Page 53 of High Notes & Hail Marys

You turn your head to yawn, and catch sight of the clock on your nightstand. It reads 12:02 AM.

“Hey, look at that,” you say. “It’s Christmas Day.”

Sterling pulls his phone back, like he’s checking the screen. “So it is. Merry Christmas, Kai.”

“Merry Christmas, Ster.” You wait exactly five seconds. “So, this means we can open our gifts now, right?”

He pretends to think about it, tapping his index finger on his lips. “I think, contractually, you are correct.”

“Where’s yours?” you ask eagerly. “I’ve got mine on the other side of the room.”

Sterling bites his lip. “I put mine under the tree,” he says. “I have to tiptoe back into the house and go get it.”

That melts your heart, the image of Sterling slipping your gift under the Grayson family tree along with all the other ones.

“Oh, never mind,” you say quickly. “I don’t want to disturb your folks.”

“It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand. Behind his face, you can see the scenery shift from the pool house to the backyard. Sterling’s breath puffs out in front of him. “God, it’s cold. They’re probably still awake doing shots of schnapps and playing Apples to Apples.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

Sterling laughs loosely. Inside his parents’ house, he runs into Noemi and talks briefly. While he’s busy, you fashion a makeshift stand for your phone on a pile of pillows at the end of your bed and fetch your present. Now that your hands are free, you can turn it over and over, checking it out. The paper is iridescent and thick, sealed with uniform pieces of clear tape. It looks like the work of a professional.

On the other end of the line, Sterling hugs his sister goodnight and goes back out to his room. Once he’s back in his bedroom and wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, he shows off the present you got him. The green paper that Deb wrapped it in seems to be in good condition, the corners un-dented.

“Do we unwrap at the same time?” he asks. “Just go wild?”

“Let’s take turns,” you suggest. “You go first.”

“That’s remarkable restraint by you,” he laughs. “Okay.”

Sterling is the type to unwrap his gifts carefully, meticulously untaping the gift and being careful with the paper. When he opens the box, he smiles.

“Oh, this is great,” he says, holding the jersey up by the shoulders. “I’m going to look amazing in this during the playoffs. It’s exactly the right size, I think. You asked Maeve, didn’t you?”

“Guilty,” you admit.

To your great delight, Sterling doffs his blanket and shoulders off his gray henley long-sleeve. You catch just a glimpse of his bare skin before he pulls the jersey over his head.

“What do we think?” he asks, preening. He turns around and sweeps his hair out of the way so you can appreciate the nameplate and number on the back. Your gut does a weird flip-flop.

“I think that you look mighty good wearing my number,” you say honestly.

Sterling bites his lip and casts his eyes down, the shadows catching his long lashes.

There’s a moment where things almost derail. Before you remember Sterling’s stance on getting freaky-deaky via video call. You clear your throat, and adjust the way you are sitting so that your crotch doesn’t show through your pajama pants.

“Anyway,” you say. It sounds rough even to your ears.

“Open yours,” Sterling urges you. There’s a flush on his cheeks, visible even on FaceTime.

You will yourself to look away from Sterling in the jersey and examine the package for the millionth time. It’s not in your nature to play with this kind of thing, so you just rip it open. Inside, there’s a plain brown box. You lift the lid, and find a mass of tissue paper. Clearly, the wrapping was meant to obscure the actual shape of whatever’s inside.

“You fooled me!” you say.

“I knew that you would shake it,” he says. “Stop whining and just move it along.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that Sterling was more excited than you. Chuckling, you dig through the paper. It doesn’t take long for you to unearth a red square box wrapped in matching ribbon. You squint at the writing on the ribbon:Cartier.

---