HangYourSecrets

In Bloom: The Reunion

The blurred streets of Orange County roared by on the way to the NA meeting.

The small, but faint buzz he had built up from his compulsive trip to the bathroom earlier was already gone, and in its place, fear.

It wasn’t the kind of fear that someone typically felt when going to one of these meetings. Or, at least, it wasn’t the type of fear Rob figured was felt. In reality, this was the first time he had ever gone to one.

It was more so the fear that he may need to start going to these.

The thought made him feel terrible.

’What’s wrong with going to these? J goes to these. Is something wrong with her? Are you better than her?’

The thoughts rattled around in a head he wanted so desperately to be present. He could feel Jane next to him--practically radiating. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her hand loosely grip the upholstery between them.

He very nearly took it. It was an old instinct--a muscle memory that hadn’t fully atrophied out with time. He wondered how often Jane knew the difference between when he took her hand to support or took it to be supported. Or if it really mattered, at this point.

Jane was moved on. It was a fact he wasn’t entirely convinced of, and in many ways, didn’t believe--but it was one he needed to accept. For her sake, as well as his.

He turned his head slightly further out the window; Jane’s hand disappearing out of his periphery.

--

The anxiety seemed to build until Jane first started speaking into the microphone.

The air in here was stuffy and warm. The rattling air conditioner above them seemed to lack the freon it needed. Instead, the room wafted in its own potent air.

But it all seemed to fade away when Jane started to speak.

At first, the story brought back memories Rob couldn’t help but look back on with happiness. All the times he and the others kicked around rocks and loitered in parking lots near 10th and Cherry, waiting for Jane to pop around the corner–booze in hand.

But it didn’t last.

The story turned--and Rob left it. Jane’s rock bottom and recovery had nothing to do with him. And not that he wanted an ounce of credit for Jane’s recovery, but he had to admit the thought of being absent stung a little bit.

Perhaps it's how she felt about Elle and Mae. About his own life, he forged together without her. The one that wasn’t exactly on solid ground.

She signaled for him, and he pushed the thoughts aside.

’God, he thought to himself, ’Way to make this about you, huh?’

Outside, the tension started to fade away. It was just Jane and Rob in a back alley splitting a pack. The way it had always been. Home base.

Rob slipped the pack from Jane, flicked one out and lit up with the same flame as her. This muscle memory he could actually use.

As Jane slipped his participation trophy in his hand, he couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll cherish it forever,” came a wry response.

It was funny spending this much time with Jane. One moment she was growing, changing, becoming a different person altogether. The next, it was as if not a day went by since the last time they’d done this.

It was all at once comforting and scary.

“Yeah,” came an automatic response to her. He really did want to get the fuck out of here.

As they turned to make their way to the street corner, Rob’s hand gently pressed at the small of J’s back--as it always had when he steered her before. His nerves fired, and he quickly removed it.

Fuckin’ muscle memory.

--

Rob waited for Jared’s arrival in the living room with Sam. As a measure of half-assed moderation, he had made a new rule for himself.

At least attempt not to drink alone.

Plus, it didn’t help to speak to Sam more. He had always been the odd one out in the group. Rob, Jane, and Austin were more of the high school trio. Sam was the hired help, and that old dynamic still seemed to linger something near fifteen years later.

Also, you tend to feel guilty after punching someone in the face.

“This was South by Southwest, two years ago,” Sam continued. He was haunched over a bit on the couch, showing Rob some blurry concert footage. On stage, Rob could make out Sam’s usual energy smashing down on his strings. “Vicarious wanted a bigger sound, so I flew in for them. We opened for Pretty Reckless. Which was fucking weird, cause we sound nothing like them, but still.”

Rob tried not to note the usage of we too much and nodded. “You always loved their sound. Surprised they didn’t poach you back in the day.”

“Oh, they tried!”

“Really?”

“...fuck no,” Sam laughed. “We were bigger than them at the time. Even if they had asked, I had said no. Too much invested with you assholes.”

Rob half-heartedly pushed Sam aside. “Glad we’re good for a paycheck.”

“And a big one, too. Got a cash advance from Evan; it’s more than I make in a year.”

The two laughed over it. “Maybe you’ll get enough to move out somewhere.”

“Fuck that,” came Sam’s immediate response. “My world stretches from Torrence to Anaheim. I’m not you guys. But that isn’t to say I can’t get a better house.”

Rob smiled. Out of all of them, in his own way, Sam had seemingly found the most peace. Not that he was anywhere near tortured in the In Bloom days.

The doorbell rang immediately after, and Rob’s smile faded as he went to the door.

He tried not to look too closely at Jane as Jared stepped inside. A pang of jealousy sprouted almost immediately, but he shoved it down.

Not here. Not now.

He smiled, he waved, and as Jared turned to leave, Rob was almost in the clear when--

”My sister’s coming next week.”

His eyes looked down to the post-it note on the counter, and back up to meet Jane’s eyes.

The only thing he could make out was a wide-eyed surprise, before the door slammed shut between them.

Several seconds passed with the three guys in the foyer. No one said a word.

It was so quiet you could hear Austin’s wristwatch click.

But finally, Sam broke.

“So are you and J gonna implode the band again, or--?”

“Sam,” Austin cut in. “Please... shut the fuck up.”

Rob slipped upstairs to his room before another word was said--note in tow.

--

Thirty minutes later, Rob was still slumped over at the foot of his bed. Adrianna’s number had been logged into his phone and the text message was all typed out. Unsent. Sitting on a dying phone.

Did Jared know about Adrianna? Did J?

Because they had a much longer history than a one-night stand during the In Bloom days.

For lack of a better word, Rob and Adrianna were fuck buddies. He wasn’t a fan of the term, but it was the truth.

It started about six months after breaking up with J and shortly before meeting Mae. The two had bumped into each other at a house party way out in Chino Hills. He could hardly explain how it started, but the night ended in San Bernardino, and five hundred dollars in cash was gone.

They saw each other weekly after that, but it didn’t last long. Rob met Mae, and the rest was history.

The next time he saw her was after taking care of some business back in Long Beach. He and Mae had flown in separately to clear out a final storage unit of shit as a sort of final couple’s trip before Mae fucked off to Montreal with some new boyfriend.

This time, Rob called Adrianna directly. He even drove all the way to Pheonix. That little getaway cost something like seven thousand dollars by the end of the week.

It was a pretty easy arrangement for both of them. They both were into each other for a singular, physical reason, and Rob had the disposable income (and let’s face it, wealth at a certain point) to organize a few trysts for them.

But, like all things, it fizzled out. Flying hundreds of miles to get laid stopped being appealing by your mid-thirties. Plus, she stopped responding to texts. Rob had always figured she was done with him, but tonight proved to him she just changed her number. In a way, she was the worst possible person to enter into his life at this moment.

But why shouldn’t he message her?

Jane was out with Jared. She was out there moving on. Why couldn’t he?

Just then, his phone buzzed. Austin.

All it said were three little words:

Maybe not her.

Maybe that was a good happy medium. But it wasn’t helping in the here and now.

Because Rob would give up just about anything to get Jared and Jane off his mind.

--

About twenty minutes later, Rob rushed back downstairs to the living room. Sam and Austin were sitting quietly, as expected. Both were on their phones. Quiet.

“So, we’ve got about fifteen minutes,” Rob started.

That certainly got their attention.

“Are you heading out?” Austin asked first. Rob could see the quiet terror in his eyes.

“Yeah. Ya’ll too. Get ready.”

“Dude,” Sam started, “I am not going out--”

“Look, it’s been years since we’ve all been together. And I hung out with Jane today, and I’ve been neglecting you guys. So I got us an Uber, I got us a spot to go, so let’s go. It’s Friday, for fuck’s sake.”

“You didn’t ‘hang out with Jane,’ you took her to a AA meeting,” came Austin’s short reply. He was going to be a harder sell, but Sam was already on Rob’s side.

“Same difference,” Rob said. “Don’t turn me down, I know a good spot in Newport Beach, I reserved a nice booth, and it’s on me.”

“Fifteen, right?” Sam replied. He was already halfway up the stairs.

“Twelve!”

“Rob, do you really think this is a good idea?” Austin asked. “Look, I know it’s probably not a good night for you to be alone--”

“So I won’t be alone, what’s the problem?”

Austin took a deep breath. “You’re using us for a distraction.”

“And you’re using me for my MAE residuals, it’s a fair trade. You wouldn’t feel bad if you saw what they send me in a month--”

“It’s not about the money, Rob.”

A moment of silence sat between them. Upstairs, they both could hear Sam aggressively putting on shoes.

“...but,” Austin continued, “If you’re getting us bottle service...”

Rob helped Austin out of his chair and practically pushed him upstairs to his room. “You’re gonna like this place, it’s classy.” He continued to pitch even after Austin’s door closed. “Just a few hours and a few drinks, that’s all I want! It’ll be fun!”

--

THREE HOURS LATER

Sometime around 11:00PM, things had started to get a little sloppy.

Rob did own up to his word and get bottle service for the three of them--but it didn’t stay the three of them for long.

People seemed to ebb and flow from the large, round corner booth hidden away in the back of the bar. Word got around quickly that hometown heroes In Bloom were in town (and getting shots for people who stopped by to chat), so the otherwise-quiet bar had grown a bit louder and eventually a bouncer was placed at the front to keep things reasonable.

Rob had expected as much--and in fact, he had picked this place for this exact reason. The owner--a nice, wiry guy named Arthur--was good friends with Mae and Rob and often helped out whenever Mae wanted a public drink that wouldn’t turn into a circus. Rob called in a favor, and the result was a nice, public space that just so happened to form a line eight blocks down due to their presence.

“--no! Seriously let me--let me--I’ll tell you this--seriously--Rob, back up me up this!” Sam fumbled through his words over Billie Eilish playing in the background.

Sam had been taking full advantage of the bottle service and was mid-conversation with a few women that had joined the booth on his side. Rob couldn’t tell if they were enjoying this or humoring him, but it was probably the latter.

“It was Vienna. We were driving every fuckin’ day. J and Rob are making off like rabbits, so I head into this bar--no I’m serious! So I go into this bar...”

Sam droned on, but Rob quickly tuned him out. He was sat opposite Sam and the women, on the outer edge of the booth, looking over to Austin beside him.

Austin could only laugh.

“What are the odds this story happened?” Rob asked.

“None whatsoever,” Austin replied. “Sam left his cum rags on the floor by my bunk that whole fucking tour. I got laid more than him.”

“No shit! Who?”

Austin shrugged. “Lyla, once.”

“No fucking way.”

“It wasn’t a big deal!” Austin threw his hands up. “It was a quick thing, only happened once. All parties involved didn’t need a repeat.”

Rob couldn’t stop staring and laughing.

“Jesus, you think you three are the only ones with libidos?” Austin laughed.

Lyla or not, it was good to see Austin lightening up for once. All too often, he had been the liaison--the moderator. It was easy to see this might not last forever if Austin got pushed too far.

“I’m gonna take a leak, yeah?” Rob said, and slipped out of the booth. He felt a few people slap his back as he went, but half-walked-half-stumbled to the bathroom without another word.

