Page 27

“Well, it doesn’t feel good ,” 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 myself didn’t get 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 up because of 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 who isn’t at 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 have heard of 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 so sweet , and so understanding ,” 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 you won’t understand.

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 you aren’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 of no talking about feelings to talking 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. ”

That finally gets the laugh you want, and it’s sweet. Sweeter than the mango slices swimming in their own juice, abandoned by your side.

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

“Not sure. I’m glad it’s over, though. It is over, right?”

“Yes.” His voice sounds confident. “Definitely.”

Atop your bed, you shift, and your little snack collection topples. You curse under your breath, feeling fruit juice soak into your side. Red pepper, cheese cubes, and salami all spill across the comforter. Sterling asks if everything is okay.

“Yeah,” you grunt. “Just realizing that my mama was right.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

There’s a comfortable silence. He tells you that he has arrived at his hotel and is waiting for Cal to pull up.

His car was a little behind Sterling’s, and got separated by some traffic.

He tells you that the hotel is called The Merrion, and describes the brick-and-column exterior, and the clever little nameplate in brass mounted by the door.

“Ster?” you say abruptly.

“Yeah?”

“You could write a happy song, you know. ”

“Excuse me?”

“About us.” You are in the middle of stripping the bed that your housekeeper just made up, along with your shorts. Now you really need a shower. “You could write a happy song about us. It doesn’t need to be a break-up song.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, along with the muffled baritone of Cal’s deep voice as he opens Sterling’s car door.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Sterling says.

***

@sterlinggrayson: Hiiii, Grayling Nation!

Can I just say how much I LOVED seeing my Irish fans in Dublin?

Thank you SO much for hitting a million pre-orders for ‘Golden!’ I can’t wait to take you on the journey this album has been—I hope you enjoy it as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it for you.

I wanted to let you guys know straight from me that a deluxe version is coming as soon as my vinyl sources can get it pressed.

I added a few songs at the last minute. Maybe I should have saved them for the next album, but I felt that they were dying to be heard.

I hope my American friends have a great Thanksgiving!

The Goalposts Tour is on hiatus until February.

I can’t wait to rock out with you in the New Year! Be safe and be good to each other.