Chapter 11
Queer Folk and Cheap Wine
Andrew
Weeks slip by like sand through my fingers, my routines settling into an exhausting rhythm.
Long days taping Relay drain every last drop of energy from my bones.
Between squeezing in yoga classes and working from sunup to sundown, I'm running on fumes.
I do my best to stay energized, soaking up sunshine whenever I can and prioritizing sleep like it's the most precious currency I own.
One constant remains: Vince and I run together every weekday morning.
Shockingly, he hasn't abandoned his "running bud" yet.
Today stretches long and unforgiving, as usual.
The crew wraps up a taping session outside, but my portion with Vince has already finished.
Most of the remaining team is in the field, chasing after additional contestant footage.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck at the studio's sad excuse for a concession area, trying to figure out what might pass for dinner.
The snack selection is a landscape of disappointment.
I stare at the table laden with leftovers, wondering how this setup might differ if I were starring in a blockbuster film instead of co-hosting a reality competition show destined for obscurity.
It's clear this whole production is someone's expensive passion project.
Unfortunately, that passion doesn't extend to providing anything resembling decent food.
"Eat the donuts," Gary teases from behind me as he approaches, his plate already piled high. His hand hovers over a lone Caesar wrap.
"Gross," I reply, my nose wrinkling in disgust. "Those have been sitting out since this morning. They're definitely stale."
"So?" Gary smirks, grabbing a donut and balancing it precariously on his already full plate. "Oh, please, Mr. Goody Two Shoes. I guess that's how you keep a waist like that, huh?" He jabs me playfully in the side, making me flinch and laugh despite myself.
"Stop!" I swat at him, trying to dodge his finger. "I've never liked donuts. It's not about my waistline."
"Yeah, sure." He grins, rolling his eyes in mock disbelief. "I looked like you once, you know. Back in the day, before I grew old and decrepit."
I return his grin with an exaggerated eye roll of my own.
Gary is impossible not to like. Over the past few weeks, his relentless humor and unfiltered honesty have become a source of comfort for me.
While we don't hang out as much as Vince and I do during our morning runs, Gary has a way of making workdays feel lighter.
Sometimes, we'll even text late at night when I need to vent.
He has become a constant in my life, and I value him more than I'd ever admit out loud.
"You should stop talking about yourself like that," I tell him, grabbing a Caesar wrap and putting it on my empty plate. "I don't like hearing it. It's bad for your headspace."
Gary sighs dramatically. "It's true, though. About ten years ago, before Frank and I got married, I'd have given you a run for your money. So, you know—don't get married."
We both laugh as he takes a bite of the donut. A slow grimace spreads across his face.
"I told you they were stale," I say, shaking my head.
He ignores me, swallowing.
"How are things with Ted?" Gary asks, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.
"They're fine," I say, shrugging. "I guess."
Gary snorts. "What do you mean, you guess?"
My eyes widen slightly, and I fumble with my food. I know what he's about to say before he even opens his mouth.
"Oh, wait." Gary's grin widens as he nods toward the far end of the studio. "Now I get it."
I don't need to follow his gaze to know exactly where he's looking. Vince is standing across the room, deep in conversation with a group of producers, his easy smile and confident demeanor commanding attention.
"Stop," I warn, trying to sound firm but failing miserably as my voice wavers.
"Uh-huh," Gary says, clearly unconvinced. "Totally unrelated to why you're second guessing Ted, right?"
I groan, grabbing my plate and moving to the other side of the table in a feeble attempt to escape his scrutiny. But Gary isn't letting this go so easily. He follows me, still grinning like he's just uncovered the juiciest secret in the world.
"Hey, hey, hey. Not so fast, Andy."
I stop abruptly, spinning to face him. "It's Andrew," I correct, though my tone lacks the conviction I'm aiming for.
Gary laughs, shaking his head. "How weird. You let Vince call you Andy. Why is that, I wonder?"
"That's different," I argue, trying to keep my voice steady. "He started it as a joke for the show, and it just stuck. I told him not to worry about it."
Gary leans in slightly, his grin morphing into something sly. "I don't blame you, but that's not a tree you want to bark up. If you catch my drift."
I frown, confused. "I don't catch your drift. What do you mean?"
Gary straightens up, his expression softening. "I'm just saying, Vince is complicated. He's got a lot of history, a lot of baggage. And from what I've seen, you don't need that kind of distraction in your life right now."
I want to protest, to argue that whatever Gary thinks he sees is completely unfounded. But before I can, he claps me on the shoulder, his grin disarming.
"Well, you already know about Samantha, but he's also stuck in a horrifically complicated marriage with a woman who kind of scares me. And by 'scares me,' I mean I sometimes have nightmares about her going postal and murdering anyone who's looked at Vince for longer than three seconds."
I chuckle. "Yeah. He already told me about that."
Gary coughs, surprised, and sets his plate down, crossing his arms.
"He told you about his wife?" He stares at me like I'm some sort of science experiment gone wrong.
