Vince:Andy, I hate you.
Aubrey:Well now, that’s not what you said earlier.
Cynthia:Not at all what he said earlier.
Andrew:What did he say earlier?
Vince:Stop. I'm serious.
Eli:We like you Andrew. You’ll fit in here.
Aubrey:Come to the campout, pretty please!
Andrew:I'll be there!
Frank:Welcome to the group, Andrew.
Chapter 15
Because You’re My Boyfriend
Andrew
"Camping,huh?"Ted'svoicecrackles through the phone, a tinny intrusion against the quiet hum of my refrigerator. I'd called him the moment I stepped back into my apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. His words hang in the air between us, a question mark I can already feel the weight of. "I'll be honest with you, Andrew, I don't really do camping."
"Come on, please?" The words tumble out, a little too eager, a little too desperate.
I'm pacing now, the worn linoleum of my kitchen floor cool beneath my bare feet. My fingers wrap around a glass of water, condensation beading on the surface like tiny tears. "It'll befun. I think you'll like Gary, and I've heard so much about his husband, Frank,and the rest of his friends. I really want to meet everyone." I toss the vitamins back, the pills scraping against my throat as I swallow, a bitter prelude to his inevitable rejection.
"I said I don't do camping, Andrew." His voice is flat, a finality that settles in my stomach like a stone. "Look, I get that you want to go, but I'm not interested in hanging out with a bunch of guys I don't knowin 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?" Each word is a carefully placed barb, a list of reasons that feel more like excuses, more like a wall he's building between us.
"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?" My voice rises, a desperate plea that sounds pathetic even to my own ears.
We've been official for a short time now—barely three weeks since that awkward first date. The glass in my hand feels heavy, a burden I can't seem to put down. The condensation has created a small puddle on my counter, each droplet a tiny mirror reflecting the fluorescent kitchen lights. I watch as a water bead slides down the side, tracing a path to my thumb.
Official. The word tastes foreign in my mind, like something borrowed that doesn't quite fit.
Ted had been the one to suggest it, that night on the beach when the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and violet that should have felt romantic but mostly just made me squint. He'd taken my hand, his palm sweaty against mine, and said, "We should make this official." I'd nodded, mute, because saying yes felt like agreeing to something I didn't fully understand, while saying no felt like slamming a door that had barely been opened. Now, as I listen to his voice through the phone, I wonder if this is what being official means: standing in your kitchenwhile someone lists all the reasons they won't meet your friends, won't try something new, won't bend even slightly for you.
"Andrew, you know how I feel about you, but this isn't it." His sigh is a weary exhalation, a sound that says he's tired of this conversation, tired of me. "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'srude for you to pressure me like this. You shouldn't make people do things they don't want to do, Andy."
And there it is, the twist of the knife, the way he always manages to turn things back on me, leaving me questioning my own motives, my own desires.
"It's fine," I say, catching myself mid-thought. Vince's voice echoes in my head, and I smirk at the memory of how he always knows what "it's fine" really means. The thought of Vince makes my heart sink a little. I wish I had inside jokes with Ted. I bet Vince has them with Sam.
"Thanks, babe," Ted says, 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 roll my eyes, grateful he can't see me. Ted is gorgeous, but he can be infuriatingly dense. He doesn't understand what "it's fine" means at all.
I'm not surprised, though. Our communication struggles have been there from the start. We're fine, but I don't want just fine. I want more. I want connection.
"Hello?" Ted prompts when I don'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 hesitate, gatheringmy nerve. "I need some space this weekend. I need to think. I'll call you Sunday night."
