather witness a homicide,’ Pete thought.
This was the long and short of the conversation between Pete and his father, six months ago. Pete should be used to this, really, he should: his father remarried five times already, this being the second with a man. Peter Wentz’ wives and husbands were usually really young, before they got tired of his old man and signed papers for millionaire divorces, but this time Pete’s father really overdid himself marrying a certain Patrick Stump, who was 26 years old.
…When his son Pete was 31 years old.
Pete was used to the age gap between his parents (his mother was 19 when she married the 30-something man), but his father’s partners usually were at least a bit older than Pete: there’s no point in stressing that Pete wasn’t totally thrilled by the fact that his step-dad was younger than Pete himself.
Peter Wentz’ spouses were his trophies to show off at society parties, full of “I-shit-money-every-morning” people. Pete hated those parties with his very soul and hated his father even more for the attention-seeker he was - Pete admittedly inherited that characteristic, but not to the point of changing (in)significant others like socks and making it a State business.
Pete couldn’t really understand his father’s thing for younger partners. He almost found pathetic that Wentz Senior and his wife or husband acted like they were deeply in love despite the age difference, when it was evident from Pluto that the younger half of the couple was with Mr Wentz for his money, not to mention the sudden fame that hit them during the marriage and mostly after the divorce: Peter Wentz’ end of marriages boosted the careers of, in order, an actress, a model, a fashion designer and another model. Pete wondered what would this Patrick guy become once he divorced from his father, maybe a musician, for what Pete could remember from the conversations he barely paid attention to.
The day Peter Wentz introduced his latest toy-boy, he invited his son to an exclusive club, where the three men sat at the reserved gazebo for some privacy
“Son, this is Patrick,” the older man introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Patrick smiled shyly and held a hand out to shake.
“It’s Pete, but nice to meet you,” Pete replied through gritted teeth. Patrick looked at him with wide eyes, taking in Pete’s evident hostility.
“Pete,” Mr Wentz hissed. Pete just looked at his father blankly.
“I leave you two getting to know each other better. See you later for dinner,” Pete’s father announced and left for work.
Patrick stared at his lap, sometimes throwing side glances at Pete, who ignored him and looked at the garden around them. Their coffees were getting cold in front of them.
Patrick mastered up all is courage and finally spoke to Pete.
“Listen, I know you’ve lived this thing too many times not to feel bitter about it, but I really love your father.”
“I also listened to this bullshit one too many times,” Pete retorted without flinching.
Patrick stared back at him.
“You don’t believe me, don’t you.”
“Nope.”
“And you think I’m a social climber.”
Pete looked straight in Patrick’s eyes.
“Just like the others.”
Patrick pursed his lips and said no more, sipping at his now cold coffee. He looked one last time at Pete, who was faking interest for the vase of flowers between them, and stood up.
“I hope to see you for din-“
“Why did you lower yourself getting engaged with a man who could easily be your father?” Pete interrupted.
Patrick looked at him, but didn’t reply.
“You’re five years younger than me, dude,” Pete observed, leant against the chair.
Patrick’s lips were in a straight line before he said, “I told you I love him.”
Pete cocked his eyebrow.
“Goodbye, Pete,” Patrick left.
At Peter Wentz and Patrick Stump’s wedding, Pete wasn’t blind to the wedding attendants’ disapproving glances nor deaf to their snickers and critics. He sat in a corner and sulked the whole ceremony, agreeing with the vultures that called themselves his father’s friends.
A flute of champagne appeared in his line of vision.
“Hey.”
Pete looked up at the younger groom, who looked damn fine in his dark gray fedora, white shirt, dark tie, gray vest and black slacks.
“Hi, daddy,” Pete sniggered. Patrick rolled his eyes and leant against the same column as Pete, sipping at his glass.
“Thanks for coming,” Patrick said.
“I had to. My father threatened to disown me if I didn’t come and be his witness,” Pete drank some champagne - he actually didn’t like it, but if he got drunk he had a chance to do something he wouldn’t regret and have an excuse for his behavior already.
“You don’t have to call me dad, by the way,” Patrick sighed.
Pete looked at him silently.
