HangYourSecrets

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.

In Bloom: The Reunion

Where was he?

Rob blinked a few times to try to gather his senses and look around him.

To his left, he could see a few members of the band he was drumming for.

What was their name again? Men Of Old?

He wasn’t sure at this point.

Rob’s evening had been a complete cluster of noise and booze–which was pretty typical of a night in The Crocodile.

Tucked in between a hostel and a Bank of America, The Alligator was the place where diverse and thriving acts could come and play in a space that wasn’t judgmental, clean, or even above code. The floor swayed and bent at the thrashing mobs, which ebbed and flowed with shrill power chords and far too much low end from the three stand amps that pumped the space with precious noise.

Whoever or whatever lived below The Alligator was probably something Rob never wanted to meet. Yet, if the outdoor signage was to be believed, the owner himself inhabited the space–paid for in total by the noise above.

Rob blinked a few more times–hard, fast, like he was clearing a splinter. He re-centered himself and looked to his right this time. Next to him, a polite girl who went by Ari signaled that the act on stage was almost done.

”Woman,” Rob mentally corrected himself. ”The woman next to me.”

Yet he couldn’t help himself. He knew Ari somewhat well–and even started tutoring her on microbiology for her UW courses.

She was a proto-adult in his eyes–same as those in the band he was opening for (what was their name)? People who still carried a fake in their wallets and purses and hurt themselves in a pit to the type of distorted drivel which swelled out from the band on stage.

Again. Rob blinked again.

He needed to be ready for the set. Sure, the songs the boys had put together was little more than a cacophonic mix of thrash and doom–but he still needed to focus. At least, he would need to focus this many drinks in.

He blinked again. How many drinks had he had?

He was drunk–he knew that much–but he wasn’t entirely sure how drunk he was. He tried to count his shots.

One at the front of house, free of charge and courtesy of Ryan the Bartender who knew him very well. Two more purchased by the band for him, as a bit of a “thank you” for stooping down to the band’s level. At least three of four more after setup and before the opening act started up. Maybe another from Ari for good luck?

And after that? He wasn’t entirely sure.

“Hey man. You good?”

The voice rang out from his right, barely audible above the music on stage. Rob turned to his left to look towards Jared.

What a stupid name for a kid. Jared? How old was he when In Bloom toured Europe? Eight?

“Yeah man,” Rob shot back. He threw a bright smile on his face. “Let’s fuck it up!” he gruffed out over the mess of noise which surrounded them.

Jared smiled and nodded. “Fuck yeah, dude!” He shouted, looking to the two other boys.

Rob looked at them through whiskey-soaked eyes and felt little more than contempt.

These were no trailblazers. They weren’t the kind of kids to make music to mean anything. And he would know.

He’d seen it done twice.

No–these were kids who wanted the idea of a rock band. The allure of the sights. The sounds. The tours full of drugs they could take and the women they could fuck the brains out of on a tour bus.

They wanted something they thought Daddy could buy. Which is exactly why Jared’s Dad–a nice, perpetually busy person he had met during the heyday of MAE–had set the two up and paid Rob far more than he was worth to play with the boys.

Here he was, mid 30s, about to take the stage with kids who thought they could buy their way into the scene they were sampling.

So yeah—of course he had been drinking.

---

Rob blinked again, and the show was over.

Sweat bled down from his forehead like a gashed wound and bit at his eyes. His arms vibrated from the forearms down. His fingers blistered from poor form and a violent grip throughout the band’s set.

But the crowd ahead of him roared in approval, and all seemed right. He supposed he did earn that ten grand.

“Thanks again to Rob Pennie on the drums,” Jared barked into the mic, “’cause this has been an absolute pleasure and a dream of mine, my man.”

Rob shot a grin up to Jared to get him to turn away and back to the audience.

“And I have to say, on behalf of everyone here, in Seattle, all over the fuckin’ place man,” Jared continued. “Call Jane. Call Austin, call Sam. The audience is here man, make it happen!”

Before Jared could finish the sentence, the crowd shouted over him–and the noise seemed to deafen all of King County. It was insane the level of noise they produced. About as insane as Jared’s notion.

”Yeah,” Rob thought to himself as he waved and faked appreciation for the wooing crowd. ”You guys keep dreaming.”

Rob’s walk home wasn’t too far–three blocks east and two north–but fending off the teenage crowd wasn’t an easy task. He was a weird spot with this sort of thing. With Mae, there’d likely be a bodyguard or two following the two of them around the streets of Seattle. But without her, he was almost entirely anonymous.