"Yeah. On our first run," I admit. "Honestly, I kind of made him tell me. He hinted at something dramatic, and curiosity got the better of me. I wouldn't let it go. I didn't realize how personal it would be."
Gary tilts his head, still staring. "Was this the morning it rained at Warner Park?"
I freeze. "Yes. Why?" Gary just keeps chewing and staring. "Vince told you about that?"
Gary laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Of course he did. We talk too, you know.
I've known Vince almost as long as I've been married to Frank.
We've worked on projects together for years, he's practically family.
" He pauses, his expression shifting. "But I'll be honest, he doesn't share personal stuff.
Especially not with someone he's just met.
He's paranoid about things getting out on social media or ruining his career.
The fact that he told you? Surprising." Gary's eyes meet mine, a glint of something unreadable in their depths.
"No offense, Andrew, but I'm surprised."
I bite my lip, trying to hide the unease coiling in my stomach. "What exactly did he say? About that day?"
A smirk plays at Gary's lips as he picks up his plate again. "That's cute, Andrew. But no, that's not your business. I'm not playing middleman here, so don't even start with me, sweetheart."
I frown, and he claps a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze that feels anything but. "You should probably keep your shirt on, though."
"I—" Heat creeps up my neck, flooding my face with an embarrassing warmth. "I do keep it on! Gary. The rain—it was just that one time." My voice drops, barely audible above the hum of the studio lights. "Why would he tell you that?"
Gary laughs to himself, shaking his head in that maddening way he has when he knows something I don't. "You're going to give that poor man a heart attack."
"He's straight."
The laugh that escapes Gary this time is louder, richer, echoing slightly in the cavernous studio space. "He's not. He's bi."
"Oh."
I stare at my half-eaten Caesar wrap, suddenly losing my appetite as a cold dread seeps into my bones.
I look up at Gary, who's clearly enjoying my internal meltdown like it's the season finale of his favorite drama. "Hey, Gary, is it possible he's been flirting with me?"
Gary gives me a blank stare, then leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to match mine. "You're serious?"
I grit my teeth, the muscles in my jaw tensing. "Is that a yes, or a hell no?"
Gary chuckles, grabbing a to-go box and casually filling it with food.
"Vince isn't going to do anything. He's not about to cheat on Samantha.
Unlike most people in this industry, he's a decent guy.
He's just messing with you, playing around.
I thought you knew. Honestly, I thought you were playing along, judging by the way you look at him when he's pulling your leg. "
"So... that's a yes?"
Gary sighs, shaking his head with a smile. "Yes, Andrew. He's flirting with you. He thinks it's fun, and I've already told him to stop."
Out of sheer nervousness, I stuff the rest of my wrap into my mouth in two awkward bites. Gary chuckles softly, pulling me into a brief, affectionate hug as I try not to choke on my food.
"Relax," he says in a low voice. "It'll probably stop in a few weeks when he finds something else stupid enough to entertain him."
I don't hug him back, my hands awkwardly full with the plate I'd been holding. Gary swaps it out for the to-go box he's packed, giving me a knowing look.
Gary's fingers tighten around the to-go box before he presses it into my hands, the warmth of the plastic seeping into my skin. "What you just ate wasn't dinner. That was barely a snack. Take this home, Andrew. Please."
I stare down at the box, suddenly feeling like a charity case. "Gary... I can't. You've already done enough."
"Nonsense." His smile is warm, genuine in a way that disarms me completely. "Also," he adds, his tone shifting to something more conspiratorial, "I'm organizing a thing this weekend. Want to come?"
My stomach knots at the word "thing."
"What kind of thing?" I ask, my voice tighter than I intended.
"A camping trip." His eyes light up, and I can tell he's passionate about this.
"It's not far, right on the beach. I reserve a group site once a month.
It's low-key, just a few of us queer folk hanging out, drinking cheap wine around a fire pit.
" He pauses, studying my face. "You could bring Ted.
I'd love to meet him. Plus, it's a good chance to expand your circle beyond. .. well, beyond work."
The mention of Ted sends a pang of guilt through me.
We'd had that second date on the beach in Malibu—beautiful sunset, mediocre conversation, and a lingering sense that we were ships passing in the night.
I'd been distracted all evening, my mind wandering back to Vince's laughter, to the way his muscles had strained against his shirt during our run that morning.
"I'd like to go, but..." I trail off, searching for an excuse that sounds reasonable. "I don't have a tent or sleeping bag. I haven't gone camping since I was a kid with my dad."
Gary waves a hand dismissively, the gesture sweeping away my flimsy objections. "Frank and I have extra gear. Say you'll come. You're my newest friend, and you have to come. Be part of my crew, Andrew. You'll love it." His eyes plead with me, and I realize how much this means to him.
The idea of a social gathering, my first in this new city, makes my palms sweat.
But I've made a promise to myself to push past those fears, to stop letting my anxiety dictate my life.
And I do love camping—the smell of pine needles, the crackle of a campfire, the way the world seems to quiet down under a blanket of stars.
"I'll come," I say, the words feeling both terrifying and exhilarating as they leave my lips.