Taking Teddy Home - 1. Chapter 1

I met Teddy at Andy’s party. I didn’t want to go, I was exhausted from school, job hunting, and a recent breakup that left me feeling stupid for thinking we’d be together forever. But Andy showed up at my place and insisted. “You’ve been holed up here for weeks,” he said, his usual easy smile replaced by a look of concern. “You need this.” Reluctantly, I went.

And I’m glad I did.

The party was just getting started when we arrived. Andy’s apartment was filled with familiar faces, friends, people I hadn’t seen in months. The patio door was open, letting in the warm summer breeze and the hum of the city below. Strings of lights twinkled along the railing, and in the distance, the mountains stood silent and majestic. I made the customary small talk, grabbed a kiwi-flavored soda water, and headed out onto the deck to escape the noise.

I didn’t know it yet, but the night was about to change everything. Out on that deck, under the city lights, I was about to meet the man who would become my everything.

Even when I think that to myself, I have to laugh… “the man who would become my everything.” It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? Like some happily-ever-after bullshit. But there are no happy endings in life. One minute you’re laughing, the next you’re staring down some life-altering disaster. To me, it always felt like life was playing a cruel joke. It knew when I was happy, and it was hell-bent on ruining it. Maybe if I hadn’t fallen for him, I wouldn’t be here today, driving across the country with his ashes in the passenger seat. I could have gone on with my life, let it carry me wherever it wanted. Teddy would have done the same. We would have been like two leaves in the wind, brushing past each other for a moment, then carried off in different directions. But no, life had other plans. It always does.

I didn’t know it then, and neither did Teddy, but he was already living on borrowed time. Maybe that’s why he loved so fiercely, like he was trying to fit a lifetime of love into a few short years. And I let myself believe it would last forever. Stupid, right? But that’s the cruelest part of the joke. It makes you believe in forever, even when forever doesn’t exist.

He came up behind me, standing a few inches away, close enough to talk, but far enough to respect my space. I can still remember every detail: the way his cologne smelled like cedar and citrus, the crisp white shirt he wore, the way his voice sounded, warm and a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if I wanted him there. It’s funny how those moments stick with you, like they’re frozen in time.

We stood there, and we talked, well, he talked. I wasn’t in the mood and was just trying to be polite. I gave him short replies, hoping he’d take the hint, but he didn’t. He kept going, his words spilling out like he was nervous, something about his job, a book he’d just read, the view from the deck. I nodded along, but inside, I was cringing. It felt like he was trying too hard, like he was hoping to leave with me tonight or something. God, I was so wrong.

After a few minutes, he finally got the message and left to go back inside. I stayed out on the deck, staring at the city lights and wondering why I’d even come. What an idiot I was. If I’d known then what I know now, maybe I would have stayed a little longer, listened a little closer. But I didn’t. And that’s the thing about life, you don’t get do-overs.

After about an hour, I couldn’t take it anymore. The party felt like it was closing in on me, and I was sure everyone was wondering why I was even there. I found Andy and told him I was leaving. My place wasn’t far, so I decided to walk. The night air was warm, and the streets were quiet, but my mind was anything but. I kept thinking about that guy on the deck, Teddy. I didn’t know his name yet, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d missed something important.

Life went on. I had a string of job interviews that seemed to go well, but weeks passed without a single offer. The rejections piled up, and so did the monotony. Day in, day out, it was the same routine: wake up, job hunt, run, repeat. Andy called a few times, inviting me out to the bar or for lunch, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. Admittedly, I was still hung up on Alex. I should have been over him by then, it had been months, but we’d been together for almost a year. That kind of hurt doesn’t just disappear.

One afternoon, after a long run, my phone buzzed. Probably Andy. I figured I’d shower first, then reply. After the shower, I got cleaned up, dressed and sat down on the sofa and grabbed my phone. As I scrolled through my messages, I saw one from an unknown number. I opened it:

Hey, this is Teddy. Not sure if you remember me, but we met at Andy’s party a few weeks ago. Wondering if you have some time for a friendly coffee, nothing serious, no date. Just a couple of guys talking. Oh, and I got your number from Andy. Hope you don’t mind. If you’re not interested, no worries, just let me know.

Don’t mind? What did he want me to say now that he’d already sent the message? What an idiot. But a persistent one, at that.

