Chapter 7 – Rule #4 It’s not a relationship. It’s a transaction. He’s not your boyfriend. #2
“Hunter says to tell you that he sounds exceptionally like future boyfriend material today,” Ana says with a laugh, and I flinch because the outside contact thing is a big deal because of her—for her—but her tone is one of teasing, not upset.
“I’m not getting in the middle of whatever she’s poking you about. ” The line clicks, and she hangs up.
“Hi, Kait,” he says, and my smile is even bigger than it was when I was painting.
Private-line callers don’t wait for their turn; they’re always next, but Henry doesn’t wait either because he’s him, and I’m me.
He only waits if I’m already on a call, and then I call him, let it ring once or twice, and he knows to call me back.
“Henry! This is an unexpected surprise. I thought you were busy today?” We catch up on what’s happened in the last thirty-six hours, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot. I’m distracted, going back to the whole private-line thing instead of being totally focused on him.
Instead of torturing myself about it a minute longer, I dive into an explanation of the whole dedicated-private-line thing, and he stops me. “Hunter told me about the private line. She said the girl is the one to initiate that, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured, so I didn’t mention it.”
“You were waiting for me to bring it up?”
“Impatiently.” That answers that question. “We could talk on the phone like normal people? I’d call you, and you’d answer if you aren’t busy? We can text and talk?”
“Yes. You could call or text me directly.”
“Email?” There’s a lilt of excitement in his voice. He wants this.
“Sure.”
“WhatsApp when I’m in Europe?” He’s happy, no question, and suddenly, so am I, anxiety falling away as he’s unabashedly eager to do this with me.
“Of course.” I’m one of the owners, so yes, I’m making up the rules as I go.
That’s what we call being a leader. “As long as I don’t give you identifying information, we’re good.
I can’t send a photo of my face or give you my full name, or anything that would enable you to find me or my name, but I can call you, and you can call me. ”
He hesitates. “Will it be expensive?” Any other caller would ask if I’d send him a boob shot, but not my Henry.
“Probably.” We’ll talk more, I’m sure of it.
“You won’t pay a dime more than you do now.
You’ll get the lowest rate we offer, and there’s no fee for the phone or anything.
But unfettered access increases the temptation to talk more—and I don’t want you paying for my lack of self-control.
I don’t think of you as a way to make money, but this has a real price tag for you.
” It’s important, but I’ve gotten the impression this habit isn’t a financial strain for him.
He asks, “Are you okay with this?”
I hesitate.
Okay is a strong word. I’m terrified. But this guy thinking of me first makes me melt.
Choosing honesty, I say, “I’ve never done the private-line thing, ever.
Everyone else jumps at the first sign of a willing caller, but I have never made the offer before.
My concern is that I can’t be trusted with easy access to you.
One of us has shown some level of self-control.
It isn’t me. I’ll have to resist the urge to call you. ”
“Why would you do that? If the whole point is access, why wouldn’t you call?”
“I don’t want you in a position where you need to tell me to be less because I’m being too much.” Super-sad Kaitlin after Henry says he just isn’t that into me is a pathetic mental image. I mean Kait.
“Kait, we’ll see how it goes, but I cannot imagine wanting you less in my life. I’m perpetually resisting the urge to call, trying not to be a nuisance. I crave the connection, but I’m struggling, resisting even as I lean in. I’m constantly worried you’ll tire of me.”
It’s like he stole my concerns and made them his.
“If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t have said anything.
There are lots of people who call enough.
There are precisely zero others I would offer this.
” You fall asleep, and I hang up instead of finishing off your minutes.
I save them so we can talk. Everyone else?
I read or do homework until their minutes run dry.
“I’ve always scoffed at the notion of a private line,” I say, pausing to gather my thoughts. “I—I adore you, Henry, and that’s exactly why I’m conflicted about what a private line will mean for us when we’re, uh, unencumbered. I mean, uh, I don’t know who we might be turning into.”
It’s not a relationship. It’s a transaction. He’s not my boyfriend. It’s literally a rule. Catching feelings would be silly. He’s a fabulous caller, but a caller all the same.
“I’m looking forward to finding out.”
Just like that, there’s a deeply needy vibration in my chest. What is wrong with me? His warm, soft words interrupt my emotional doom spiral.
“Text me when you get the phone?”
Hell to the yes. I don’t say that. Instead, calmly, I say, “Sure I won’t wake you up? You sound sleepy.”
“Tonight? It didn’t occur to me that it would be today. Yeah, I’ll be up.” Is that a giddy Henry? “I can’t wait.”
I should be wary, concerned that he’s going to bug the shit out of me, but I would love it if he were an absolute pest, calling all hours of the day or night.
It’s dark outside when I text him a link to a song on Spotify called “Detachable Penis.” Before I can send him a text to explain, I get one back.
Unicorn: Dear God, please tell me that this is Kait’s new number. Pretty please, Amen, Henry
My stomach feels like I’ve stepped off a cliff.
Me: Of course it’s me. I found the song that sums up what I want in life. It took a while, but here we are.
And so it begins.
A grin spreads across my face until I’m smiling like I escaped the funny farm. I’m happy. Plain old happy for no good reason.
Unicorn: I don’t know the lyrics, and I’m afraid to look them up, but “Detachable Penis” does not sound promising for a life motto.
Me: This is my mantra for life!
Unicorn: I refuse to listen. If my internal soundtrack starts playing “Detachable Penis” I’ll be most displeased. Is this payback for when I told you that “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails was the soundtrack to our first meeting? You know I was joking.
Me: Hehe. Maybe. Ok, fine, that isn’t the song, this one is.
I send a link to “The Bad Touch” by Bloodhound Gang and can’t help but laugh out loud. Best lyrics ever.
Unicorn: Doing it like animals do it on the Discovery Channel summarizes your personal philosophy? I don’t believe it. Work life philosophy, absolutely, but not personal.
Me: Hah!
Unicorn: Speaking of, shouldn’t you be giving someone your undivided attention, and sadly, that someone is not me?
Me: It’s oddly Q word here—don’t be jinxing me by saying it, Sterling—like Super Bowl Sunday level. I might head home early and that never happens.
Unicorn: If you get home before one your time, I’ll be awake.
Me: You need to go to *bed*. You need a stable bedtime routine, remember?
Unicorn: Ok, you’re absolutely right. If you’re home by midnight my time, I’ll still be awake. Is that acceptable?
I don’t dignify his text with a response since he suggested the same exact time but in his time zone—and knows it. I send another link to Spotify. “I Wanna Be Adored” by the Stone Roses.
Unicorn: The Stone Roses? Are you secretly 50? That song is older than you.
Me: Like everything U2 ever made that was good.
Unicorn: We’ve been able to text for less than five minutes and you’re choosing violence?
Me: You said I sound old, Henry Florence Sterling.
Unicorn: No, I asked if you were secretly 50, there is a subtle but distinct difference.
Me: Potatoh Tomatoh, lawyer boy.
Unicorn: Is this seriously your song?
Me: When you type it in that tone it makes me not want to share with you, Henry Judgy McJudgerton Sterling.
Unicorn: Again, not my names
Me: Again, if you told me your names, this would be so much better for you.
Me: Also, I listened to a lot of lyrics to come up with the right song so bite me. Also, pretty sure it’s older than you too. Also, I’m giving this phone back.
Unicorn: Why this song?
Me: The word love gets thrown around with too little thought. People say they love you but their love doesn’t feel safe or healthy. Love is complicated. I can’t think of a single negative association about being adored. It’s a warm fuzzy of a word. Who doesn’t want to be adored?
Unicorn: I couldn’t agree more. Excellent choice.