He opened the bathroom door to find a single toilet, sink, and background music blasting over the intercom at a fever pitch.

’Alright,’ he thought to himself. ’Finish the bottle, then take everyone home. Real easy.’

He was feeling good, at this point. Drunk--but coherent. It had been three hours of fun, stories, and selfies with fans. Time to wrap it up and go home.

He relieved himself, washed his hands, and turned the handle–

The door swung upon violently as the woman leaned on the opposite side tumbled into the bathroom and nearly fell onto Rob.

Rob fumbled back, half-catching her. She stood to her feet and swung a leg back to the door, kicking it shut.

“Jesus, real smooth of me, huh?” She laughed.

Rob took a step back to see who had barged in. She looked mid-to-late 20s. Dark hair, a face he couldn’t place, black A-line dress and strappy heels. But eyes he recognized from across the room.

“You good?” Rob replied.

“Yes, thanks!” She almost laughed out. “You really caught me, huh?”

Even this far in, Rob knew what was happening. He moved to the bathroom door, and locked it shut.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The woman turned and leaned up against the sink. She balanced on one heel and lifted the other slightly. “My friends call me Liz.”

Rob nodded. “You don’t have to be coy, Liz.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” she replied without hesitating.

She pushed off the sink and closed their gap.

--

Five minutes later, Rob pulled himself from Liz and ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing at all,” he replied honestly. He glanced down at his phone. 11:58PM. “I’ve got just to get heading back is all.”

“More songs to write?”

“Something like that,” Rob replied. He took a minute to straighten himself in the mirror, then helped Liz get her shoes back on.

In reality, as fun as this had been, bathroom sex wasn’t on the list of things Rob wanted to get up to. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Every step closer to something intimate felt like a step away from Jane. He hated the feeling. He just wasn’t ready.

Or sober enough.

“Can I give you my number?” Liz countered as Rob headed for the door. “I’m here most weekends. Just give me a head’s up, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” he replied as earnestly as he could muster. He took her number, and Rob opened and shut the door behind him soon thereafter.

He quickly rushed back to the booth, and signaled for Sam and Austin to wrap it up.

“I’m closing out the tab,” he told them. “Let’s get back in time to get some work done in the afternoon at least.”

--

By the time the Uber returned to their place, Rob’s mind wouldn’t stop racing.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Jane is having a good time. Why can’t I?

I was over this. I was over this for ten fucking years, why is it such a big deal?

Liz wanted to. Why didn’t I?

After paying the driver, Rob retreated upstairs to his room, and made his way to the kitchen sink cabinet.

He utilized his own bottle service and opened his phone. He found his pre-typed message to Adrianna, and without hesitating, he sent it.

At this point, minutes blurred together. He wasn’t sure how long it had been. All he was sure of was if he laid down, he might puke.

And then, a knock came at the front door.

He rushed to the front only to find Jared standing there with Austin and Rob.

“The fuck happened?” he blurted out, but everyone seemed content with ignoring him.

Austin’s hands wrapped tightly around a phone. He was talking to someone.

”J’s in the hospital.”

The words stung deep into him. At this point, he was a mess of mania and self-flagellation.

Within another moment, both Austin and Jared were out the front door.

Jane didn’t want them to come.

“Fuck, man,” Sam muttered as the two of them stood alone in the foyer. “You think she’s okay?”

“Aust’s got her,” Rob replied. “I’m going to bed. You good?”

Sam gave a meek thumbs up. Good enough for Rob.

He ran upstairs, had a bit more, and laid down.

The sooner the night ended, the better. But before he could pass out, he saw a small light emanate from his phone in the dark room.

A reply from Adrianna.

He picked it up, read the message, and before responding, slipped the phone back into his pocket.

It could wait till tomorrow. It all could.

Jane was better off with Austin. Or Jared. Or anyone else, really.

So why wasn’t he better off without Jane?

In Bloom: The Reunion

Seriously. Thanks again for shipping that down; I know it’s a bitch to get in and out of my place.

Rob hurriedly tapped out the message to Ari as his stomach finally calmed enough for him to sit up straight. He was (mostly) hydrated and feeling good enough to head downstairs.

But if he was being honest, he felt a bit of anxiety in his about the ordeal.

Was it too much? Did it bring up some terrible memories?

He wasn’t sure at this point whether or not he had given J the Pond record back to put aside a decade’s worth of guilt or to try to get her attention in an ‘I-still-care-about-you’ sort of way. Probably both.

In his hands, the phone buzzed. Ari replied:

Yeah yeah 🙄 you’re lucky you live a few feet from campus. And by the way, why’d it have to be that record?

Rob responded:

It’s a long story; thanks a million again. I owe you dinner and all the microbio tutoring in the world.

And then Ari: Oooooorrr you could fly me down there? Get me an autograph? You’re on KEXP up here and everything dude. Still can’t believe it’s happening.

Rob rolled his eyes: It’s nothing. But yeah. Everything kinda blew up, huh? I think I have a call-in interview with them at 10 this morning.

Ari: Mae who now? ☠️

The sentiment made Rob laugh. Ari was a good kid—twenty-two years old sure, but to him, definitely a kid—and she had always been good as a roadie in the Seattle scene. He thought about how a few short weeks ago, he was with all of those kids playing underground gigs in Pioneer Square.

Now he was back on the interview circuit. Back from the dead.

“Rob, the record…”

He looked up to see Jane as she stormed into the room. His heart jumped as he watched her hair sway with her movements. Was this good? Was this bad?

Before he knew it, he had nearly fallen over on the bed—the force of J’s body pressing against his seemed to knock the wind out of him.

His face burned brightly as he felt the warm between them. Familiar warmth. Instintually, he wrapped his arms around her. His hand nearly traced up her back as he gently grasped at the nape of her neck. His other arm wrapped around her and held her side. Her body fit into his as perfectly as ever she had.

He was almost out of breath when she let him go. The moment faded, and the dampness at chest became clearer.

”Morning swim.”

Rob couldn’t say anything. All he could do is put on a dumb little smile at her sight.

She was the first to break the silence. She had a request. An NA meeting to go to.

For all he cared, she could have asked him to go to Italy. Of course he’d go.

“Five years?” he repeated after her. “Holy shit. Wow, that’s…wow.”

Could he have anything decent to say?

Before he could come up with something, she was gone as quick as she had come.

He fell down on his back to the bed, and let out a massive breath.

Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea.

***

“That’s rich,” came Austin’s response as soon as Rob had told him the news. The two had met up in the kitchen once Jane turned in to the basement for writing time, which was supposed to begin shortly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Austin replied. “—look, I’m not your Dad. I’m not lecturing you. It’s just—”

“—that I’m going with her to an NA meeting when I’m not exactly sober?” Rob finished Austin’s thought for him. He nodded.

Austin took a moment and finished the water in his hands. “Sorry,” he apologized, “J knocked the wind out of me with that yoga.” After he composed himself: “I like you. I like J. I like J sober. I hope that stays that way.”

“I’m not trying to do anything to her,” Rob shot back. He felt himself grow more and more defensive. “I mean—I’m not trying to do anything—or maybe I am—look, I’m not asking her to do shit with me.”

“And you’ll keep her on the rails while you’re too drunk to walk?”

Rob shut up after that.

Austin seemed to eye him up and down before he continued. “Maybe take this as a challenge. Sober up. Deal with whatever the fuck’s going on inside Rob. “I had to put together one of you two after shattering, I don’t want to do it twice.”

Rob wanted to respond, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. Evan.

“Look, I have that call-in…” Rob said, turning from Austin. He seemed unamused. “Talk later?”

“Sure,” came Austin’s flat reply. “Whatever, man.”

Rob scrambled up the stairs, closed the door to his room, and took the call.

“We’ve got thirty seconds and then I’ll connect you,” came Evan’s voice—all business. “I told them no MAE questions, but you’ll probably have to field one at the end.”

“Yeah yeah, I figured. I have a response. What else?”

“Focus on the positive. There’s an appetite for new In Bloom music. Everything is a hit. New stuff is coming soon.”

“Easy enough.”

“There’s going to grill you about lyrics.”

Rob paused at that. “…I know.”

“Are you ready for it?”

“Ready enough, just connect me.”

“Good luck, Rob.”

The phone buzzed, clicked, and a few moments later, the call connected to the radio station offices.

“You’re on in ten,” came a voice. In the background, Rob could hear the final notes of Everything play out in the studio. As the music faded, the host came on top of it:

“Everything…In Bloom…you’re tuned into KEXP and everyone here is having a little bit of Déjà vu. In Bloom isn’t a band we’ve played much in recent years but ever since some old tracks have resurfaced online it’s like their back on their National Tour. Still can’t believe their back and still can’t believe our very own hometown hero Robert ‘Rob’ Pennie is joining us today—Rob my friend, how’ve you been?”

“Good—great,” Rob started up. He’d done a million of these, but for some reason this one was making him nervous. “I miss town already.”

“Yeah, that’s right—” the host continued. Slick as the rest of them, she seemed to start responding to Rob before he’d finish talking. “Rob, you’ve been a local for some years, but clearly you and the rest of In Bloom have some amazing things cooking down in Orange County. Tell us—has it been like putting on a glove, or are there some barbs from how you guys separated last time?”

“It’s been seamless, seriously,” Rob replied, trying not to take any bait in the question. “You know, we’ve all done our own things for a while after In Bloom wrapped up, and I have to say, it seems like the perfect time to come back together. Everyone’s bringing their best work, and I think people are really gonna like what they hear when it’s all done.”

“We’re excited to hear it, and we’re glad to have just a few minutes of your time. This cut’s a little darker than the last stuff we’ve heard from you. A little more raw. Do you think it’s anything to do with where everyone is at this point?”

Rob winced a bit at that comment. “We try not to think too hard about evolution in terms of sound, we make what we make when we go into the studio. But we’re older, you know—we’re not the fresh-faced band on the scene anymore, and I think that’s going to be a big strength for us going forward in terms of exploring new avenues.”

“Rob, I do have to ask—this one seems awfully pointed towards some issues between yourself and Jane Molloy, frontwomen of In Bloom.”

That’s not a fucking question, Rob thought to himself. He tried not to pause too long and responded with the non-answer he had been thinking on all morning: “I think you’re going to see a lot of incredible songwriting from Jane on this record particularly in regards to lyrics. Her songwriting process—and I think she may be a better person to talk about this than myself—but her songwriting process has always been her own, and I really love how the track turned out. Everyone’s been really enjoying being back in the same room together and it’s just been a joy, truly.”

There was an unusual pause at that—perhaps the host was trying to sort out whether or not to push Rob further. Either way, she’d continue to get non-answers out of him.

Instead, she pivoted: “Finally, your former partner MAE has been in the studio at the same time as you all.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Rob replied. He’d be a brick wall on this subject.

“That’s got to be exciting for your daughter, to see her parents both start writing music again for the first time.”

What kind of set-up is this? Rob thought. I have no idea how to respond to this.

“Well, I think you’ll find she’s a lot more interested in her favorite TV shows than her parents’ music,” Rob laughed. “But yes, I think she’s very happy to be back in the studio.”