“I hope you’re happy. For wasting your time with an old man, I mean. I hope being at his hip for every fucking party he’s invited to and being on the mouth of those gossipy motherfuckers are worth the trouble to become a successful…what did you say you dreamed to become, anyway?”
Patrick was hurt by Pete’s words, but didn’t show him as much; instead, he stepped in front of Pete and said, “Thank you for wishing me and your father a happy marriage. And yes, I’d love to become a musician, jackass.”
Patrick downed the rest of his drink in a gulp and stalked away, without looking back at Pete once.
Pete felt a little bit sorry for how he treated Patrick. A little bit.
Pete sighed the whole drive to his father’s house. It was that time of the week again, dinner at the Wentz’, and Pete’s mood always worsened at the mere idea of seeing his “parents”.
When Pete rang the bell, Patrick opened the door with a shy and tentative smile of his own. Pete always mentally rolled his eyes at the lame attempts of the dude to be liked by his step son, but for that night Pete had a plan. He’d been thinking and mulling over something that appeared to be only his imagination, but that happened to be more clear to him at the end of last month’s dinner.
Pete smirked delighted for making Patrick blush, he stepped inside without even saying hi and headed straight to the dinner room.
Andrew and Hilary were already there, as far as possible from their father, he noticed.
“Hi Pete,” they chorused and shared tired glances with Pete.
“Hi everyone,” Pete greeted and flopped on the free chair between Andrew and his father, opposite Patrick.
Perfect.
After six months of marriage, Peter and Patrick were still acting like an happy and loving couple, but Pete knew better. He noticed the glances Patrick threw in his direction, occasionally turning away sharply when he knew Pete caught him staring, how the younger male blushed whenever Pete teased or moved too close.
Yes, Pete was pretty sure to have the guy wrapped around his pinky.
Tasty food was served, wine was flowing copious, they chatted. The best part of the evening was happening under the table, though, where Pete played footsie with Patrick and enjoyed making the other struggle not to squeak out loud, especially when talking with his ‘husband’. It was a risky business because Mr Wentz was head of the table, his legs close to Pete and Patrick’s, but Pete loved risk.
“Son,” Wentz Senior called. Pete and Patrick froze, fearing they got caught.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a party at Simpsons’, this saturday, I’d like you to join us,” the man said sipping his coffee.
Pete didn’t hide his annoyed huff. His father had been trying to match him and the younger Simpson, Ashlee, for years: Pete doesn’t have anything against the girl, she’s pretty and funny, but they both agreed they were better off as friends and plotted to obstruct their fathers’ plans - that’s what it’d have been, a marriage of convenience to fuse the businesses.
Peter Wentz’ expression was the one of someone who didn’t accept contradictions.
Pete stood up and put his jacket back on.
“All right, all right, I’ll be there,” he sighed, “Thanks for the dinner, bye.”
He made his way to the hallway, but turned his head one last time to take a glimpse of Patrick’s face.
What he saw was exactly what he wanted.
Pete felt like he was suffocating: the tie, the crowd of people he despised, the formality of the whole event. Ashlee was at his side, equally bored.
“I can’t wait for it to be over,” she said with a mouthful of appetizers.
Pete nodded silently, his eyes focused on the profile of his “daddy”. He watched Patrick listen politely to Mr Simpson’s ramblings, laugh when needed, nod when necessary, but he wasn’t at ease either, despite the many parties he had to attend with Mr Wentz. He was like a robot.
“Whatchu lookin’ at?”
Pete smirked.
“My prey.”
“Ooooh,” Ashlee grinned knowingly, “Then I think it’s my turn to distract the crowd.”
Pete looked at her.
“I may be a blonde, but I’m not vapid , I know you have the hots for a certain Mr Stump…oh, sorry, Mr Wentz.”
That said, she headed to the set up stage and gathered the guests around, announcing she was going to entertain them with some music. Pete shook his head amused but showed his friend his thumbs up in thankful acknowledgment. Ashlee nodded at him and started playing.
