Warner Park

✨ Chapter Six | The Campout

— Andrew —

"Camping, huh?" Ted said over the phone. I'd called him shortly after I got back to my apartment to gauge his interest. "I'll be honest with you, Andrew, I don't really do camping."

"Come on, please? It'll be fun. I think you'll like Gary, and I've heard so much about his husband and the rest of his friends. I really want to meet everyone." I paced back and forth in my kitchen, holding a glass of water and my evening vitamins. I gulped them down quickly, bracing for his response.

"I said I don't do camping, Andrew. Look, I get that you want to go, but I'm not interested in hanging out with a bunch of guys I don't know. In the middle of nowhere. Without running water. With bugs. Pretending to care about people's boring stories. No reception. Gross food. Why would I want to do all that?"

"Because I'm there? Because you want to spend time with me? Because you care about me and know this is something I'd enjoy? Because you're my boyfriend?"

"Andrew, you know how I feel about you, but this isn't it. I'm sorry. Just because I'm your boyfriend doesn't mean I have to subject myself to things I don't like. Honestly, it's kind of rude for you to pressure me like this. You shouldn't make people do things they don't want to do, Andy."

He had a way of turning things back on me, always.

"It's fine," I said, catching myself mid-thought. Vince's voice echoed in my head, and I smirked at the memory of how he always knew what "it's fine" really meant. The thought of Vince made my heart sink a little. I wished I had inside jokes with Ted. I bet Vince had them with Sam.

"Thanks, babe," Ted said, completely missing the point. "Maybe we can do something else this weekend. You name the place, any place, and I'll buy you dinner."

I rolled my eyes, grateful he couldn't see me. Ted was gorgeous, but he could be infuriatingly dense. He didn't understand what "it's fine" meant at all.

I wasn't surprised, though. Our communication struggles had been there from the start. We were fine, but I didn't want just fine. I wanted more. I wanted connection.

"Hello?" Ted prompted when I didn't respond.

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, I don't think you're understanding me. I'm still going."

"What?"

"I'm going. Gary wants me there to meet his husband and his friends. It's important to him, so I'm going. I'll call you Sunday when I get back and have reception. And..." I hesitated, gathering my nerve. "I need some space this weekend. I need to think. I'll call you Sunday night."

"Andrew..." Ted's voice rose in protest, but I cut him off.

"Don't call me, Ted. I won't have reception. I'll call you."

Before he could say more, I hung up. The phone lit up almost instantly with his name on the screen. I ignored it. Of course, he wouldn't respect the boundary I'd just set. It annoyed me how nothing I wanted ever seemed to matter to him.

Yeah, I wasn't sure this thing with Ted was working.

When I thought about why I was trying so hard, the truth was ugly. It wasn't about him; it was about me. My stubbornness to make dating apps work. My fear of being alone. Ted was good on paper—great dates, good sex—but everything else was just lackluster. I wanted sparks and fireworks. Butterflies. All the things I accidentally felt with Vince.

Ted never gave me any of that.

I sighed, remembering what my therapist had said about my patterns. How I latched on to people just to avoid loneliness. I'd promised myself I'd left those patterns behind when I moved to LA, but here I was. Back to old habits, using Ted as a security blanket.