“Rob Pennie from In Bloom—thanks so much for taking our call and tell everyone we say good luck!”

“I will, thank you.”

“KEXP an affiliate of the University of Washington. Support for KEXP comes from viewers like you. To learn more abou—”

Rob quickly hung up the phone. He’d had to get used to fielding these types of question, but he was thankful the years had made him less prone to putting his foot in his mouth. A moment later, he got a text:

Evan: Not bad, buddy.

Rob shrugged. At least he’s happy.

***

Several hours later, the session came to a close. Two more songs had been tracked out, with another demoed for Evan to listen to. There had been a lot of debate internally about whether or not that track needed orchestral backing or if Sam’s part was filling out the space, so Evan was called in to see if he could gather the money for a four-piece orchestra in the first place.

The songs they were making were really something else, if Rob had to be honest with himself. They were vulnerable—more confident. Fewer stadium singles and more introspective pieces.

“We need something fun, I’m telling ya’ll,” Sam huffed as he walked upstairs. He had been saying it for a few hours. Something fun. The album was missing something fun, apparently.

Austin moved to follow Sam up the stairs and talk to him, but Rob let them go. These things normally worked themselves out anyways.

Once again, it was just Jane and Rob. She was putting her mic back up when he stood up from the drum throne and cleared his throat.

“Let me shower and I’ll be ready in ten, yeah?” He said, giving a bright smile. For a few moments, it felt like they were back together. “Maybe afterward we could—”

Rob froze.

Oh yeah. Jared.

“Oh, sorry,” he stammered out. “You’ve got a thing later. I’ll…meet you at the front door?”

He paused for her response, then turned with a smile up the stairs.

Once he was past earshot, he rushed into his room in a panic. The sink cabinets flew open. Without thinking, he took a big swig before realizing what he was doing. He almost tossed the handle back underneath the sink, closed it and turned on the shower.

What the fuck was he doing?

His mind raced throughout the shower and as he dressed himself. He used mouthwash and looked in the mirror.

Real fucking smart, Rob. Real smart. Pre-game the NA meeting. Fucking moron.

He put on a shirt and blow dried his hair.

You’re lucky you stopped yourself. Fucking idiot. Seriously. What’s your problem?

He left the bathroom and put his shoes on at the foot of the bed.

She’s going out with Jared. Jared. She’s got plans. She’s moving on. What are you doing?

He took a deep breath.

That’s right. You’re taking her to get her chip. Look how good she’s doing. What are you doing? What are you doing? What the FUCK are you doing to deserve—

SMACK!

His right cheek burnt bright red from how hard he had struck it.

The thoughts went away after that.

Rob stepped back into his bathroom and used a cold rag to fade the red from his face. After a minute or two, he was good to go.

Heading downstairs, he saw J waiting for him.

“Sorry about the delay,” he said, smiling. “Ready when you are.”

In Bloom: The Reunion

TEN YEARS AGO

Rob thumbed his way through a nice stack of record, but it was Jane he was really looking at, out of the corner of his eye.

She looked beautiful in this moment—the light peering in through the window blinds of the record store, lighting her face in strips of yellow-white.

Her small hands wrapped around a few LPs—the same that pulled him gently into the store just a few moments ago. She gripped records from Fleet Foxes and The 1975, and finally pulled a record from Pond before seeming satisfied.

The album cover was a cacophony of colors and drawings. It was a cover he wasn’t going to forget.

NINE YEARS AGO

Rob blinked through red-hot tears as he tore through the loft. Jane was comatose in the bedroom—like she always fucking was—so he didn’t think twice about the noise he was making.

This was all ending, all of it, tonight. He’d never see her again.

He cracked open the coat closet and ripped his clothes from the hangars, some of them splintering and snapping as he did so.

On the floor, he spotted an old pile of records. He flipped through them quickly, sorting them mentally in his head.

Mine, hers, mine, mine, hers, hers, hers, mine, hers…

Until he came upon the bottom record.

Beaten and crumpled from storage of use was that old Pond record. It hadn’t been song since they got it, but after everything, it hadn’t been played in months.

Images of Jane in the record shop tore through his head. Moments that felt like a lifetime ago.

Without hesitating, he took it.

PRESENT DAY

Rob’s world spun as he came back to life. Someone was pulling at his shoes again.

Shit…

Everything was a fuzzy blur. The room seemed to vibrate as he felt someone pull off his shoes, then pull the comforter out from under him. He felt himself hit cooler sheets and groaned in annoyance.

Soon enough, the movement stopped, and felt the comforter’s warmth again upon his back.

“Thankssssssloove,” he muttered out instinctually, then it was back to sweet relief.

The past few days had been a blur for him. After waking up far, far past his alarm, he had a brief call with Evan—making empty promises to lay off the drinking for a few days. Evan, for all his grouchiness during that call, was happy to report that Rob’s aggressive drumming style tied up J’s vocals nicely for the single. Something about ‘opposite energies,’ or so he said.

He dropped it immediately on streaming platforms, and lo and behold, it was a best-selling hit.

The reaction to the single didn’t surprise Rob at first—but seeing the stream count climb several figures overnight was enough to even shock him.

The band—a phrase which felt damn good to say again—had a small festive party at the poolside upon the good news, and Rob was happy enough to try and bury the hatchet with Sam. Sam wasn’t very apologetic—he never was—but it was enough for Rob to let it go.

Rob also made sure to keep his drinking to a minimum that night. And in front of the others, in the least. Evan had made it clear in no uncertain terms that ‘such behavior wouldn’t be put up with for long,’ as he put it.

And to be fair to Evan, Rob wasn’t very much interested in tolerating it either. It was never intentional, the way his evenings went. One moment, he’d crack into a new handle of rum, and the next, someone was always taking his shoes off, tucking him into bed like he was Elle.

And it wasn’t like he was much of a drinker, anyways. It was just—sleeping had become so fucking hard with all of the news and chaos surrounding both ‘Everything’ and MAE’s announcement. His email, which he had given out to a scant few people, had been inundated with interview requests, old ‘friends’ requesting special access, and a number of propositions.

By the evening after Everything had released, Rob had to turn his email client on silent. He hadn’t even looked to his phone until a familiar number rang.

Sometime around 1 in the morning, between his usual vices, his phone rang—and a familiar photo shone out in the darkness of his room.

Rob picked it up without hesitating.

“Holy shit!” He about yelled into the microphone.

“Holy shit yourself,” Kate replied. Her dulcet tone hadn’t changed much in the four odd years since last they spoke. “Surprised you’ve even answer the phone for a nobody like me.”

“Please tell me you’re in town.”

“Rob, it’s one.”

“Your point?” Rob shot back. He got up from his position at the foot of his bed and began taking his sweatpants off. Hobbling on one leg as the other remained caught, he picked up a pair of black jeans sitting in the corner. “You’re calling either for a job or a congratulations or both, and I’d rather do it in person.”

There was a moment of silence on the line before she responded. “You’re lucky I’m already out. I’m at Godfather’s. And Uber here, please?”

***

It wasn’t long before Rob was sat across from Kate in one of the most unassuming bars in Orange County. It was the middle of the week—so the crowd remained pretty thin. Rob had thrown on a Dodgers hat had he kept around for this sort of occasion, and from the looks of it, it was working.

“I don’t want a job, asshole,” Kate finally shot back after the two had settled into casual conversation. “Maybe I just wanted to catch up with an old friend?”

“So, ‘congratulations,’ then?” Rob asked.

Kate seemed to contemplate punching his shit-eating grin before swallowing her pride. “Congratulations,” she repeated back—gesturing with her drink in the air as if toasting to a hard-fought battle.

“Fucking hell, you’ve gotta be almost thirty by now.”

“Twenty-nine, and thanks for reminding me,” she laughed back at him. “I mostly just wanted to tell you I think it’s cool you and Jane and the boys are cooking up some shit. They put your single on the radio and everything.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. His tone remained flat as he continued: “I’m sure it was between MAE ad reads.”

“It wasn’t, and who the fuck cares, anyways?” Kate signaled to the bartender for another drink for the both of them. “Seriously, bud, you gotta let it go. I know it’s killing you. I mean—fuck—some people said they found you sobbing on a mountainside earlier this week.”

Rob’s eyes sobered up quickly at the mention of that, but Kate continued on.

“There aren’t photos, calm down. I know my shit. But seriously, you’ve gotta get over her.”

“I am over her,” Rob replied. “It wasn’t about her.”

“Jane, then?”

Rob went quiet after that one.

In front of them, the bartender set down a few more dark spirits, before moving on to other patrons. Kate grabbed the drink in front of her and downed it quickly.

“Does she know?”

“About what?” came Rob’s immediate response. He reached for his own drink and soon enough, it was gone as well. Kate’s silent glare gave him all the confirmation he needed, so he took a deep breath. Then:

“Kate, it’s ancient history. Shit happened, she relapsed, I left, you know all of this. She’s…she’s better now. She deserves better.”

“What, you’re not good enough for her—?”

“NO.”

The loudness at Rob’s response shook them both. He thought a moment, before responding. “I’m old news, K. I’m divorced. My ex-wife is about to suffocate my band out of a second chance. And probably take my daughter. I’m not…I’m not what she needs right now.”

Kate watched for a moment, and the two didn’t speak for a good while. She rose up and signaled to the bartender, before handing over a credit card.

“I’ve got both of us,” she told the bartender. They quickly swiped the card and produced a receipt. Her hand scrawled out a signature, and she looked back up at Rob.

“Maybe let Jane decide whether you’re good enough for her? Neither of you are kids anymore. Congratulations again.”

And with that, Kate left.

***

That conversation seemed to stick with Rob long after it happened. Throughout every conversation with Jane—every band meeting, every tracking session. Her words rang in his head, over, and over, and over again.

Over the past few days, he tried to be as friendly as he could without making it weird. And he had to admit—it was becoming easier and easier with time.

Jane told him all about NorCal, her life, her friends—the world she had built for herself when their world together had ended. And he reciprocated of course. Sometimes, telling the honest truth about everything, sometimes giving a Disneyfied version of more sensitive topics like post-divorce and alcohol. But slowly, piece by piece, it was getting easier to lower his walls.

Maybe he could work past this feeling—after all, he hadn’t considered being with Jane again until now. Perhaps they could work past it.

At the same time, it’s not like he hadn’t considered it, but rather, he refused to think about it.

Maybe after all this time, he had always wanted her back. He just never allowed himself to truly admit that to himself. At least until now.

It was a lot—a big, confused mess, made all-the-more muddled by Mae, kids, bands, fame, all of it. Sometimes he could work past it, other times, in the evenings, well…

The storm clouds grew closer every day.

***

By the time he woke up, for real this time, the sun was just cresting over the horizon.

His stomach churned and churned. He tossed the carfully-laid comforter across the room as he bolted for the bathroom. He just closed the gap before spilling his guts into the toilet.

In a heap, he plopped beside him, his back to the bathtub. He stuck out a hand to flush the toilet, then another to reach under the sink’s cabinets.

In here, several bottles of Pedialyte were situated beside bottles of booze. An all-in-one mistake and recovery center.