Pete walked through the crowd and finally approached the spot where his father, Patrick and Mr Simpson were looking at the girl at the piano, a proud smile on Joe Simpson’s face. Patrick’s face was blank, but his lips always tugged up in a smile whenever the host asked his opinion about his daughter. Pete rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy.
Pete made sure his and Ashlee’s fathers were distracted and tapped Patrick on the shoulder.
“Hey, Pe-” Pete shushed him and signed to follow him. Patrick looked briefly at his husband and tagged along Pete, who led the way upstairs. If Patrick suspected something, he didn’t say a word.
“Patrick,” Pete called when they finally entered a room and he locked the door, blocking the escape. Patrick stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, scratching an arm and not looking at Pete directly.
“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick…Don’t hold yourself back, I know you don’t like my father but prefer me…”
Patrick looked up quickly.
“I think it’s a waste…you’re too good for the old man,” Pete stepped closer, forcing Patrick against the bed, “but you and I can do wonderful things together,” he purred.
Patrick sat on the bed and looked up at Pete, almost scared.
“If it’s one of Peter’s set ups to check my faith, it does not work,” Patrick choked out. He squealed when Pete stepped between his legs and hold him in place.
“He’s an old bastard. Selfish, because he wants ‘freshmeat’ for his own pleasure and to look cool. And stupid, because he’s surrounded himself only by vultures so far,” Pete stated, distant, then started to lazily undo his tie and unbutton jacket and shirt. He smirked when he saw Patrick following every single movement, looking at him up and down and shifting discomfortingly to ease the pressure in his tailored slacks.
“I was really upset when you married my father, but not for the reason everybody thinks: I was upset because you weren’t available anymore,” Pete whispered in Patrick’s ear, gingerly undoing the younger male’s pants and mischievously pleased not to meet resistance on Patrick’s side.
“Then why didn’t you do your best to break our engagement?” Patrick breathed out. Pete stopped in his tracks and looked straight in Patrick’s green, shimmering eyes, then kissed him hungrily.
They were lying naked on the maroon comforter, Patrick’s head on Pete’s chest.
“Because I didn’t want to hurt my father,” Pete said out of the blue, resuming the previous conversation.
Patrick stared at the canopy and asked, “Why now, then?”
“Because I love you and I don’t want to see you waste your time with a mummy.”
Patrick chuckled and turned on his side to face Pete.
“How can I become a musician, if I divorce from your father?”
“A-ah!-”
“Don’t start, Pete,” Patrick said sternly, but soon started giggling uncontrollably, remembering their first short conversation at the club. Pete ran a hand through Patrick’s thin hair and mumbled, “We can start a band.”
Patrick stared at him.
“I’m serious. I sometimes write lyrics and struggle with the bass, and I heard you singing. I also know a couple of dudes that could fill with guitar and drums and we’re set.”
Patrick sighed, “Pete, you know as well as me that it’s not easy…I mean, look at me, I haven’t concluded much so far. And look at you, you’re already 31 years old!” he added the last part with a smirk.
Pete pretended to be outraged and tickled Patrick, “Take it back!”
Patrick laughed and laughed at Pete’s fingers tickling every inch of his body, until he gave up and surrendered.
“Fine, fine, you’re not old!”
Pete beamed and kissed Patrick square on the mouth.
“I was serious, by the way. Run away with me and join me in this project.”
Patrick couldn’t hold Pete’s hopeful look and turned his back at him.
“I’ll think about it.”
Five days after the party, Mr Wentz found a post-it on the pillow next to his.
Sorry, it just said. The sheets on Patrick’s side were still warm, but his belongings were nowhere to be seen. He also didn’t answer the phone.
The first person Peter called to inform of the runaway was his eldest son. Pete didn’t answer the phone either, but the answering machine beeped in.
This is Pete Wentz, I can’t answer at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Dad, if it’s you, Patrick is with me. Goodbye, we love you. BEEP.
pairing: Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13
summary: Patrick Stump is the new trophy-husband of successful billionaire Peter Wentz, whose son Pete is not entirely thrilled with the idea that his step-dad is younger than him, is he?
disclaimer: don't own neither the people nor the prompt
A/N: for an anon_lovefest prompt...I'm a masochist,I wrote it even if I'm deep in troubles with the bingos T-T
“I have news, son.”