Something inside me screamed not to do it, he only wants one thing. But another part of me was curious. Maybe the part of me that still wanted a long-term relationship was thinking, What if this is it? If you don’t try, how will you know? But then the memories of Alex came rushing back. I’d thought he was the one, and look how that turned out.

No. This wasn’t a good idea. Besides, I had other priorities, like finding a job. So I ignored the message and filed it away.

A few days later, my phone rang. It was Andy. I couldn’t not pick up.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Did Teddy text you?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But I’ve been busy. Haven’t replied yet.”

There was a pause, the kind of comfortable yet uncomfortable silence that told me everything. Andy wasn’t pushing, but he wasn’t happy either. “Just give him a chance,” he said finally. “You might surprise yourself.”

We talked a bit more, then said our goodbyes, and I scrolled through my messages again. Rejection. Rejection. Rejection. And then, there it was, Teddy. I still didn’t think this was a good idea, and my gut told me not to do it. But maybe a hook-up would do me good. Why not?

I messaged him back:

Hey Teddy… sure, sounds like a good idea. When and where?

I hit send, then immediately regretted it. Good idea? No. It wasn’t a good idea. But there was no going back now.

Within seconds, I saw he was typing. The bubble popped up, disappeared, and popped up again. Finally, his reply came through:

That’s great! Thanks for replying, Carter. How about Breka on Hastings around 2 pm today?

Well, that was fast. Breka was reasonable, close enough to bail if things got weird. I texted back:

Sure, 2 pm at Breka on Hastings. I’ll see you there.

I had a few hours to kill, so I sat in front of the computer and searched for jobs, saving a few promising leads for later. By the time I checked my watch, it was almost 1 pm. The coffee shop was a 20-minute drive, so I got up, got dressed, and told myself to just get it over with.

The parking lot was half-empty when I arrived. Breka was one of those cozy coffee houses with great blends and an endless selection of sweet and savory treats. I walked in, scanning the seating area, but Teddy wasn’t there yet. I was about 10 minutes early, so I ordered a cappuccino and a slice of lemon poppyseed cake, then found a table near the window.

The cake was tangy and sweet, the perfect distraction as I checked my phone for the tenth time. It was almost 2 pm, and he still wasn’t here. I knew this was a bad idea. I was getting ghosted. Just as I was about to leave, the door opened, and in he walked. We spotted each other at the same time, and he flashed me the biggest, goofiest smile, like a high school kid seeing his crush. Pathetic, I thought to myself. But then, to my surprise, I felt myself smiling back. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of lightness.

He walked straight to me, shook my hand, and apologized for being late. “Can I get you a refill?” he asked, gesturing to my empty cup. “And maybe another slice of cake?” I nodded, and as I started to get up, he waved me back down. “Stay here,” he said. “It’s getting busy, and we’ll lose our seats if we both go.”

As he made his way to the counter, I caught the faint scent of his cologne, cedar and citrus, just like the first time we met. He returned a few minutes later with a tray holding two coffees and two slices of cake. “I figured I’d join you,” he said with a grin, setting the tray down.

Sitting across from him in the soft light of the coffee shop, I noticed something different about him. His face looked softer, his hair neatly styled, and he was dressed in business casual, a far cry from the guy I’d met at Andy’s party. He seemed more… put together. More real.

We started talking, and he told me about himself. He’d moved to the West Coast from Ontario, leaving his family behind. “We’re not close,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a flicker of pain. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. I knew how that story usually went, parents reject their kid, the kid leaves, and everyone pretends it’s fine. It wasn’t always the case, but it was common enough to guess.

Then it was my turn. I told him I was born and raised in Vancouver, and loved the city’s energy and its proximity to nature. I mentioned my struggles with finding work after graduation, my daily routine of job hunting and running. I even admitted how monotonous it all felt. The words spilled out before I could stop them, and it made me uneasy. Letting someone in felt like handing them a weapon, one they could use to hurt me later.

But there was something about the way he listened, really listened, that made me want to keep talking. It was dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself. I told him more than I meant to, and by the time I stopped, I felt exposed. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how the game was supposed to go.