He downed as much as he could before stopping himself. His eyes cast out towards the frosted glass window and from here, he watched the sunrise.

Today was Jane’s 33rd birthday.

She had told him and everyone else never to make a big deal about it, which was of no surprise to him. Since before they were 20, she had been saying that.

And every time he refused.

Today would be no different.

After getting dressed, he took his package out into the hallway. No one was out yet—perfect. He hadn’t seen it, but he knew if it was this early, Jane had to be up. At least, new-Jane. Jane the put-together one.

What did that make him, now?

He brushed the thought aside and cracked open the door with confidence. As expected, the bed was empty.

Moving quickly he set down the carefully-wrapped package onto the bed, and had just turned when a flash of black ink caught his eye.

An open notebook at the bedside. A journal.

When did J start journaling?

Rob had journaled religiously when he was younger—all throughout In Bloom’s early years. But after all of the fallout, he hadn’t touched a journal in years.

He froze, looking towards it. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the words. He should turn—turn and leave—and not look to it.

But he didn’t move. His eyes squinted, trying to make out words. He didn’t dare move closer, but he didn’t dare move away.

Only one word could be made from this distance; his own name.

As he recognized it, he finally broke. He moved quickly out of the room and shut the door.

Some things he shouldn’t know. No matter how badly he wanted to know them.

The only things Jane would find when she came back upstairs would be her journal and his gift—wrapped gently as to not damage its worn edges. A gift he had to get a friend to grab from his place and overnight it down from Seattle.

A weathered old Pond record.

In Bloom: The Reunion

Drunk on a mountaintop wasn’t where Rob had pictured the evening going for him when he woke up this morning.

Where had it all gone so wrong? The words seemed to appear in his head and fall out his ears.

He had hiked a good mile or two down the west-facing side of the mountain top—polishing off the flask he kept tucked away in his inner jacket pocket he had been clutching onto the entire day.

He had past a few people—some of whom took double glances at him as he passed. As far as he could tell, he was still incognito.

For now.

Eventually, he had moved a few dozen feet off the trail and slipped himself in between two bushes—perching himself atop a small boulder protruding from the mountainside.

From this vantage point, the rest of Orange County was painted in a lavender-orange glow as the sun pierced its way through distant clouds over the ocean. The sun would be set soon now.

And tomorrow everything would once again be different.

Perhaps he was being dramatic—no, he was sure he was being dramatic—but it certainly felt like his past had caught up to him like a revenant.

He thought back to the time he spent in Europe, playing stadium after stadium. Impossibly large structures with ever more impossibly large crowds lining them. Always watching MAE’s back as he beat out another simple four-on-the-floor groove.

The only time he would ever have fun on the MAE world tour was when “Always Watching” came around. It wasn’t their most popular song by a long shot—but the driving rhythm always got the crowd moving.

Plus, it was the only song that sounded even remotely like an In Bloom track, and even barely at that point. The only thing they shared in common was the energy they lit up in the crowd, driving them into a frenzy. Critics always said it sounded like a Halsey track, but Mae paid them no mind.

But even so, the lyrics Mae had written felt surprisingly prescient to how he felt now:

If everything is everywhere,
then everyone must be aware
that all are always watching,
yes, they are always watching.

Hidden in your darkened room
or sealed within your self-built tomb,
still, they are always watching
always, always watching

The words seemed to dangle in front of him, brash and loud.

He felt something sway within him, and within a moment, he was spilling his guts across the nearby bushes.

He fell to his side, into the dirt, and watched the sunset move from left to right—setting into the vertical earth.

He blinked twice, and suddenly the moon was high in the sky.

It seemed even when he needed time to stand still, it wouldn’t.

He needed time to understand why Mae would decide to tour now, of all times. What would happen with Elle? He sure as shit wouldn’t leave Elle with Mae’s fuckup brother. But could he even tour with In Bloom if she tried to use Elle as leverage?

He needed time to understand why all of these feeling had stirred up inside him about J. What he had was ten years ago—why was it all coming back now? Why did his heart about rip out of his chest this morning? Why was he plastered on a mountain after hearing she went on a date, of all things?

Why was he here?

At this point, the time for sober thinking had long since past. The time was now to figure out a way back. Afterwards, he would have to face a series of massively uncomfortable questions from his bandmates.

And he’d have to face J again.

The thought of her turned him inside out. In his drunken state, he spoke out load—muttering to himself in the wind, talking to his own consciousness.

“She broke our heart, same as Mae,” he mumbled into the dirt.

You loved her, came the voice in his head. More than Mae. You always did.

“I loved Mae.”

Of course you did.

Rob paused for a moment. “I loved J, too.”

You loved her more.

“…I did.”

You do. Present tense.

“…I do.”

The voice stopped speaking after that.

In the silence, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, and started the long trek up the mountain.

**

As he walked, he turned on his phone.

Three hundred and sixty-five messages. Everyone from his uncle to Evan to pretty much everyone in the band had sent him messages.

He glanced through a few—trying to get a general sense of what everyone was thinking. The range of responses seemed to range from ‘Fuck that bitch,’ to ‘I’m so sorry’ to ‘Jesus Rob where are you??’

He looked for something from Jane, instinctually.

She hadn’t sent anything.

His mind filled briefly with rage, then just as quickly to confusion.

Why was he expecting anything from her?

She had a date; plus, aside from this morning, Rob hadn’t made it particularly clear he wanted anything to do with her romantically.

Did he want something to do with her romantically?

The more Rob tried to push the thoughts aside for another, more sober time, the more the swayed back.

He just couldn’t shake it. After a decade of running—after his tear-stricken departure from the home they once shared to years later, this morning, seeing her again, truly seeing her for the first time?

He remembered he had always called her home.

He loved Mae once. He truly did. But Jane was always home.

“Sir?”

The sound snapped him from his thoughts. It was a police officer, standing with a bright flashlight. Rob had made it to the parking lot of the trailhead only to find the police.

Rob lifted his arm to deflect the light. “Yes?” was all he could muster.

“Your name wouldn’t happen to be Rob Pennie, would it?”

Fuck.

“Thatsssme.”

The officer lowered the flashlight and approached Rob. “Your uh—I guess it’s your agent? An Evan. He filed a missing persons report, said your last location was somewhere around here?”

“They track phonesnow?” Rob slurred out. At this point, the officer was already leading him to the car.

“Yeah,” the officer continued. “You’re not under arrest or anything, I’m just taking you back home.”

“Yeahthassfine.” Rob said, but he was already in the back of the car, with the door closed. The car quickly began moving—flashing lights off, thankfully.

“You know,” the officer continued, “this probably isn’t a good time to ask, but you wouldn’t happen to be Rob Pennie, would you?”

“Yup. Unfortunately.”

**

Soon enough, he was stumbling into the rental home—his newfound police friend waving as they drove off into the night. If Rob had been sober, he probably would’ve appreciated the fan interaction.

Less so, tonight.

As soon as he opened the door and shut it, he knew he was in trouble.

The foyer led straight to the kitchen, where Austin and Sam were sitting. They both stared at him with death in their eyes.

“Dowstairs.” Rob said. He flicked on the lights to the nearby basement entrance and headed into the studio.

At this point, it must have been three in the morning.

Rob quickly ran down; tossing himself on the sound booth couch like a sandbag. He was able to sit back up when Sam and Austin entered and sat in rolling chair ahead of him.

Judging me, he thought to himself.

“Where the fuck were you?” Came the first question from Sam.

Rob shrugged emphatically. “I’m fine,” was his only response.

The next question, from Austin. “You go to a bar? You fucked anyone—what?”

This time, Rob’s eyes shot daggers into Austin. The message seemed to get across, because Austin leaned back and said nothing else. “Just thought I’d ask,” came his meek reply.

“I went hiking. It was fine. I’m pretty fuggin familiar with how to avoidascene.”

“Maybe don’t say that one too loudly,” Austin replied. He pointed to the ceiling. Jane.

“Not what I meant,” came Rob’s honest reply.

Next, a question from Sam. “Did you know?”

At this, Rob laughed. “Yeah, no. I didn’t know. We’re not exactly close.”

“She’s the mother of your child.”

“Sam, I love you buddy,” Rob started, “but we’re not talking about it. And you’re not mentioning my daughter.”

“You think she would have been proud to see Daddy like this?”

Rob could faintly hear Austin start to shut Sam down, but it was already too late.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of Sam—his face already swelling from Rob’s sucker punch—and Austin was pulling him off.

He didn’t fight back, and was tossed back onto the couch, before Austin could help Sam to his feet.

“You deserved that,” Austin said to Sam. Sam simply shrugged Austin off and rose to his feet.

“You could have broke my fucking nose, asshole!” Sam roared.

At this, Rob shrugged. “Didn’t.”

Sam stormed off upstairs soon after that, and it was quiet for a moment. A long, lovely moment, before Austin continued.

“You’re an adult—”

“—I know that—”

“—so I’m not telling you what to do. But maybe punch a few pillows next time? And maybe lay off with the drinking? It isn’t subtle.”

He was right, but Rob wasn’t in the mood to admit it.

“You guys track a song?”

Austin nodded. “A new one. Jane seemed to pull it out of nowhere. We were hoping to track drums. We can probably do it first thing in the morning.”

Rob rose to his feet and moved for the studio. “Turn the console on.”

“You might want to listen to her lyrics first—”

“Turn the console on,” Rob repeated, but at the door, he stopped himself. He turned back to Austin.

“Yaknow,” he started, “I could probably take a wild guess as to what the song’s about. So you’re not protecting me. Play it once, then loop it, and I’ll track it now.”

Austin and Rob shared a long moment before Austin sighed in agreement. “It’s too early for this…” Rob could hear him start, before closing the door to the sound studio.

**

Behind the throne and a few glasses of water later, Rob was finished listening to the first pass of Jane’s song.

The guitar and bass lines were beautiful—Sam really evoked what Jane was trying to say in the tuning of the track, and Austin laid down something syncopated but simple enough for Rob to play around with.

Jane’s lyrics, however, tore through him. They felt like solemn acceptance of a truth that wasn’t true.

Not anymore. Not for Rob.

“Hey, uh,” Rob started into his microphone, “mute J’s lines while I track it. I know what she sings. I want to play to the feeling, not the words.”

Rob watched Austin silently shrug and press a few buttons. Soon enough, the metronome started up and he began to play.

**

After tracking, Rob pushed back into the sound booth.

“So?” he started up. “Usable?”

Austin seemed to stare at him with incredulous eyes. He almost seemed emotional.

“I uh…I muted the vocal track for you, but not for me. It’s…it’s really fucking good, man.”

Rob responded by moving past Austin—patting his shoulder as he did so—and heading for the stairs.

“Don’t worry too much about the mix, send it to Evan,” he responded. “Have him wake up to it. It’s a beautiful song.”

He headed upstairs, then up again to the second floor.

At this point, he’d probably get only an hour or two of sleep before it was time to get up, but he’d take what he could get.

He was well and truly spent at this point.

But before he headed to bed, he saw Jane’s door in the hallway.

He paused in front of it, for just a moment. He lifted a hand to the door, and pressed softly on it.

