20. Bastian

BASTIAN

Sterling paced back and forth as I sat in the chair, finding it hard to look him in the eye as he punished me with his ranting and raving.

“I know you think Lonnie and Ronnie are adorable, and I know you think you owe Benji some kind of explanation or apology, but the fact is, Bastian, these are the people you chose to walk away from. These are the people who you decided you didn’t need to get you through the last three years. Instead, who did you pick? Me. That’s right, me. I’m the one who’s done the hard yards, waiting on you hand and foot, cleaning up your messes, missing out on some of the most glamorous social functions of my life, the sort you don’t get invited to twice.”

“What about all those cancer charity events you went to?”

“I said ‘glamorous’, Bastian. Your bleeding-heart balls were hardly the Met Gala. Besides, I attended those for you.”

“No, Sterling, you attended them for you. Look, I’m sorry…”

“Oh please, stop telling me you’re sorry. I’m not asking you to be sorry. I’m asking you to drop the ridiculous notion that returning to Mulligan’s Mill was ever a good idea. If you wanted to close this chapter in your life, you could have done it via text message like everyone else in our generation. We’re busy, older people have to understand that, and if they don’t then that’s on them. Speaking of being busy, while you’ve been in here taking your medicine, I’ve taken the liberty of booking us both on the first flight out of Eau Claire in the morning. It leaves at eleven thirty. We’ll be home in Chicago before one, weather permitting. Why don’t I see if I can get us a table at Alinea for Christmas lunch. The ma?tre d’ owes me a favor, and so will you after I rescue you from this Hicksville hellhole. Now why don’t you wrap up this plasma party and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Sterling, I’m sorry…”

“I told you to stop saying that.”

“And I’m asking you to listen. Please listen to me.”

He stopped pacing and I finally found the courage to catch his eye.

“Well? What is it? I’m listening. What is it you have to tell me?”

“That I’m not coming back to Chicago with you.”

Silence filled the room, but only for a moment. Sterling was incapable of letting silence last longer than a second or so. “You’re being ridiculous again. What do you mean, you’re not coming back to Chicago? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m breaking up with you.”

Sterling sucked his cheeks in, as if fury and shock had just vacuum-sealed his face. If he had seen himself in a mirror at that moment, he would not have been pleased. “You must have hit your head when you fell. Did the doctor check you for a concussion? Does that old quack even have a degree in medicine? I’ve a good mind to ask.”

Sterling stormed toward the door.

“Sterling! Stop!”

He froze in his tracks and crossed his arms. This time he was the one who refused to look at me, instead keeping his eyes trained on the door as though already contemplating an escape.

“Listen to me, please. You and I both know this thing we have, our relationship, it’s not working. I don’t know if it ever has. I know you wanted to look after me, and I know doing that was hard for you. I never really wanted to wish that on anyone, that’s why I left Mulligan’s Mill in the first place. But I think the cancer made us believe there was more between us than there actually was. I think it kept us distracted from each other. I think it hid the fact that there was never really any love between us at all. But now, we need to—”

“Stop. You don’t have to say it again.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re breaking up with me.” From where I sat, tethered to my plasma bag, my lifeline, I could see him swipe at a tear, annoyed. “You don’t have to say it because I’ve already made up my mind that this could never work out between us. You could never really give me what I wanted anyway, not even for Christmas. I mean seriously, you grew up thinking soap-on-a-rope was an acceptable festive gift, when all this blond really wants is the deed to a platinum mine. That’s okay. It’s who we are. You and me, we had some fun times… and some not-so-fun times. But now we need to go and be who we are.” He took a deep breath and added, “Besides, I think there’s a boy sitting out there in the waiting room who likes your ugly fucking Christmas sweaters a lot more than I ever will.”

With that he lunged for the door, yanked it open, and fled the Doc’s office.