That was, whenever he wasn’t at or in a concert.

Every year since In Bloom’s demise and especially after Mae’s MAE phase (at the two referred to it is), he’s grown to resent the fame and the noise. Because it wasn’t a fame to be proud of. It was a fame based on his proximity to his ex-wife. And, a fame based on a band that exploded so cataclysmically and fully he wanted nothing to do it with it.

But, as luck would have it, In Bloom and MAE followed him around like some fetid ghost. He couldn’t listen to KEXP for more than an hour before J’s voice would crackle over the car stereo. And not even three songs seemed to go by on the pop station before Mae would be on there, singing her biggest hits.

Especially these days, In Bloom seemed to take on more and more of a life of its own. Kids seemed to throw their hits across video after video. You could easily see 15-year-olds lip-syncing their hearts out with J, mashing up the songs with Paramore or Rodrigo.

Rob always laughed at the thought of it. ”Wherever she is,” Rob would think, “I’m sure she fucking hates that shit.”

It was almost a relief, however, that his ex-girlfriend’s band was taking on a new life over his ex-wife’s act. Listening to MAE, all-caps, was an aggravating experience. It would only bring about memories of slaving over an album, over and over, only to have Mae, the person, overrule him and swap him out with a drum machine.

Listening to MAE also brought him back to the world tour. Crossing over Europe, Asia, and at one point they did a week in South Africa. If you watched MAE’s documentary, it would be easy to see how the tour was actually going.

It wasn’t a tour of dreams. It was one of nightmares.

Still, after all these years, Rob couldn’t be too mad at Mae. Visitation rights had been firmly upheld, and he even got child support, and a lot of it due to the difference in income.

Rob even had to admit he liked seeing her. They had always been good friends.

Just not-so-good lovers.

Rob shook his head. Centered himself.

He was a block away from his home, turned around and signing the last of the autographs and telling his final tour stories.

One guy–a short, timid dude probably still in high school, was the last of the crowd. His arm shook as he handed over a vinyl in pristine condition. On the front, J’s face bright and happy.

Last he heard of her, she had been in rehab. And last he’d seen her, it had been through tear-stricken eyes, looking at her sleeping form. Then bolting off in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.

“Want me to make it out to someone?” Rob asked as he got a silver sharpie out. He was all business–even knowing half of those words came out slurred, half-formed.

“Jane,” the boy said, after a moment.

Rob looked at him, swaying, more confused than anything. “J?” he asked back.

The boy looked taken by surprise. “No, no, sorry,” he laughed out. “My girlfriend’s name is also Jane. I’m giving this to her for her birthday.”

Rob blinked. “Of course,” he said–too loud–and signed the album. “Best of luck to you both.”

The boy thanked him and turned the corner, and again Rob was alone.

---

The next day was when the call came.

It was two–no, three–in the afternoon. His head throbbed and ached. He was leaned over his armchair, ice pack in hand, when the phone buzzed.

At first, he thought it was Elle. She probably had grabbed her mother’s phone, as she usually did around this time when the tutor wasn’t looking. She’d usually call and scream “Daddy, I did it!” into the phone. No reason—just a child declaring victory over her mean tutor, snagging the phone and making a call when no one was looking. Rob would laugh and say as much as he could before the tutor eventually came and took the phone back.

But it wasn’t Elle this time. It was Evan.

“What?” Rob shot into his phone, before putting it on speaker and sitting it on the end table.

In the transition, Rob missed the first few words of Evan’s speech. Not like it mattered much, anyways.

Evan was the ‘account manager’ for In Bloom at the moment. The third in four years. The licensing rights for the band post-breakup had been a clusterfuck, made ever-more complicated since the four of them mutually agreed not to ever meet up in person again. So instead, four different managers working with four different estranged bandmembers had made a quagmire of the rights over the years. Evan was the unfortunate ringleader—the voice between the band and the label itself. He was probably the closest thing they had to a manager at the moment, as terrible as that was.

“—absolutely fucking insane, what we’re seeing,” he said as the speakerphone activated. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I haven’t,” Rob said back. He re-adjusted on his seat and moved the ice back down his bad leg. “Do tell.”

“Millions per day, Rob. On every fucking song in the back catalogue.”

“So, the catalogue?” Rob corrected.