It was locked—of course—but in that moment, if it wasn’t?

He’d lay beside her and drift off to sleep.

Instead, he walked into his room—door wide open—pulled off a shirt, and collapsed on the bed.

He barely set a timer for 7:30 before he fell asleep atop the covers.

Who knew what tomorrow would hold. But it had to be a hell of a lot better than today.

In Bloom: The Reunion

Jane’s eyes were closed, but Rob still felt intrinsically like it was best to look away.

His heart pounded in his chest and his face felt flushed. Between the moment he felt just a few minutes ago and J’s voice—rising, weathered and wise over the soft hum of the A/C—he felt like he could almost die.

Now when I sleep, it’s all alone…

Sam had notes—he always had notes—but Rob didn’t bother to listen to them. He set his eyes on Sam and tried not to sweat until Jane slipped out. After her footsteps faded out to nothing, he took a deep breath.

Then looked around to see Sam and Austin staring directly at him.

Moments felt like minutes now. He wasn’t sure if he should feel embarrassed or honored, or what. But all of the hard-earned confidence with age had slipped away from him the moment he saw Jane this morning.

And in its place was the insecurity, terror, and fear of just about everything. The only thing he could do was try in vain to move on.

He moved over to the kit and assuaged his shaking hands with a familiar pair of drumsticks. He looked back up at the guys. “So, thoughts? Something arpeggiated over the first verse would make more sense than me starting off on one. Maybe I can do something on pads until the first chorus—”

“Are you okay, man?”

Austin’s question ripped his hope of moving on from him.

“…yeah. Why?”

“You’re uh—” Austin started, pointing at Rob’s face.

Rob reached up and realized he had been crying.

He blinked. “Yeah, I’m good.” A few more second passed in the hot, stuffy room, before Rob continued. “So something arpeggiated, right? …Sam?”

--

The guys thankfully moved past the moment, and before long, they had laid out a structure that seemed to make sense underneath what Jane had sung. Sam was fiddling around with a clean tone and a tremolo that was surprisingly vulnerable, given his usual approach to playing. Austin’s bass lines were similarly clean, but full—filling the air in a way you wouldn’t ever notice until the music stopped. It felt like opening up an ephemeral space, in a strange way.

Behind the kit, Rob was choking on air. It wasn’t even noon and he had several shots of vodka slipped into him already via a flask he always kept on him. If anything, it made it worse—and his heartbeat seemed to intrude upon the gentle solace the other guys were creating in front of him.

Sam and Austin were busy hammering out some pre-chorus melodic pass off when he finally rose and beelined for the bathroom.

Once the door was shut and the fan was turned on, he slid his back down the wall and splayed his feet out in front of him.

He took out his phone and ferociously looked up some daily news—something, anything to distract his mind from the panic attack that floated in the air around him, threatening to invade.

Which, as it turned out, wasn’t particularly helpful, because Mae was in the headlines again.

MAE is Back—Everything You Missed In Her Shocking IG Story

He didn’t bother to open the article. A few taps later, he was already watching the story for himself.

He skipped ahead, desperately looking for the part of the story he didn’t want to hear.

“—it is, I just haven’t had this feeling in a while,” Mae continued, after Rob had skipped past her preamble. She was sat cross-legged in a large couch, with her hair shining out past a wall full of sound insulation.

It was a studio.

“I’ve been busy, you know, I lost the love of my life, and it’s really just been me and my daughter picking up the pieces. But now, you know? I think I want to start living for myself again. So…I don’t know when, but…I think I’m gonna be putting out another LP. See you on the other side, loves.”

She blew a kiss to the camera, and the story ended.

Immediately, he picked up the phone and called her.

It rang three times before it picked up.

“Rob?” Came a soft voice. In the background, he could hear the familiar click of a Pro Tools metronome.

“Hey, uh…just saw your story.”

“Yeah?” she asked. A pause, then: “I dunno, I just thought, what the hell?”

“Yeah. What the hell.”

Mae either ignored or missed the bite in Rob’s voice, and continued. “Elle’s good, by the way. I bought this super nice studio like, five minutes away, and Jack’s over and cooking her lunch. He was kind enough to stay in town a few extra weeks while I hash out some songs.”

“That’s great.”

It was terrible. Jack—Mae’s younger brother, who lived on his sister’s fame like a parasitic leech—was insufferable. Being good with kids was one of his only attributes Rob would even consider passably decent.

“Yeah—listen, Rob, I gotta go, but tomorrow, around five, are you free? I can set Elle up on FaceTime. She’s been asking to see you already, can you believe it?”

“I can absolutely do that, yes,” Rob responded. “Best—uh, best of luck to you Mae. Hope it comes out well. Talk tomorrow.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The line went dead after that.

Rob stood up, exited the bathroom, and slipped past Sam and Austin.

“I need air,” he said to them. They mostly ignored him and continued to fiddle around on the song.

He slipped upstairs, went into his room, and let out a few full-throated screams into his pillows.

After a minute and another few swigs, he had calmed down enough to think.

It was noon. So far today, he had realized he was still in love with Jane, and his obnoxiously famous ex-wife was going into the studio at the same time he was.

On the first problem, he could either avoid Jane, which he knew wouldn’t work, or he could try to get closer to Jane, which terrified him. The idea of doing so had been unthinkable for years. Even considering it now scared the hell out of him. Even if J was open to the idea, which was a pretty big fucking ‘if,’ she had spent many years fighting to get to where she was now.

And if he really admitted it to himself, he wasn’t much more than a so-so father and an alcoholic at this point. Plus, how quickly could that jeopardize what In Bloom was doing?

And how soon would Mae jeopardize that? Any news about her sucked up every news outlet. No matter what, MAE news would drown out In Bloom news. Any interview now would be him responding to Mae’s claim that he was the love of her life, and grilling him about it being his fault.

Why the fuck did she say that??

Before he could consider any more, he heard a knock at the door, and through it, Sam:

“We’re ready to start tracking.”

--

Rob tried his best not to think everything as he started tracking the song. It was a fairly easy task ahead of him, and he figured after two takes, he could get up, and go try to sort it out as best he could.

Already, before he started playing, he got a vague ‘Call Me.’ text from Evan. Soon enough, everyone was going to ask him about it.

And at this point, he would rather saw off an arm then talk to anyone about Mae.

As he finished up, he looked through the window to see J and Austin talking and laughing. He could only wonder as to what they were on about. If they looked this happy, surely that hadn’t heard yet.

Once the song finished up, Rob made his way into the sound room and swapped out with J. He sat by Austin and quite literally twiddled his thumbs. Like hell was he going to pull his muted phone out now.

“Breathing okay there, sport?” Austin mused. He had likely picked up the existential dread radiating out of Rob this entire morning.

“Yeah, fine,” Rob said. “Sorry, just had a bad call with Mae. I’ll be fine.”

Austin feigned shock and offense. “Woah, I didn’t know we could say that name here.”

Despite everything, Austin was still able to get a laugh out of Rob when he wanted to.

“Yeah yeah,” Rob chuckled, “only I can.”

Austin gave a thumbs up to Jane and turned back to Rob. “Well speaking of exes, you should probably know J’s heading back out there tonight.”

“Oh,” Rob said, flat. “That’s nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Austin’s question came out very casually, but after a few seconds of silence, he repeated himself far more seriously this time: “It is…isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Rob said. Without thinking, he stood up and starting walking out. “I need a minute. I’m uh, I’m heading out.”

“What?”

“Guys, shut up,” Sam called out, utterly oblivious to everything going on behind him. He twisted a few knobs and waved behind him. “Jane’s starting her take.”

“Everything’s fine, Austin,” Rob said. He was lying through his teeth and both of them knew it. Rob got one last look at Austin’s almost terrified expression before he slipped behind the soundproof door and made his way up the stairs.

As he walked, he quickly ordered an Uber—ignoring the eighteen text messages from Evan and others that were starting to trickle in. He went outside, and waited for the Uber to arrive.

“Hey, I know it says the pharmacy on there,” Rob said to the driver, as soon as he got inside, “but ignore that. Take me to Santiago Peak. I’ll tip you for the trouble.”

The driver nodded, and he was very quickly taken up the mountain roads.

If he was going to have a complete meltdown, at the very least, he would do it alone.

About thirty minutes passed in silence in the car, and Rob finally built up the courage to glance down at his phone.

He brushed past a message from Austin and moved to his missed calls. There were several, but ten from Evan alone.

Rob took a deep breath and called him. Evan answered before the first ring.

“I know, I know, you’re probably going through a lot,” he started, before Rob could even get a word out.

“Evan—”

“I’ll leave you alone, I swear, just tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. I’m going on a hike.”

“A hike?” Evan repeated. “…okay, whatever. A hike. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t know she was going to do that?”

“…no.”

“Okay.”

Rob hung up after that. Another five minutes later, he arrived at the trailhead, tipped his Uber driver generously, and turned off his phone.

Everything else would need to fucking wait.

In Bloom: The Reunion

“But thanks for hearing me out. Have fun, yeah?”

“Of course! See you tomorrow?” Rob shot out instinctually. He contemplated saying more before it was too late—J was inside, the door slid shut.

For a moment, Rob was frozen. Instinctually—almost without thinking—he wanted to go after her. Things slid into place in a funny way, this night. A decade ago he’d be off with J, having a some sort of spur-of-the-moment evening, before waking up the next morning and getting hangover breakfast with Austin and Sam before J was even up the next morning.

But he hadn’t done that in years.

Truth be told, being here felt like being out of time. It felt like playing pretend at some moments—like he was at a tabletop gaming session with old friends, playing like they used it.

Other times, it felt like a lifetime ago. Like he was acting out something a past version of him experienced before reincarnating.

He’d think more on it later tonight, he was sure, but a beach ball pelting him in the head snapped him right out of his trance.

“Hey dipshit, get in the pool,” Austin called out as Rob bent down, snatched the ball, and chucked it back at him. Both of them were in the pool now—drinks in hand.

Rob took one last look at the home, towards J, before pulling his shirt off, tossing his phone and wallet to the side, and jumping in.

--

Day turned to night quickly as the three caught up on a myriad of issues.

Rob was familiar with Austin’s teaching in Phoenix, but it was nice to hear more from Sam. The two hadn’t been incredibly close during the heyday of In Bloom, but it was nice to hear he was just as he remembered him—still gigging around LA county, making a modest living for himself, floating free as the wind, as he always had.

After about thirty minutes, Rob slipped inside to grab a few handles of whiskey, and the night went from there.

“You were fucking that bassist, I know it!” Sam slurred out from halfway across the pool. They were illuminated by moonlight at this point, and Rob was swaying near the hot tub, pouring his sixth (eighth?) jack and coke.

“I wasn’t, you know that, asshole,” Rob called out. After finishing his pour, he slipped in at the shallow end and re-joined the other two. “I was bitching about J, we were in a park, they took pictures, it was a whole thing.”

Austin cut in at this point. “That doesn’t help your case, Pennie.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care,” Rob shot back. He took a big swig and continued. “I’d tell you if we fucked, it was forever ago, I don’t have a reason to lie.”

“But J and Andy though—” Sam started.