I didn’t know it then, but that conversation was the first step toward something I couldn’t have imagined. Teddy wasn’t just another guy, he was the one who would teach me how to trust again, how to love again, and how to let go.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those warm, earnest eyes. “You don’t have to have it all figured out,” he said. “Sometimes, it’s enough to just keep going.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Easier said than done.”

He smiled, that goofy, disarming smile that made me want to smile back. “Yeah, but you’re doing it. That’s what matters.”

We lapsed into silence for a moment, the hum of the coffee shop filling the space between us. I picked at the crumbs of my cake, unsure what to say next. But Teddy didn’t seem to mind the quiet. He just sat there, sipping his coffee, like he was content to be in the moment.

Finally, I asked, “Why did you want to meet up? I mean, we barely know each other.”

He set his cup down and looked at me, his expression serious for the first time. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “There was just something about you that night at Andy’s party. You seemed… I don’t know, interesting. Like there was more to you than you were letting on.”

I snorted. “Interesting? I was probably the most boring person there.”

He shook his head. “No, you weren’t. You were quiet, but you weren’t boring. There’s a difference.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself some time. When I looked up, he was still watching me, his gaze steady but not intrusive. It was like he saw me, really saw me, and for some reason, that didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would.

“What about you?” I asked, deflecting. “What’s your deal? Why are you so…?” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“So what?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. So… you.”

He laughed, a rich, genuine sound that made me smile despite myself. “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I just believe in being honest. Life’s too short to play games, you know?”

I did know. Or at least, I wanted to. But it was hard to let go of the walls I’d built, the ones that kept me safe but also kept me alone.

We talked for another hour, the conversation flowing more easily than I expected. He told me about his job, his love of hiking, and his dream of traveling the world. I found myself opening up more than I had in months, sharing things I hadn’t even told Andy. It felt… good. Dangerous, but good.

By the time we left the coffee shop, the sun was casting a warm golden glow over the city. Teddy walked me to my car, his hands stuffed in his pockets, that easy smile still on his face.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “I had a good time.”

“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself. “Me too.”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Maybe we could do it again sometime.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I drove home, I couldn’t stop thinking about him, his smile, his laugh, the way he made me feel seen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something I thought I’d lost: hope.

I didn’t hear back from Teddy. Almost a week went by, and I told myself it was inevitable. Life always plays cruel jokes on you. The only constant seemed to be Andy, and as usual, he called almost a week to the day that Teddy and I had coffee.

“Carter. What the hell?” Andy’s voice was sharp, cutting through my excuses before I could even make them. “I spoke with Teddy. He said you had a good time. So what’s holding you back?”

I was stunned. Andy’s never been so abrupt with me. Forget big brother, he sounded like my dad coming down on me for not taking out the garbage the night before.

“You said you had a good time, and then nothing?” he pressed. “Have you forgotten what dating is all about?”

That triggered me, not gonna lie.

“Dating? Who said anything about dating, Andy? It was coffee. I expected he wanted to…”

“Carter. Seriously?” Andy interrupted. “Listen, I’ve known Teddy for a long time. He’s not trying to get you into bed. Well, not right away, I suppose. But he likes you. He wants to get to know you better, but you’re sending him mixed signals… well, actually, no signals. Come on, Carter, you’re better than this. Call him. Talk to him. Get to know him. Maybe nothing comes out of it, and I mean nothing, and you just become good friends. But how will you know if you don’t talk to him?”

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the phone. Andy’s words stung, but they also hit a nerve. It wasn’t just about Alex. It was about the fear of getting hurt again, of letting someone in only to have them leave.

“Listen,” Andy said, his tone softening. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but I know how much Alex meant to you. I know the pain you felt when he broke up. But Carter, he’s gone. It’s been months, and I’m not discounting your feelings, but you need to try to move past them.”

The nerve of him telling me how I should feel about Alex. I was ready to hang up on him right then and there, but Andy’s been my friend forever. His family is like mine, we’re more like brothers than even brothers are.

“Fine,” I said, my voice tight. “I’ll call him.”

“Good,” Andy replied. “Do it, and this time, make a sincere effort. Okay, Carter?”

“Sure. I’ll try.”

And with that, I disconnected the call, the weight of his words settling heavily on my chest. I didn’t know it then, but that phone call would be the first step toward something I couldn’t have imagined, something that would change everything.