“A-ah. You always say that when you’re gonna get married. How old are they? Are they legal, at least?”
“His name is Patrick and he’s 26,” Peter Wentz senior answered without taking in his son’s rude tone.
“WHAT?!”
“You heard me well. I expect you to be my witness, Peter, wedding is in two months.”
‘I’d rather witness a homicide,’ Pete thought.
This was the long and short of the conversation between Pete and his father, six months ago. Pete should be used to this, really, he should: his father remarried five times already, this being the second with a man. Peter Wentz’ wives and husbands were usually really young, before they got tired of his old man and signed papers for millionaire divorces, but this time Pete’s father really overdid himself marrying a certain Patrick Stump, who was 26 years old.
…When his son Pete was 31 years old.
Pete was used to the age gap between his parents (his mother was 19 when she married the 30-something man), but his father’s partners usually were at least a bit older than Pete: there’s no point in stressing that Pete wasn’t totally thrilled by the fact that his step-dad was younger than Pete himself.
Peter Wentz’ spouses were his trophies to show off at society parties, full of “I-shit-money-every-morning” people. Pete hated those parties with his very soul and hated his father even more for the attention-seeker he was - Pete admittedly inherited that characteristic, but not to the point of changing (in)significant others like socks and making it a State business.
Pete couldn’t really understand his father’s thing for younger partners. He almost found pathetic that Wentz Senior and his wife or husband acted like they were deeply in love despite the age difference, when it was evident from Pluto that the younger half of the couple was with Mr Wentz for his money, not to mention the sudden fame that hit them during the marriage and mostly after the divorce: Peter Wentz’ end of marriages boosted the careers of, in order, an actress, a model, a fashion designer and another model. Pete wondered what would this Patrick guy become once he divorced from his father, maybe a musician, for what Pete could remember from the conversations he barely paid attention to.
The day Peter Wentz introduced his latest toy-boy, he invited his son to an exclusive club, where the three men sat at the reserved gazebo for some privacy
“Son, this is Patrick,” the older man introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Patrick smiled shyly and held a hand out to shake.
“It’s Pete, but nice to meet you,” Pete replied through gritted teeth. Patrick looked at him with wide eyes, taking in Pete’s evident hostility.
“Pete,” Mr Wentz hissed. Pete just looked at his father blankly.
“I leave you two getting to know each other better. See you later for dinner,” Pete’s father announced and left for work.
Patrick stared at his lap, sometimes throwing side glances at Pete, who ignored him and looked at the garden around them. Their coffees were getting cold in front of them.
Patrick mastered up all is courage and finally spoke to Pete.
“Listen, I know you’ve lived this thing too many times not to feel bitter about it, but I really love your father.”
“I also listened to this bullshit one too many times,” Pete retorted without flinching.
Patrick stared back at him.
“You don’t believe me, don’t you.”
“Nope.”
“And you think I’m a social climber.”
Pete looked straight in Patrick’s eyes.
“Just like the others.”
Patrick pursed his lips and said no more, sipping at his now cold coffee. He looked one last time at Pete, who was faking interest for the vase of flowers between them, and stood up.
“I hope to see you for din-“
“Why did you lower yourself getting engaged with a man who could easily be your father?” Pete interrupted.
Patrick looked at him, but didn’t reply.
“You’re five years younger than me, dude,” Pete observed, leant against the chair.
Patrick’s lips were in a straight line before he said, “I told you I love him.”
Pete cocked his eyebrow.
“Goodbye, Pete,” Patrick left.
At Peter Wentz and Patrick Stump’s wedding, Pete wasn’t blind to the wedding attendants’ disapproving glances nor deaf to their snickers and critics. He sat in a corner and sulked the whole ceremony, agreeing with the vultures that called themselves his father’s friends.
A flute of champagne appeared in his line of vision.
“Hey.”
Pete looked up at the younger groom, who looked damn fine in his dark gray fedora, white shirt, dark tie, gray vest and black slacks.
“Hi, daddy,” Pete sniggered. Patrick rolled his eyes and leant against the same column as Pete, sipping at his glass.