“Yes? No? No idea, ask her,” Rob muttered out. God, what time was it? “Are we 20 again? Who cares if she did?”

“You do, obviously,” Sam pressed on. Austin seemed to notice the tonal shift.

“Leave it, Sam,” he interjected. “The fuck happened to them, anyways?”

“What, Vicarious?” Rob asked. “I think they did a few albums and split after that, same old shit.”

He reached over to the Bluetooth speaker and changed it to an old Live song while Austin thought for a moment.

“Huh,” he started, “I could have sworn they were touring.”

“Not when I was in LA for Mae,” Rob responded, matter-of-factly. Before of course, realizing what he mentioned. “Before you—”

“Oh please, like you had time to check in on Vicarious during your world tour.” Sam moved forward towards Rob. “You didn’t have time to check in on me.”

“I was busy,” Rob shot back. “And miserable. I figured you knew about that? Every fucking tabloid had ‘Pennie For Your Thoughts’ sections rambling on about how miserable we were.”

Austin started to move towards them. “Guys, maybe let’s not—”

“It’s fine, really,” Sam said. “I was scraping together rent money after you and J imploded the band. Probably wouldn’t have had time for a dinner.”

Rob downed his drink and leaned towards Sam. “Is this really what you want to go on about? I’m divorced and miserable. This story doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam stopped about a foot from Rob and eyed him. “You poor miserable millionaire. It must be demeaning to have to come back to us.”

“Sam, cool it.” Austin interjected himself between Rob and Sam, but at this point in the night, Rob pushed Austin aside and approached Sam. This time, Sam was backing up.

“Yeah, Sam. I’m a millionaire. I’m set for life. I get more money from my Mae royalties every month than I ever got from In Bloom. Big fucking deal. Does that make you hate me?”

“I don’t give a shit how much money you have,” Sam replied. He stopped backing up and the two stood too close to one another. “I’m a little annoyed that you two had to fuck up everything we had together to get there.”

Rob froze at that comment. Sam and Rob eyed each other for a minute, and the air became very still.

From behind Rob, a voice called out: “8 am call time!”

After another moment, Rob broke eye contact and looked at Austin, who was standing outside the pool and pointing at his phone.

“8 am call time,” he repeated. “Jane just texted us. We need a song demoed tomorrow. You two want to drop this?”

Without looking back, Rob hopped out of the pool. “Then I’m going to bed,” he called out, and grabbed a towel to try himself off.

Austin again stepped forward. “Look, we’ve had a bit to drink, maybe we just forget this—”

“Way ahead of you, teach,” Rob interrupted, his voice searingly dry. “See you boys tomorrow. Can’t wait to rock and roll!”

With that, the sliding glass door opened and slammed behind him before Sam and Austin could say another word.

--

Rob didn’t remember much after that. His next clearest memory was the buzzing iPhone at this nightstand and the raging headache pounding at his head.

“Godfuckingdammit,” he muttered to himself. Sometime last night, he set his alarm for 6—not 8. He quickly opened up Uber and threw on sweatpants and a T-Shirt.

Within ten minutes, he was seated in the backseat of a Prius, nursing his head, watching Chino Hills fade into suburbia as his driver took him down to the nearest Rite Aid.

“Fun night?” his driver asked; her voice almost quivering.

Rob looked up into the rearview mirror to get a better look at his driver. She was young; looking no older than 20. If he had to bet, she was Ubering before classes at some local college. He tried to hide his disappointment as she made brief eye contact with him. She recognized him, and he knew it.

“Oh yeah,” he said, using what little remained of his energy to sound excited. “I haven’t been in town in a while so I’ve been catching up with old friends.”

She seemed to nearly vibrate at the statement. “Y-you wouldn’t happen to be the In Bloom drummer, right?”

Rob smiled, and the next ten minutes were filled with the usual question-and-answer portion of this sort of conversation. He quickly informed her he wouldn’t do a photograph, which she seemed saddened by, but he tried to answer every question he could.

Soon enough, she ran him through the Rite Aid drive thru, then the McDonalds drive thru next door, and they had returned back to the hillside mansion.

“..I can’t wait to hear what you guys make,” she continued, as she put the car in park.

Rob gathered his Pedialyte and burgers and opened the door. “I think it’s some of our best stuff yet, so far.”

He said a quick goodbye and slipped back into the house.

As soon as the door closed, he slipped back into his room and locked the door behind him. He took the next hour to inhale his food, chug the Pedialyte, and shower off everything from the night before.

But he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of happiness at the experience.

She called him ‘the In Bloom dummer,’ not ‘Mae’s Ex.’

--

Heading down into the basement and finally feeling sober, he heard J’s voice, muffled, in the walls.

Is that what song I think it is?

As he started taking the steps, however, the music faded, and by the time he opened the door, there was no one at a guitar. Just J, in the side room, reading.

Funny. He could have sworn he heard…

…

…nevermind.

“Hey hey,” he called out to her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You look like you got way better sleep than I did.”

He started to walk away, but as soon as J looked up and the two made eye contact, he froze.

She gave him that look.

That look.

The look she’d give him when he got home from the grocery story, and she turned to face him through the balcony window, cigarette between her lips. Or when she’d wake up, and he’d be at their doorframe, brushing his teeth, watching her wake.

The look he got when they had movie night—her head on the arm of the couch on one side, her feet spilled into his lap under a blanket on the other, their eyes on one another and not the screen. The look she gave him when he slipped past her in the kitchen, his hand gently cupping the small of her back as he moved past the narrow spaces.

It was impossible to explain. Truly, it was. For Christ’s sake—all she did was look up.

But something…burned in him in this split-second moment. It wasn’t how she was yesterday. Was it?

Something in the way she was, right now, in this exact moment, was different.

Something in her eyes flickered in just the way they did when she was his.

For the first time, in a really, really long time…he felt loved again.

…

From his chest, he could feel a rush of blood. He turned quickly, heading for his rubber practice pad, not entirely sure if he was blushing yet or not. He plopped down on the ground and started up a few rudiments. He tried to angle his head down as his face radiated bright heat towards the carpet.

What was happening?

Sam popped in a moment later and Rob almost gasped at the sound of it. He said ‘hey’ to Jane and moved to his guitar.

Reality snapped back into focus. Rob waited for he and Sam to be out of sight of J, before giving Sam a thumbs up sign and a questioning look. Truce?

Sam hesitated for a moment, before nodding quickly and grabbing his Gibson.

That would have to do for now in terms of a truce.

But his mind was elsewhere, and his heart was beating again.

In Bloom: The Reunion

Rob watched Jane intently as she spoke.

Somewhat selfishly, he had to admit it felt good to pass the microphone. After all, how do you summate ten years? And to someone who knew your heartbeat better than anyone else?

Rob had exes, of course. But something was different about Jane. Jane wasn’t Mae, who filled him with brimming distain and inadequacy all the same. Jane was his best friend.

After all these years, once you shook the cobwebs off, and once you get out of your own head, talking to J was like taking to your own subconscious.

It felt like a limb he hadn’t moved in a decade, or a song he hadn’t played in a long time. It was comfortable, but it flickered—wavered in the air, as he and J seemed to struggle to get the needle back into its groove.

”Not even when you were mine,”

The words dissipated in her wake as she slipped away before he could even process them. Mine.

He used to belong to someone.

Of course he did—he had before—but something about the past several years aloe had lulled him into a false autonomy. He had been a machine, recently. His tasks were to play music, make money, and be there for Elle. Not in that order.

Living for Elle was easy. It came naturally, whether primal or deeply ingrained. He never doubted it and it was simple.

But being someone else’s was different. And a feeling he had to admit rocked him as he considered it.

As J described rehab and sobriety, Rob felt a pang of anxiety shoot through him. Whether she smoked or not, he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about the wine and the joint.

But it was probably his realization that he hadn’t gone two days sober off of everything in longer than he could remember. He stuffed the thought down. Not important.

“Crescent City?” he couldn’t help but repeat. All the way up there? “You’re closer to me than Long Beach.”

Images of J surfing on the coast rushed through his head. The jagged peaks that rose higher and higher on the north-end of the state, almost into Oregon. The Douglas firs that littered the area, the smell of endless Christmas like the Cascades in his own back yard…

They both had retreated, in their own way, Rob soon realized.

But it was her sobriety that filled him with joy most of all.

He honestly couldn’t say how often he had to be there for her in that downward spiral. How much puke he cleaned off of their bedsheets and walls. The strangers in their home when he got home too early for her to shoo them away. Entire evenings where she’d be comatose on the couch—sometimes crying, other-times a million miles away. She had asked him what month it was, at one point.

The thought of all of that being a distant memory; a healing wound, opened up something in him.

He listened to the rest of her story, and her requests. But it was the sobriety that he kept thinking on.

“Wow, J,” he started, already regretting his tone. It sounded like he was going to break her. He powered past it and hoped he didn’t notice. “Five years. Holy shit.”

It took her three tries—something he didn’t want to consider. But she did it. He had thought so from the moment he saw her yesterday but needed that confirmation.

“That is so incredibly cool. And I mean that in the…the fuckin’ heaviest sense of the word…I’m really proud of you—”

The final three words choked in his mouth as hot tears rushed to his face. The words came out shaken and finally stopped coming at all. For a moment, everything boiled over; crashing into him at full-speed.

Why was he crying?

He took a second, looked away, and wiped his eye with his sleeve.

“Sorry, woah,” he feebly attempted to play it off. “Don’t know where that came from.”

He feigned a laugh, took a deep breath, and continued.

“I’m really happy for you, and—and that sounds incredibly nice. I wish I’d spent 33 surfing. I spent a lot of it gigging out for rich kids and figuring out some iPhone game Elle was obsessed with. My greatest achievements included finally buying Rogaine and getting into the Emerald League for Winky Think’s Puzzle Master.”

Scrambling through what she had said, he remembered her mention the billboards, and the band, and couldn’t help but blush. He wanted desperately to apologize for what was probably a horrendous year of seeing your ex plastered all over everything with his new girlfriend, but there wasn’t a way of mentioning it that didn’t make him want to die.

“I try to keep a low profile these days. It’d be nice to live somewhere where people didn’t ask me how much I got out of my divorce or if I signed a prenup or not.”

He took a deep breath.

“I missed you too,” he said, before he could even consider whether he should say it or not.

“—and everyone, and all the…you know what I mean.”

The anxiety was just burning at this point.

“But I missed you, and…we’re cool.”

Ten years of conflict and some deeply buried resentments were gone. At least in this moment.

They would undoubtably come back, once dinner ended. Maybe when they discussed that infamous night. And maybe, when the nostalgia wore off and the reality remained that this was still the woman—his best friend—who cut him so deeply and painfully he left.

He can still remember the throbbing pain of his bare feet slicing on the litter of their street as he marched–fourteen blocks in a tear-stricken rage to the nearest bus stop.

But right now, that was a lifetime ago.

Right now, it was nice to catch up with his best friend again.

“Hey, you two!”

Rob’s head whipped over to the sliding glass door of the home, where Austin’s head was poking out. Behind him, Sam was laughing about something.

