I waited 4 years for him to move to L.A.



Chad’s profile picture on Tinder was a black and white photo of him singing into a mic with a fedora on his head. This man is a douchebag, I thought. A beautiful douchebag. I swiped right.

It was 2017, my senior year at Northeastern University in Boston. Chad was only a sophomore at the Berklee College of Music. He took a few years off school to tour with his band. On our first date, we learned that our new apartment was two blocks from each other. We used to go to the same convenience store over and over again.

“We probably passed each other up and didn’t know it,” she said with a smile on her face.

The night went so well. However, I found it necessary to leave because I was moving to Los Angeles to pursue writing and stand-up comedy after graduation.

Unconcerned, she replied, “I love L.A.”

Weeks later, we worked side by side in his bed. I glanced at some of the songs on his open laptop. One line read,All those wasted years I thought were overdue / Taking me to you,

That Christmas, Chad took me to his family’s home in Delaware. He took my hand and said, “It would be nice if we were in L.A. together.”

My graduation is over, Chad’s band breaks up and he comes up with a plan. He’ll run through Berkley and in a year, he’ll be with me in LA. will be involved in

I unpacked at my new Santa Monica apartment and started counting down the days. My countdown was only relevant for one week.

Chad called. A management team was auditioning on campus for a new band based outside Nashville. I stood frozen near Wilshire Boulevard.

“I’m sure nothing will happen,” he told me. “But I should at least audition.”

“You’re going to get it,” I said excitedly, feeling a change in my body as my future rested a consoling hand on my shoulder.

A few days later, he was in. He was dropping out of college and moving to Nashville.

“I don’t want you to think I’m any less devoted to us,” Chad said, before I even asked.

He would still move to L.A., he reasoned. He felt that one of two things would happen. Either band would become a huge success overnight and he would have the means to live in LA, traveling only to Nashville for work. Or it will flop and it will head west with new connections. We drank the Kool-Aid and overlooked the obvious option.

That Fourth of July, I walked through Santa Monica until I reached the beach. I saw groups of friends and couples around me when fireworks went off in the Pacific Ocean. You will have friends and lovers too one day, I told myself.

For years we did our best. Our days flowed into the rhythm of good morning texts and evening FaceTimes. The video call didn’t itch, but we kept dialing.

Chad traveled to LA and I traveled to Nashville. When they toured, Chad was on the front lines of my shows whether at the Comedy Store or a dive bar in Tarzana. I made the whole room laugh with jokes about him. When I saw Chad perform, whether at the Grand Ole Opry or somewhere on the street, he took a moment in every song to make sure I knew he was singing for me.

Whenever we were together, there was a suitcase nearby.

Every time I flew to meet him, the band members, management, and everyone on the street would ask, “When are you going to Nashville?”

This question was a well-intentioned knife in my chest. “No,” I wanted to scream, “when is Chad going to L.A.?”

In 2020, there were fewer reasons to part ways. The entertainment world slowed down because of the COVID-19 pandemic, and Chad and I were together for months. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas in our new Wally apartment. Chad made breakfast for me in my kitchen like it was his. We walked down Ventura Boulevard smiling at the other couples, pretending we’re also a full-time L.A. love story.

Around 2 p.m. on Christmas Day, Chad remarked that usually by noon, it barely felt like Christmas—with the gifts and the excitement over. Then he looked at me and said, “It still feels like Christmas.”

That’s what I wanted all the time. I only had it because the world had closed.

I needed to have a strong plan, but Chad could offer “one day”. At four months of dating, “one day” felt magical. Four years on, it felt like our relationship was no longer holding its hands in the front seat. It was moving its thumb backwards.

After a very lonely Sunday, I said during a meeting with Chad that I couldn’t move on. When I told him, he said I would take him to LA. will provide a new urgency to reach

“I have more confidence in us now,” he said, as we drank margaritas at Casa Vega on our last evening as a couple. I felt a glimmer of hope, like he could fly to Nashville and return with a plan.

But there was no plan, just a promise to help her get out of a difficult moment.

can i blame him? I can’t. I also chose my passion.

I could still make it feel like Christmas, but I’ll never be a record deal. He could write a grand song for me, but he couldn’t place me after room of crowded laughter like LA could.

As we said goodbye at Los Angeles International Airport, he told me he would figure it out. He looked me in the eye and said, “The band doesn’t deserve to lose you.”

Then he got on a plane and lost me for the band.

The author is a writer and comedian living in Los Angeles. his website is elkethoms.com, She can be found on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @elkethoms.

law affairs The LA area advances the pursuit of romantic love in all its splendid expressions, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $300 for a published essay. E-mail [email protected], You can find submission guidelines Here, you can find the last column Here,


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