As I left BC behind and slipped into Alberta, I decided to take a quick detour to Banff. It was peak summer, and I knew the town would be teeming with visitors, but I needed a break from the long drive. I needed to be around people, even if they were strangers who had no idea about the precious cargo I was carrying.

The mountains rose around me, their peaks dusted with snow even in the height of summer. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the sunlight glinted off the turquoise waters of the Bow River. It was beautiful, but the beauty felt hollow without Teddy here to share it.

I glanced at the urn resting on the passenger seat, its polished surface catching the light. The sight of it hit me like a punch to the chest, and before I knew it, the tears were flowing. I pulled over to the side of the road, my hands trembling on the wheel as I tried to catch my breath.

“Why did you have to leave me?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why did you have to come into my life and give me so much hope, so much happiness, only to take it all away?”

The urn sat there, silent and unyielding, a cruel reminder of everything I’d lost. It wasn’t just Teddy’s ashes I was carrying, it was our dreams, our future, the life we’d built together. And now, it was all reduced to this: a small, cold container that fit perfectly on the passenger seat.

I didn’t know it then, but Banff would be the first of many stops where I’d have to confront the weight of my grief and the memories of the life we’d shared. For now, though, all I could do was sit there and cry, the mountains standing silent witness to my pain.

I texted Teddy back, and we agreed to meet again, this time at the Cactus Club restaurant at English Bay. This felt more like a date, though I hated calling it that. The word carried so many expectations, so many ways to get hurt. Teddy insisted on picking me up, even though I lived just a short walk away. I gave him my address, and on the day of our second… whatever this was, my phone rang. He was waiting downstairs.

I grabbed my jacket, it got chilly near the water, even in summer, and headed down to meet him. He shook my hand again, his grip firm but casual. It was refreshing, somehow, to skip the awkwardness of a hug or a kiss on the cheek. We walked toward the restaurant, the air cool and salty, carrying the faint scent of the ocean. The lights of English Bay reflected on the water, creating a shimmering path that seemed to lead somewhere magical.

We talked about our week, and Teddy asked about my job hunt. I admitted it hadn’t been going well, and he shared his own struggles with the job market. “It took me almost a year to find my job,” he said. “And I’m still on a contract-to-hire basis.”

The restaurant was warm and inviting, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of glasses and cutlery. We were seated after a short wait, and as we looked over the menus, I remembered Andy’s comment about dating. I didn’t want to get scolded again, so I decided to step up and initiate the conversation.

“So, Teddy,” I said, “that’s an interesting name. Is it a nickname?”

“Theodore,” he replied with a grin. “That’s actually my full name. Don’t ask me where it comes from, I have no idea. No one on my mom or dad’s side has that name. The only thing I can think of is that, in Greek, Theodore means ‘gift of God.’ I was the firstborn, so maybe that’s why they chose it. Yeah, my parents are pretty religious.”

He laughed, a warm, easy sound. “But you don’t want to be called Theodore, or heaven forbid, Theo, in school. So I went with Teddy. It’s kind of childish, I know. I thought about switching to Ted in university, but by then, everyone knew me as Teddy, so I just stuck with it.”

Just as he finished his story, the waiter came to take our orders. Afterward, Teddy turned the conversation back to me. “So, tell me more about yourself, Carter. How are you related to Andy?”

I told him about Andy, how we’d grown up together on the same street, gone through school together, and even came out to our parents together. “We were lucky,” I said. “Our parents accepted us without a second thought. But Vancouver’s a pretty liberal place compared to the rest of Canada.”

We talked about sports, and I found out he loved basketball and had dabbled in water sports, though he’d never been much into skiing or snowboarding. “You’ve never been skiing?” I asked, surprised. “We’re so close to the mountains.”

He shook his head, and I found myself saying, “Well, this winter, we’ll have to fix that. We’ll go skiing and snowboarding.”

That’s when he flashed that big, goofy smile. When Teddy smiled, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long, gray winter. It wasn’t just his mouth, it was his whole face, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that seemed to radiate out and envelop me. It was impossible not to smile back.

Admittedly, I was having a good time, but I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. I couldn’t have Andy being right. He wouldn’t rub it in, but he’d be thinking it. And yet, here I was, sitting across from Teddy, actually enjoying myself. Our conversation flowed naturally, shifting between light hearted banter and deeper topics. We shared stories, good and bad, but I wasn’t ready to talk about Alex. I didn’t know if I ever would be. That was a pain I wasn’t ready to face.

