[center][b]9.5 YEARS AGO[/b][/center]

Rob wasn’t sure if it was the music, the alcohol, or J who had caused the blistering, pulsing headache trickling down the nape of his neck and into his chest, but at this point, he was convinced it was some amalgamation of the three.

Rob stared, dead-eyed down at his boots—his forehead mounted at the edge of the bar, and his barstool kicked out far enough to allow for such a position. His arms, still on the bar, grasped at the drink he had been toying with for the past 30 minutes. 

Behind him, J was drunkenly ‘networking’ with some punk band who played a 15-minute cover set at whatever bar they were currently in. He had called Ubers for Austin, Sam—fuck, even Sam’s Dad Harold—something like an hour ago. Even Lyla had popped in and out to say hello. 

It was fun, at one point in the evening. The In Bloom crew and friends had claimed a C-shaped booth in the corner; poking good fun at the punk band as they awkwardly thumbed their way through discount Creed tracks. A few patrons came over to take photos, but instead they were thrust into the open space in the booth—joining the band for just a few minutes, sharing stories, obfuscating the third loop of an all-too-short Spotify playlist polluting the atmosphere through speakers nearby.

The fans would come and go, and eventually, the group atrophied down to just Rob and J yet again. Just as Rob had convinced J it was time to turn it in, another fan slipped past. 

And about an hour later, here he was, counting scratches on the bar floor, making meaningless notes on what he saw. A few notches ripped out of the wooden board of the bar. Homophobic slurs crudely etched into the wood paneling on the floor. A pair of ratty Doc Martens belonging to the woman on his left, who spoke too loudly and closely to him and smelled a little like a mall in Orange County…

Suddenly a bump came to his back, and his head shot back up into reality. Jane had come by, grabbing onto his jacket. She slurred something out about sex in the living room and gripped the back of his head for support. She pulled in for a kiss, but he quickly hugged her instead—raising her small frame up and motioning for the bartender to close out their tab.

They didn’t say much over the music—mostly Jane loaned her bodyweight to him as he waited for his credit card—but he could tell she was a few misplaced steps away from puking wells all over the floor. 

He practically balked at the four-digit tab she had run up, but signed it anyway, passed a hundred to the bartender for the trouble, and moved the two of them towards the door.

“J, please stop buying rounds for everyone,” he said, taking a lighter tone. “Or we’ll have to put out a Christmas record.”

Outside, the familiar deluge of shutters and flashes littered them. He threw as much of his jacket over Jane’s face as possible, trying to maneuver them through the crowd and towards the pedestrian walkway. Just two blocks and they’d be at the security checkpoint outside of their apartment complex. Sanctuary. 

Then, in a blur, a camera smashed, and Jane was ripped out from under him. He watched her smash—too hard—into the concrete below. He locked eyes with the paparazzo responsible after his ‘whore’ comment. 

Maybe it was his five-foot-five frame compared to Rob’s or just the realization that he was about to learn a thing or two about consequences, but his expression melted into fear when Rob looked into him.

After about a second of debating whether he wanted to deal with the colossal dressing down he would get from their PR manager about assault in the streets, he made his call. 

You know, for a guy who sounded so tough, he didn’t make it three hits. Rob heard his nose crack under his fist and after a second, he too was on the ground.

Without stopping, he picked Jane up, plopped her on her feet, and moved forward.

The paparazzi split like the red sea after that. 

This was how nights seemed to end for Rob these days. Vague distain for Jane’s antics, picking up tabs, cleaning up messes. 

He wouldn’t think it sober, but in this state, he wondered how long he’d put up with it. 

[center][b]PRESENT DAY[/b][/center]

That night, however-many-years ago, flashed through Rob’s mind as he felt Jane’s small hands push him forward, outside, towards the patio.

Out here, she had set up everything perfectly. 

She had insisted on cooking that night for them, which had been the first moment to catch Rob off-guard. Even now, a decade later, he had almost instinctually shot out his usual “I’vegotitdon’tworry” he would say to her when she typically offered. Although, of course, after so long, perhaps it was misleading to refer to it as his ‘usual.’ 

He watched her show off her dress, and while she was undeniably beautiful in it, his mind wandered to the shorts and simple shirt he had put on. [i]’Shit, J, I was I had gotten the memo,’[/i] he thought to himself.

But even then, he couldn’t help but stare. 

“I remember it,” he said, and meant it. It was hard to forget. It was one of those dresses she had pulled out during a daytrip to Ventura. He remembered he said he wasn’t a fan; to which Jane had enthusiastically insisted: [i]You will be.[/i]

She was right then, and right now. She filled it out beautifully.

He turned his attention to the food; making sure to try each part of the dish out first. And what could he say? It was good! Especially compared to the pasta nights Jane had previously been the Queen of. 

It sort of felt like—at least, for the first time in a bit—they were meeting again for the first time. The past day or so here had been together, sure, but something Rob had dearly missed, and something he had forgotten, was that he was comfortable around her. 

It was a nice feeling, however brief it may have been.

“Elle is incredible—my daughter,” he started, before wondering if J already knew Elle’s name. “No drums, not yet. But she’s brilliant. We were having full arguments about the quality of her favorite show when she was three. I think she’ll end up trying out for tennis. There’s the one show she loves where the main character is the captain of her high school tennis team, and she’s all about that. I think Mae is gonna have her try out for the swim team but—”

Rob stopped himself. Half for mentioning Mae, and half for realizing just how much he was venting out. It was almost like he wanted to get past the catch-up period as quick as possible.

Only, that’s going to mean going into the whole Mae situation. And he couldn’t imagine how that felt on Jane’s end.

“Sorry, I could go on all day about her,” Rob said. “What they tell you is true. About kids? Holding my daughter for the first time was surreal. I’ve done a lot of shit in my time, but that? Yeah…that shook me.” 

Instead of looking up, he buried his head and thought for a second. [i]Very relatable conversation,[/i] he chastised himself. [i]Talk all about kids to your ex-girlfriend without kids. Good move.[/i]

It was hard to get the words right, tonight. But words were clearly failing. There was so much that happened. And so much that happened after that. It was daunting to even try to cross that chasm with J. 

“It’s been a, uh—” Rob started. He took a sip of wine and continued: “It’s been weird, you know? Washington’s cool, I like it. Weather can suck, but I’m Californian, so I’m used the endless summers.”

He lit the joint J had shared, took a deep drag, and passed it to her. “Tell me about you, please.”

He prayed it would calm his nerves.