“I know you’re having a moment but we’re getting in that pool. Unlike Rob, some of us don’t have nice private pools to swim in every day.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rob shot back. He looked to J. He wanted back in the moment, but it was fading fast.

He looked down to his now-clean plate, and back up to her. “That was…so much better than pasta night, by the way. Seriously, thank you.”

He stood up and began to collect both his and J’s plates, before gesturing to the far-too-nice pool in question. “Want to swim?”

His mind wandered to the hot tub, then to J, but he shut it down quickly.

After all, they had just gotten back on good terms for the first time in a decade. Maybe that was enough progress for one night.

In Bloom: The Reunion

9.5 YEARS AGO

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.

PRESENT DAY

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. ’Shit, J, I was I had gotten the memo,’ 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: You will be.

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. Very relatable conversation, he chastised himself. Talk all about kids to your ex-girlfriend without kids. Good move.

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.

In Bloom: The Reunion

SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

“Rob…Rob? HEY!”

Rob jerked up on his seat—a velvet drummer’s throne which matched the rest of MAE’s aesthetic.

Caleb—or was it Calvin?—was bleating in his IEM. Mae’s lapdog and tour manager.

”Start the fuckin song,” he spat out. Rob could’ve sworn he felt it spray on him even through the earpiece.

Shrugging, he bent down to the iPad built into his kit and pressed the button marked ‘Faux Saints.’

Over the massive, four-story tours, the first few moments of the song began to play. In his ear, Rob could hear the metronome click-clacking away, counting in the guitarist and pianist about forty feet ahead of him. And ahead of them, he could faintly see Mae’s silhouette.

She was giving him a glare before turning back to the audience to raucous applause, cooing out the first few lines of the hit song.

As she began to sing, the stage lights plunged everyone into darkness except for Mae. She stood in a single, small spotlight–bathed in navy. Most of the song would play out this way, so Rob had about three and a half minutes before anyone could see him.

All of that in mind, he bent down and popped the valium he had been saving for this moment. He could hear the radio click on in his headset, but soon click off.

He knew Calvin wouldn’t call him out on it. He sold it to him.

***

After the set, Rob retreated silently into his dressing room.

He had a separate one from Mae–mostly because Mae’s herself had two of her own. One which was used and the other which was designed to be filmed in. Mae had given her full self into social media—making sure to plaster her name and image from anything from Maybelline ads to phone-in appearances with Fallon.

She was having her moment, definitely. From the start of the tour, the crowd only grew more feverous, and the paparazzi more violent. A few days ago, they had to arrange additional security for her, the guitarist, and the pianist.

Not for Rob, though.

Rob was the problem child during this tour. Rob “broke the illusion,” as the tour manager would say. Mae looked, dressed, and acted single. So having Rob–a run-of-the-mill California kid with a side band that looked comparatively tiny—hanging around Mae when she was in MAE mode hurt sales.

To her credit, Mae hadn’t ever really been mean about it. In fact, Rob had no doubts Mae was faithful to him and mostly in love with him. To be fair to her, it was hard to find time to cheat when you’re every waking moment is broadcasted and discussed by the various press teams that surrounded Rob every day.

Tonight, however, he heard a knock on his dressing room door, and saw a familiar brunette head pop in through the doorframe.

“You too busy?”

Rob looked angrily to the uninvited guest for a few moments, before the two of them burst out into simultaneous laughter.

“Fuck off and come in, K.” Rob shot back.

Kate was part-time assistant to Mae and part-time press manager for Rob. Most of the time, she was part-time assistant to Mae, because–let’s face it–Rob hadn’t even really needed a manager.

It was a call made by Mae at the behest of the accounting firm they used, which specified that it ‘helped with the year-end yield.’

Not that Rob minded. Kate was a tiny bundle of fire, and damn fun to be around. He handed her a beer as he cracked another one open.

“Are you old enough…?” he mocked, pointing to the beverage.

Kate was quick to roll her eyes and start drinking. After a sip, she continued on as if the comment never happened.

“I’ve got an interview for you. 15 minutes max. They want to talk life on the road, dating a pop star, and catch up on In Bloom.”

“I thought I told you I don’t do In Bloom interviews.”

“You did,” she said, pausing to drink, then continue: “So I told them not to ask you about In Bloom. But I’m asking you to start talking In Bloom with him.”

“And why would I do that?”

Kate laughed. “You need to cover for her, dude.”

Rob blinked hard, twice, in a futile effort to regain a bit of sobriety. “What did she—”

“Do you want to know?”

Rob thought for a moment.

“…can I get the short version?”

Kate sighed. “Well, the headline they told he they wanted to run was called ‘Jane’s Addiction,’ so if that tells you anything—”

“—I get it,” Rob shot back. “We’ll do a few questions at the end. Nothing on her. Only on the legacy and the big hits.”

Kate nodded, and tapped out a multi-paragraph text message in the blink of an eye. “You got it, boss.”

If Jane was here right now, he didn’t know if he’d punch her in the throat.

Or kiss her.

But what he did know is–despite the seething anger that would swell in him when someone mentioned her to him–he’d do what he could from a distance.

He didn’t want details. Details hurt. But when Kate mentioned Jane was ‘in the news,’ Rob would come out and mention In Bloom again. And thanks to the power of Mae and his proximity to her, it would always dominate the airwaves for long enough to provide that cover.

Every time he did so, he’d tell himself he’d never do it again. And every time Kate mentioned her, he’d fold like a paper tiger.

“This is the last time,” Rob said, with a feigned sense of finality in his voice.

“Yeah, boss,” Kate replied, eyes still on her phone, texting his interviewee. She barely hid the sarcasm from her tone. “The last time.”

PRESENT DAY

A pounding noise at the door broke Rob from a weak sleep into a typical morning hangover.

Rob’s eyes cracked upon after he rubbed at his forehead for a moment. A familiar blonde form entered his room.

“Mmmma—” Rob started, before recognizing the form as Jane. And not his ex-wife.

“Mmm?” he uttered as quick as he could; raising his tone a bit and blinking himself awake.

”Nice save, dipshit,” he thought to himself. But thankfully, Jane didn’t seem to notice.

She was too busy…asking him to dinner?

Wait. What?

Before he could reply, Jane was quick to duck her small form back out of the room. He could hear her pattering footsteps enter her room. Then a faint, but slightly audible, muffled scream.

Rob then fell back into bed. He would deal with this shit when he was actually awake.

--

Around 11:30, Rob made a beeline for the basement, and finding the studio empty, immediately began to practice.

Was he avoiding Jane?

Probably. But he wasn’t going to admit that anytime soon.

Instead, Rob flew through his set of songs that kept him too pre-occupied to think. TRACK 1R by ’68 blasted through his headphones as he beat out the noisy fills.

Once that got old, he turned to a metalcore song with some aggressive drum fills to keep warmed up.

Realistically, he doubted any of this would be relevant for whatever Jane had been cooking up. But then again, after so long…what had she been thinking of bringing to the table?

Their old songwriting process used to be so simple. Someone (usually Jane, sometimes Sam) would come with a melody, and Austin and Rob would fiddle around with it. Eventually, the magic happened, and a song was born.

But now? He wasn’t even sure.

He had been so engrossed in his song that he nearly dropped his sticks when he heard a crude, distorted bass rip through his monitors, playing along with his beat.

He pulled out his monitors and looked up to see Austin. He looked almost pissed.

“Don’t stop, asshole,” Austin yelled out over the ringing cymbals. His glare was so sharp even Rob couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “I had something.”

“It wasn’t my beat,” Rob replied, but Austin simply shook his head.

“Then change it a little. Keep going.”

Rob thought for a moment, before turning back to his kit. He turned off the song in his monitors, leaving him only with him and Austin in the feed. He counted off in his head and opened with a simpler version of the same drum beat.

Immediately, Austin came back in with his new melody. Usually, Rob had known Austin to stick with the usual stuff—nothing fancy, but nothing easy either. Stuff that would usually develop out an idea Sam fiddled with before using his usual power cords.

This was different. Austin’s bass snarled and hissed under tearing stress of the aggressive chain Austin had set up. He played with Rob, usually, but would accentuate all the ‘wrong’ beats.

In short? It was primal, syncopated, and very different than anything Rob was used to.

So he improvised.

Rob pulled out a few aggressive fills before setting on something filled with ghost notes and accentuated beats. He would deliberate bend time around Austin’s notes—sometimes changing his accents to almost through Austin off.

The effect sounded more like a fight than a song, with Austin and Rob each moving the song ahead of the other person. It was somehow frightening without being too heavy, and the two continued to bounce it back and forth, back and forth, until a guitar joined the mix as well.

Looking up from his kit, Rob could see Sam, back in action, looking the least aged of all of them, trying out tones above the fray Austin and Sam were creating. And past them, he could see J—seated where she had last been just a day ago, which she had apologized.

Except now, in the midst of all of the noise they were creating, and with the four of them in the same room for the first time in ages, Rob couldn’t help but crack a smile as he looked to her. He ducked his head down, and they continued to jam out the idea for another few minutes before slowly grinding to a halt.

Reverb and feedback roared through the room as amps were slowly powered off. Rob reached down and pulled out a towel, wiping his head and ripping off the hat he had on.

“Well then,” Sam replied, “I guess that’s the warmup”

Jane slipped into the main room after that, and suddenly the work began.

--

Hours later, Rob tossed his sticks aside and rose from his seat. It had been a long, grueling session. A mix of old material, some played well, some played terribly, and new ideas jammed out and sorted.

No real song had come of the day’s session, and he wasn’t sure how the others felt, but as for Rob, the experience had been a challenge.

Some people may see getting back together and returning to an old bike, but for Rob, he felt very much out of practice. The music In Bloom often made wasn’t anything like what he had been playing for almost ten years since the end of the band. As he looked up during the session to Austin and Sam specifically, he saw a confidence he only wished he had. As for Jane? Unreadable, as always. Partially because he kept himself hidden from behind the kit, and partially because he tried hard not to think about her proposition.

Yet, when it was all said and done, and the session ended Austin seemed to pull Sam aside, leaving both him and Jane in each other’s line of sight.

Rob felt like a teenager again—self-conscious about the piles of sweat soaking his shirt and face. Still, as he caught his breath, he figured it was now or never.

“So,” Rob said between breaths, looking to J. “Dinner?”

He felt as if he should have regretted the words as soon as he said them, but in fact, he wasn’t sure how to feel.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

In Bloom: The Reunion

SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

Rob had about five more minutes to call time. Which meant he still had time to finish a drink or two.

He was in Molo Zero–some bar on the river on the outskirts of Rome, just a block or two’s walk back to the main concert venue, the Stadio Olympico.

Prior to today, he wouldn’t have known any of that information. And tomorrow, on some jet flying to some other country Rob had never been to and would likely never be again, he would get another briefing, with more place names to quickly remember and forget, remember and forget–endlessly.

At least some things were constant, which were his relative anonymity apart from Mae and MAE, and his credit card working at every dive bar, tavern, and watering hole around.