We’d been at the restaurant for almost an hour when the waiter brought the cheque. Teddy glanced at it, then at me, with a playful smile. “I think they want us out of here, Carter. Should we head out?”

“Sure,” I said. “Want to go to my place?”

He shook his head. “I was thinking of ice cream. There’s a place just down from here. We could sit on their patio and enjoy the view. I don’t think they’ll kick us out.”

Before I could reach for the bill, Teddy grabbed it. I protested, “Whoa, wait. I think dinner was my idea, so I should cover it.”

He grinned. “Sure. Next time. You can pay for dessert.”

As quickly as he’d grabbed the bill, he handed his credit card to the waiter, who was pretending to look busy a few feet away. Teddy paid, I grabbed my jacket, and we left the restaurant, walking toward the ice cream shop.

The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and the distant hum of the city. As we walked, Teddy said, “I miss the hustle of Toronto sometimes, but I like the slower pace here.”

“Slow?” I interjected. “I guess compared to Toronto, Vancouver is slow.”

“But in a good way,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “It’s like everyone’s busy, always going somewhere, but when you look over at English Bay, it feels like time has stood still. On one side of the street, people are rushing from one bar to another, but you turn around, and there’s this wave of calmness that just washes over you. You look out at the water, and it’s so still, so peaceful, with the mountains towering in the background. It’s like the city’s reminding you to slow down and breathe.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the depth of his observation. Teddy had a way of seeing the world that made you stop and think. He didn’t just notice things, he really saw them, like he was always looking for the deeper meaning behind the surface. It was one of the things that drew me to him, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

I stayed in Banff for a few extra days. Teddy and I had never made it out here together, and while he couldn’t be with me physically, he was still here in my heart. I spent most of my time at the Banff Springs Hotel, unwilling to leave Teddy behind in the room but equally unwilling to carry the urn around the city. No, instead, I stayed in the hotel, crying over what I had lost.

Andy called a few times, asking how I was doing. What could I say? That the love of my life, the man I’d been married to for only a few years, was resting comfortably in bed beside me?

After two days at the hotel, I knew I had to continue the trip to Ontario and eventually the Atlantic Ocean. It was a promise I’d made to Teddy. I could have flown, but that would have meant only hours or days with him before I had to let him go. No, I was determined to drive. I would take Teddy home, but my way.

Andy had offered to come with me, as had many of our friends, but I couldn’t ask them to join me. This was something I needed to do alone. Grieving Teddy wasn’t like grieving Alex. Teddy was something more, my husband, my partner, my everything. And this journey, this final act of love, was something I needed to do for him. And for myself.

As I packed up the room, my eyes fell on the urn sitting quietly on the bedside table. The polished surface caught the light, and for a moment, I was transported back to the first time Teddy and I had talked about the future. We’d been sitting on the couch in our apartment, his head resting on my shoulder, as he traced patterns on my hand with his finger. “Promise me something,” he’d said, his voice soft but serious. “If anything ever happens to me, take me to the ocean. Let me be free.”

I’d laughed it off at the time, thinking it was just one of his whimsical ideas. But now, as I picked up the urn and held it close, I realized he’d known even then that life was fragile. He’d always been the one to see things clearly, to understand what really mattered.

The sound of the wind outside the window pulled me back to the present. It was like someone knocking on it. I took a deep breath, slung my bag over my shoulder, and cradled the urn in my arms. It was time to hit the road again.

Brother Andy, and he was like a brother to me, called the next day.

“So, I heard things went well with you and Teddy?”

“Does he tell you everything?” I asked, half-joking.

“Not everything,” Andy replied. “And I suspect this will be the last time he does. But he did mention you’re going to a movie this weekend.”

“Yup.”

I didn’t want to tell Andy more than I had to, not out of spite, but because he was always right. And sure enough, he couldn’t resist.

“Told you.”

There it was. I knew he’d say it. I loved Andy, and I was so grateful to have him in my life. He’d been the one constant, the one person who’d never let me down. We’d fought over stupid things, disagreed on plenty, but we always made up. He was my rock.