“Thanks for coming,” Patrick said.
“I had to. My father threatened to disown me if I didn’t come and be his witness,” Pete drank some champagne - he actually didn’t like it, but if he got drunk he had a chance to do something he wouldn’t regret and have an excuse for his behavior already.
“You don’t have to call me dad, by the way,” Patrick sighed.
Pete looked at him silently.
“I hope you’re happy. For wasting your time with an old man, I mean. I hope being at his hip for every fucking party he’s invited to and being on the mouth of those gossipy motherfuckers are worth the trouble to become a successful…what did you say you dreamed to become, anyway?”
Patrick was hurt by Pete’s words, but didn’t show him as much; instead, he stepped in front of Pete and said, “Thank you for wishing me and your father a happy marriage. And yes, I’d love to become a musician, jackass.”
Patrick downed the rest of his drink in a gulp and stalked away, without looking back at Pete once.
Pete felt a little bit sorry for how he treated Patrick. A little bit.
Pete sighed the whole drive to his father’s house. It was that time of the week again, dinner at the Wentz’, and Pete’s mood always worsened at the mere idea of seeing his “parents”.
When Pete rang the bell, Patrick opened the door with a shy and tentative smile of his own. Pete always mentally rolled his eyes at the lame attempts of the dude to be liked by his step son, but for that night Pete had a plan. He’d been thinking and mulling over something that appeared to be only his imagination, but that happened to be more clear to him at the end of last month’s dinner.
Pete smirked delighted for making Patrick blush, he stepped inside without even saying hi and headed straight to the dinner room.
Andrew and Hilary were already there, as far as possible from their father, he noticed.
“Hi Pete,” they chorused and shared tired glances with Pete.
“Hi everyone,” Pete greeted and flopped on the free chair between Andrew and his father, opposite Patrick.
Perfect.
After six months of marriage, Peter and Patrick were still acting like an happy and loving couple, but Pete knew better. He noticed the glances Patrick threw in his direction, occasionally turning away sharply when he knew Pete caught him staring, how the younger male blushed whenever Pete teased or moved too close.
Yes, Pete was pretty sure to have the guy wrapped around his pinky.
Tasty food was served, wine was flowing copious, they chatted. The best part of the evening was happening under the table, though, where Pete played footsie with Patrick and enjoyed making the other struggle not to squeak out loud, especially when talking with his ‘husband’. It was a risky business because Mr Wentz was head of the table, his legs close to Pete and Patrick’s, but Pete loved risk.
“Son,” Wentz Senior called. Pete and Patrick froze, fearing they got caught.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a party at Simpsons’, this saturday, I’d like you to join us,” the man said sipping his coffee.
Pete didn’t hide his annoyed huff. His father had been trying to match him and the younger Simpson, Ashlee, for years: Pete doesn’t have anything against the girl, she’s pretty and funny, but they both agreed they were better off as friends and plotted to obstruct their fathers’ plans - that’s what it’d have been, a marriage of convenience to fuse the businesses.
Peter Wentz’ expression was the one of someone who didn’t accept contradictions.
Pete stood up and put his jacket back on.
“All right, all right, I’ll be there,” he sighed, “Thanks for the dinner, bye.”
He made his way to the hallway, but turned his head one last time to take a glimpse of Patrick’s face.
What he saw was exactly what he wanted.
Pete felt like he was suffocating: the tie, the crowd of people he despised, the formality of the whole event. Ashlee was at his side, equally bored.
“I can’t wait for it to be over,” she said with a mouthful of appetizers.
Pete nodded silently, his eyes focused on the profile of his “daddy”. He watched Patrick listen politely to Mr Simpson’s ramblings, laugh when needed, nod when necessary, but he wasn’t at ease either, despite the many parties he had to attend with Mr Wentz. He was like a robot.
“Whatchu lookin’ at?”
Pete smirked.
“My prey.”
“Ooooh,” Ashlee grinned knowingly, “Then I think it’s my turn to distract the crowd.”
Pete looked at her.
“I may be a blonde, but I’m not vapid , I know you have the hots for a certain Mr Stump…oh, sorry, Mr Wentz.”