Typically, before a call time, he would feel at least some pressure to practice. But today Mae had picked Setlist D–the setlist that was quickly becoming the most popular choice for the tour. It was a collection of four on the floor songs Rob could play since he was six, piano ballads he simply rolled on some cymbals for, and a handful of songs where he’d press a button on his stage computer and let Pro Tools take over for him. He’d drum, of course, but almost entirely for show. His kit would be turned off, and he’d play, big grin across his face, acting like the grooves he played were audible to anyone but a few hired roadies.

On D-Days, as he had come to know them as, he mostly just drank, sat around, and kept to himself.

Mae was getting busier and busier–no doubt due to wanting to end the concert series in sparkling fashion. They had two more weeks of then, and then, as far as she had told the press media, she was done forever.

Privately, Mae had told Rob she wanted to do five-and-ten year tours to keep the “magic” alive, as she put it. Rob had his own doubts about how thoroughly she would be keeping to that idea.

But there was something else–she had started acting strange, in a way Rob wasn’t entirely sure how to handle. Mae had always been someone who seemed to be in the same room with you, but never actually talk to you. Speaking to Mae was like speaking to an apparition–¬some words seemed to stick to her, but others would pass through to the other side, smash against a wall, and crumple to the floor.

But recently, she seemed quite the opposite. During the three hours of alone time per week they had arranged (with Rob getting her to up the number from two), she would hyperfocus on him. Hang on every word. Wait to see if what he said passed some internal test.

He felt analyzed by her, and it wasn’t a good feeling.

”Come stai?”

Rob turned his head quickly to look to where the voice had come from.

One seat over from him was a man around his age–thick beard, olive skin, and dressed simply–looking towards him through thick shaded glasses.

“Scuse…I am Dante.” He held out a hand, which Rob shook. “It has been some time since I used English. But you are Rob, no?”

Rob quickly tried to transition into “fan” mode, which usually meant answering tons of questions about Mae, warding off weirdos asking about bra and shoe sizes, and occasionally thanking them for hearing of In Bloom.

“Yeah, Rob,” he replied. “Here to see the show?”

“No, not see,” Dante replied. “Work. Hired help for stage work. It is good to see you again!”

Rob looked to the man¬–thinking¬–before he continued.

“It was three…four? Years ago. I worked for Vicarious. We spoke once on that tour.”

Rob continued to think, embarrassment beginning to swell on his face. Dante, ever the smiler, seemed unfazed.

“It is okay, brother!” He almost yelped. “It was a long time. It is good to see you succeed.”

“Thank you,” Rob said. His “fan” mode lowered, somewhat. He took another long drink of whatever well was put in front of him. “Are you still work Vicarious?”

“When they come to Europe, they come to me,” Dante explained. “Next year we will tour again. Play in Rome, maybe not here!”

Rob thought briefly about Zoe. How was she these days?

Rob pushed the thoughts aside. “That’s cool man, I’m happy for you! It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t just asking about my girlfriend.”

Dante simply shrugged. “I don’t know her. I know you. And In Bloom. How are my other friends?”

Rob’s head turned. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I texted Austin and Sam a few times since we broke up. Jane, I haven’t seen since–well a while.” As they spot, Rob slipped out a pack of Newports. He offered one to Dante, who accepted, and the two paused as Rob lit both their cigarettes.

“She’s probably not too happy about your new girlfriend,” Dante mused.

“Yeah, I don’t think she cares, Dante.” Rob shot back, almost defensive. Jane was a sore subject. A deeply sore one. Mae was like speaking through someone, but Jane–especially at the end–was a different person entirely.

“She cares, friend,” Dante replied, cool, then: “so do you.”

Before Rob could reply, Dante excused himself and headed to the show, heaving Rob alone to think about whatever the hell he had meant by what he said.

---

PRESENT DAY

Rob was flying through his practice set.

It felt different than it used to–knowing he was playing specifically as practice and as a warm-up for an In Bloom writing session.

He wondered how the others would take to using their instruments again. He figured a few of them would think of it as putting on an old pair of shoes, or getting back into a familiar groove.

But it wasn’t like that for Rob. Not now.

He started out initially practicing some classic tunes he typically used to loosen up his grip and get into a good pocket. The final groove about 3:50 into Blackest Eyes was a favorite of his–letting him work to fill in the spaces with grooves but not interrupt the flow of the song.

But as his anxiety grew, and he knew he’d have a few familiar faces here sooner, he picked up the pace. He swapped over to Dead Poet Society, beating out faster rhythms.

He had developed a nasty habit over the years of getting too firm with his grip on the sticks. He used to play with far more control. It used to feel like synchronizing with a song, riding on the top crest of a wave, enjoying the experience...

These days, it was more about control than anything else. Rob bent the songs to his will–locking onto a beat like a metronome, refusing to ebb and flow, driving it forward like a dictator.

It didn’t help that his bad leg would always act up–and he often found himself playing through the pain.

The blisters from last week’s Seattle show were beginning to rupture again, and just as he hit the final crest of the song--

“Rob.”

His name hung out like an embarrassing call in the air. Drumsticks flew out of his hands as his grip loosened–too fast–clattering onto the hardwood.

Rob caught a glimpse of J’s profile. Not fast enough to see much more than a blur of blonde, but it was her.

Wow, Rob thought for a moment. Not shocked, not anxious, or much of anything at all. For a moment, it was just novel to see her again.

Then the tension came roaring back as she turned back around.

She looked much the same as she always had. Her posture always seemed tilted in some way–with her shoulders facing one way and her head another. She was almost willow-like, a tanned tree on the Californian coastline.

She was small–it was always one of his first thoughts when he saw her–but never weak. She had an aura about herself that had always intrigued him. He remembered sharing a bed with her, staring at a tangled mess of blonde hair and skin, thinking to himself, who was this person?

He hadn’t felt like he had ever really known her. At one point, he had found that perhaps the most fascinating thing of all. The idea that they could spend a lifetime together as he learned more and more about her, the way she’d think, the places she loved, the minutia of everyday life that she felt so strongly about.

But in the end, that final night, that last moment, as he stared down at her with the last bag of his stuff on his back and a plane ticket crumpled in his right hand, her unfamiliarity stung like a white-hot knife.

Who the fuck was she?

He looked to her, flat, as she spoke and said her peace. Apologizing.

...

...Apologizing??

Rob filled with rage for a moment, and a decade of buried resentment came rushing back. What the fuck was she thinking?? He had told her a time and time–a thousand FUCKING times exactly what would happen if she EVER--

“I’m so proud of you.”

That one cut deep. Deeper than he thought or ever expected. His eyes filled with white-hot tears. She wasn’t looking at him but now it was he that turned away. It took a moment to bury it–swallow it–and look back to her.

He gave her a gentle nod when she mentioned Evan’s request, and locked eyes with her until she broke for the door.

He then leaned back, exhausted, feeling like he had just been released from some vice’s grip, and thought for a moment.

---

He toked up in the backyard soon after practice.

There was a nice pool back here–and hot tub, for that matter, built right into the earth. A shaded lounge-esqe area was here as well, and a wet bar he had snagged more whiskey from which sat on the table by his deck chair.

Getting cross-faded on night one probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but it was a Friday night ritual for him and especially after seeing J, was one he wasn’t keen on giving up. He took one long drag from the joint before tossing it into the ashtray. He figured one was enough, and was about to rise before a familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Is this your place?”

Turning around, he could see Austin in the doorway. He looked different, of course–ten years will do that to you.

He hair was gone, for one. Either shaved off or fallen out he couldn’t tell, but in it’s place was an unruly beard that grazed the collar of his shirt. His arms were coated in ink–good ink–and he was almost top-heavy from time at the gym.

He looked older, sure, but good. Clean. And based on his look, he seemed far more comfortable than either Rob or J had been about getting the band back together.

“You think I can afford this place??” Rob asked back.

Austin’s face didn’t flinch. “You can and you know it, asshole.”

Rob looked to him another moment before bursting out in unprompted laughter. He rose and the two warmly embraced.

“Yeah, maybe I can get Mae to buy it for me,” Rob joked, releasing him and offering Austin a joint. He shook his head and made his way to the wet bar.

“Look man, I don’t know who she was fucking, you’re a goddamn moron for divorcing her.” Austin said as he made himself a drink.

“She divorced me.” Rob shot back through a smile. Seeing J was like a white-hot fire. But Austin was, and really had always been, cool, collected, and dispassionate. Rob thought for a moment, then started to apologize: “Look, man, it was shitty of me to not--”

“--call me sometime?” Austin finished for him. “Relax, Rob. I know you would have never spoken to me again if it wasn’t for this. And I get it. You had to go follow your bliss on some world tour and make a shitload of money. And I needed to go get a master’s and teach biology.”

“You’re kidding,” Rob said. “You’re not a teacher.”

Austin was all smiles at this. He took a shot of rum and continued: “I am. I do Life Sciences at a community college in Phoenix and I do online Organic Chemistry tutoring for Arizona State.”

“Holy shit!” Rob couldn’t stop laughing at the thought. “You’re a fucking teacher. I would never have called it.”

“Sam hadn’t either,” Austin mused. “And before you continue to beat yourself up over being an abandoning dick, Sam and I hadn’t spoken in four years.”

“How is he?”

“Go ask him yourself,” Austin replied. “I think he’s practicing in the basement.”

--

The two continued to talk for a bit, sharing quick back and forths about what their day-to-day was like. Austin explained what Phoenix was like and Rob told him all about Elle.

Before either of them knew it, night had fallen, and the two turned inside to see the others. Rob was good and drunk now. He felt loose enough to even see J, if she happened to be nearby.

But entering into the kitchen, all he heard was the pattering of feet and hummus hitting the floor. Watching her form disappear up the stair, it reminded him of Elle–sneaking into the kitchen and using his cajon to get the Oreos he kept on his top shelf.

Austin looked to Rob as Rob bent down to pick up the hummus. “I take it you two aren’t talking?”

Rob shot Austin a glance before making his way up the stairs. “Not yet.” He admitted.

As he ascended, he was almost grateful he wasn’t in a sober mindset. He figured maybe the two could at least break some of the tension. But if he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if he would start a fight in this mindset, either.

But he just barely got to see her in the hall before her door slammed shut, and a muffled sorry! rang out from her room.

He walked to the door and paused, for a moment thinking.

Should he go inside? Would that be proactive or just a massive invasion of privacy? Back when they were friends, they used to come and go from either other’s homes like they owned the place.

But that was ten years ago.

Instead, Rob gently turned the knob, and knew it was unlocked.

He opened the door just wide enough for the hummus to fit through, and slid it across the carpet into the room, before shutting the door again. Through it, he called out “you dropped this,” and thought of saying more, before giving up and heading back downstairs.

“You and Jane being weird as fuck,” Austin joked as he dug his hand into a Pringles can in the kitchen. “Nothing changes, huh?”

“Fuck off, Austin,” Rob replied, almost defensive. “We’re almost forty.”

He mentioned how he’d be up early practicing before getting some snacks and heading up to his room.

He’d had to meet with Sam tomorrow. For now, all he wanted was to sleep. Pushing the door shut without bothering to lock it himself, he put the snacks on the nightstand, stripped nude, and slipped under the covers.

He was out in seconds.