Page 42 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“What do you want me to say, Ster?” You run a hand over your buzzed head. “You know I always respect your boundaries. But it’s, like… it’s hard not to feel like you’re pushing me away.”

Fuck, why did you say that?That’s a lot of honesty for you and Sterling at this point in your relationship; you guys haven’t really talked aboutfeelings.But, on the other hand, he’s had his dick up your ass. Surely the time for full disclosure has happened, right?

His tone has an edge to it. “I knew this was going to happen eventually.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, surprised by the tightness that’s suddenly put in an appearance between your brows. “You knewwhatwas going to happen, Ster? Can you fill me in? I’m kinda lost.”

Across the Atlantic, his sigh sounds supremely weary. “Every relationship I’ve had, the other person doesn’t get it. I don’t have a normal life. It won’t ever be normal. There’s not a place I can go in the world where people don’t know who I am. I have to do things differently, because my life isn’t like anyone else’s. Not that it’s better. Not that it’s worse. I just don’t operate the same way. And that ends up hurting people.”

“I didn’t say that I was mad at you,” you say, making sure to keep your voice even. “I don’t know what happened in your previous relationships. I can’t comment on that.”

“I know you’re not mad. You don’t get mad,” he continues. “I said that you werehurt. You said thatI’m pushing you away; that’s something that hurts people.”

“Well, it doesn’t feelgood,” you admit. “I know you have boundaries. I try to respect all of them, and I’ll respect this one, too. I just need you to make me understand. Just… fuck, Ster. I don’t get you sometimes. I really want to, though.”

He lets out a disconsolate sigh. “I can’t make you understand.”

“Try me,” you suggest. “I might look like a dumb jock, but I promise that I’m not stupid. I graduated from college, you know. Cum laude and everything.” You’re trying to keep the mood light, but internally, you’re treading water at a fast pace.

The joke doesn’t land. “I know you aren’t stupid, Kai. That has nothing to do with it.”

“So you want to be left alone,” you say tentatively. “I get that. Sometimes I want to be left alone, too. It’s gotta be stressful being the whole three-ring circus every night. I’ve seen the show a bunch now. I get that it’s crazy. And I know that you like quiet. Is that what it is? The quiet?”

On the other end of the line, you hear the quick, muted blast of a horn, reminding you that Sterling is in the back of a car. How many conversations have you two had when he’s just passing from place to place? Sterling sucks a deep breath.

“The quiet is some of it,” he says. “I do like having my own space. That’s not all of it, though.”

“Okay!” you say encouragingly. “That’s part of it. See? I understand a part. Fill in the rest for me.”

In the silence that ensues, you picture Sterling staring out the window into the Irish night. You have no idea what he’s looking at. You haven’t spent much time overseas. The Cyclones played a game in Germany last year, but you didn’t spend long enough there to do much besides get a bit of practice in and take some selfies eating bratwurst and drinking from a beer stein as big as your head. You’d love for him to tell you what’s going by his window.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy,” he begins slowly. “Becoming famous as a high schooler is like… it’s weird. They say that most people get emotionally stunted at the age where they made it big. I myselfdidn’tget to go to college, but I knew that I didn’t want to go through life with the mindset of a young teenager. So I talked it out, you know, I spent hours in the chair. People who spend as much time in therapy as I have got really good boundaries. And then you have the boundaries I have to put upbecauseof being so famous and, it’s like… the boundaries sometimes become brick walls, you know?”

“Boundaries aren’t a bad thing,” you comment,because you want him to know that you feel him, even if you are a little adrift.

“It becomes impossible to date anyone whoisn’tat least a little bit in the spotlight, because they just don’t get it,” he continues. “But everyone handles fame differently, and when someone handles it differently from you, that’s almost as bad. Where do you think I get the inspiration for all those shitty break-up songs? I’ve done this over and over again.”

You want to stop and tell Sterling that you aren’t really famous at all—sure, some people haveheardof you, but it’s a total different ballgame (ha) from what he encounters—before you realize that it’s not really relevant. That maybe Sterling is telling you something hidden underneath the words that are actually coming out of his mouth. What did your English professors call it?Subtext.

“And you’re sosweet, and sounderstanding,” he says miserably, “and I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For me to say or do something that crosses whatever lines you have, and that youwon’tunderstand. And you’ll leave, just like they all have before. And I really don’t want that, Kai.”

He hasn’t fully answered your questions, but at that moment, you kind of get it. And your heart breaks a little for your boyfriend. For all his history—you don’t know what it is, and youaren’t about to go searching for the dirty details on Internet gossip column archives—and whoever didn’t understand him in the past.

You realize that he is waiting for you to say something.

“Kai?”

“You haven’t crossed my lines,” you say slowly. “If you do, I will let you know. I promise. Okay? If you ever don’t want me around, you can just let me know. If you don’t want to talk on the phone or FaceTime at night, you aren’t committed. Just… just tell me things. Like you just did. All right?”

On the line, Sterling breathes a ragged breath.

“Thank you for not saying you won’t leave,” he says. “Not because I want that to ever happen, but because nobody knows that. And I appreciate you not making empty promises.”

“I… uhh. I don’t want to leave you, Sterling.” Your eyes are getting misty from staring too long at the fan blades. You realize that you guys went 0-60 in terms ofno talking about feelingstotalking deep about a shit-ton of feelings. “So… don’t worry about that too much. Not unless something, like, awful happens. Like you finding someone else. Or the Blues winning the Mega Bowl.”

Thatfinallygets the laugh you want, and it’s sweet. Sweeter than the mango slices swimming in theirown juice, abandoned by your side.

“Did we just have a fight?” he asks, and he sounds a little misty, too. Probably the late hour.

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