That said, she headed to the set up stage and gathered the guests around, announcing she was going to entertain them with some music. Pete shook his head amused but showed his friend his thumbs up in thankful acknowledgment. Ashlee nodded at him and started playing.
Pete walked through the crowd and finally approached the spot where his father, Patrick and Mr Simpson were looking at the girl at the piano, a proud smile on Joe Simpson’s face. Patrick’s face was blank, but his lips always tugged up in a smile whenever the host asked his opinion about his daughter. Pete rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy.
Pete made sure his and Ashlee’s fathers were distracted and tapped Patrick on the shoulder.
“Hey, Pe-” Pete shushed him and signed to follow him. Patrick looked briefly at his husband and tagged along Pete, who led the way upstairs. If Patrick suspected something, he didn’t say a word.
“Patrick,” Pete called when they finally entered a room and he locked the door, blocking the escape. Patrick stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, scratching an arm and not looking at Pete directly.
“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick…Don’t hold yourself back, I know you don’t like my father but prefer me…”
Patrick looked up quickly.
“I think it’s a waste…you’re too good for the old man,” Pete stepped closer, forcing Patrick against the bed, “but you and I can do wonderful things together,” he purred.
Patrick sat on the bed and looked up at Pete, almost scared.
“If it’s one of Peter’s set ups to check my faith, it does not work,” Patrick choked out. He squealed when Pete stepped between his legs and hold him in place.
“He’s an old bastard. Selfish, because he wants ‘freshmeat’ for his own pleasure and to look cool. And stupid, because he’s surrounded himself only by vultures so far,” Pete stated, distant, then started to lazily undo his tie and unbutton jacket and shirt. He smirked when he saw Patrick following every single movement, looking at him up and down and shifting discomfortingly to ease the pressure in his tailored slacks.
“I was really upset when you married my father, but not for the reason everybody thinks: I was upset because you weren’t available anymore,” Pete whispered in Patrick’s ear, gingerly undoing the younger male’s pants and mischievously pleased not to meet resistance on Patrick’s side.
“Then why didn’t you do your best to break our engagement?” Patrick breathed out. Pete stopped in his tracks and looked straight in Patrick’s green, shimmering eyes, then kissed him hungrily.
They were lying naked on the maroon comforter, Patrick’s head on Pete’s chest.
“Because I didn’t want to hurt my father,” Pete said out of the blue, resuming the previous conversation.
Patrick stared at the canopy and asked, “Why now, then?”
“Because I love you and I don’t want to see you waste your time with a mummy.”
Patrick chuckled and turned on his side to face Pete.
“How can I become a musician, if I divorce from your father?”
“A-ah!-”
“Don’t start, Pete,” Patrick said sternly, but soon started giggling uncontrollably, remembering their first short conversation at the club. Pete ran a hand through Patrick’s thin hair and mumbled, “We can start a band.”
Patrick stared at him.
“I’m serious. I sometimes write lyrics and struggle with the bass, and I heard you singing. I also know a couple of dudes that could fill with guitar and drums and we’re set.”
Patrick sighed, “Pete, you know as well as me that it’s not easy…I mean, look at me, I haven’t concluded much so far. And look at you, you’re already 31 years old!” he added the last part with a smirk.
Pete pretended to be outraged and tickled Patrick, “Take it back!”
Patrick laughed and laughed at Pete’s fingers tickling every inch of his body, until he gave up and surrendered.
“Fine, fine, you’re not old!”
Pete beamed and kissed Patrick square on the mouth.
“I was serious, by the way. Run away with me and join me in this project.”
Patrick couldn’t hold Pete’s hopeful look and turned his back at him.
“I’ll think about it.”
Five days after the party, Mr Wentz found a post-it on the pillow next to his.
Sorry, it just said. The sheets on Patrick’s side were still warm, but his belongings were nowhere to be seen. He also didn’t answer the phone.
The first person Peter called to inform of the runaway was his eldest son. Pete didn’t answer the phone either, but the answering machine beeped in.
This is Pete Wentz, I can’t answer at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Dad, if it’s you, Patrick is with me. Goodbye, we love you. BEEP.