“Yeah–fine¬–whatever,” Evan replied, the three words hitting equal emphasis and lack of interest. “The point is, you have to strike when the iron is hot with these things. We can’t wait for it to top out before making our move.”

“And what would that move be?”

“…don’t be mad.”

Rob’s blood pressure shot up. That wasn’t good.

“Evan—”

“Two weeks in Orange County. That’s all I’m asking—”

“EVAN—”

“Hey. HEY. Two weeks. You and the rest of them. Turn in a song, an EP, fucking four albums, I don’t care. Just turn something in. We can put in cameras and everything, make a doc out of it.”

“No the fuck you won’t.”

“Or not! It’s fine. I don’t care. I don’t. Just make something.”

Rob thought for a long while. Ahead of him he could see the faint outline of Puget Sound amongst the fog and fir trees. He envisioned them dissipating into the smog, pollution, and shithole that was Southern California. After leaving, he had vowed never to return. So far, he had kept that promise.

“What did the others say?” he finally asked. He could feel the sigh of relief from Evan on the other end. Not an immediate no. Progress.

“I haven’t asked them yet,” Evan admitted. “To be honest, I wanted to start with you.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, you’re the most dependable! You’re an excellent drummer, still working all over the world and…how do I put this.”

After a moment, Rob interjected. “Put it however you want.”

A pause. Then: “You’re the most successful one, Rob. I thought you would be the easiest yes and I need a yes from someone before I call anyone else. I know you guys aren’t close—”

“—a nice way to put it—”

“—but they’re not that easy to get a hold of, much less convince.”

Rob leaned back in his chair, weighing the options. Elle would be out of school in a week. He always took her on a trip in summer. He’d have to push that back.

“I can’t be gone all summer—” he started, but Evan was way ahead of him.

“You won’t be. We do this over the next three weeks, you go home for the summer, spend time with Elle, we mix and master, maybe we talk about a short tour in the fall. I know Elle’s important to you.”

“You promise? No summer tour—”

“Rob I can’t promise anything,” Evan said. “You know how these things are. But I’ll try my best.”

Rob took a deep breath. Between him and his picturesque Seattle view were three half-drank bottles of whiskey.

Maybe he could use a change of pace. At least, before he’d have to call AA.

“Two weeks,” Rob repeated. “Not a fucking day more. I want the fuck out of California after two weeks.”

---

Within four days, all of the arrangements had been made. When he told Mae over the phone, she seemed over the moon for him. And she was—which didn’t help.

He almost wanted to fight with her, but the truth was, Mae was an excellent mother and a genuinely nice ex-wife. Which really only made him feel shittier.

She also let him have Elle over the weekend for a short getaway even though it wasn’t his weekend. Rob took her out to nearby Victoria. She was in the middle of a floral phase, and the two had an absolute blast walking through the streets of the quaint Canadian town.

But it all passed far too quickly. Right as he picked her up, it felt like he was dropping her right back off at her mother’s—a glass mansion on a hill in Mercer Island.

“Where are we going next month?” He asked Elle, on his knees, at Mae’s doorstep.

“I dunno,” Elle responded. “Oranges cow?”

“Orange County,” Rob corrected. “Why do you wanna go there?”

“You wanna go there,” she responded, matter-of-factly. “I wanna go there.”

Rob and Mae shared a look and a laugh at their daughter’s answer. “Tell you what,” he said, “maybe we can check out a farm when I get back. See some cows, oranges, apples?”

Elle smiled at the thought. “Can I get dinner now?”

“Can I get a hug?”

Rob squeezed his daughter tightly for as long as she’d allow—hardly more than a second—before she bolted into the home, yelling in delight. It was movie night, and movie night was the one night she got chicken nuggets for dinner.

Rob stood to his feet and looked to Mae. He tried to get a read out of her, but she seemed unreadable in this moment. It almost concerned him.

“Take care of yourself, Rob,” she said softly. “Seriously.”

“I do,” he said, a bit more defensively than he intended.

“Rob…it’s starting to smell on you. Seriously.”

“I don’t drink when I have Elle,” he shot back. “You know that.”

“I know you didn’t. I know you don’t. That’s why I’m worried. When’s the last time you washed that shirt?”

“Mae, please—”

“Tell them hi for me, would you?” Mae responded—changing the subject as she always did when she made her point. “I hope it works out.”

With that, and a brief hug, Mae receded back inside.

She had a way of doing that. Making her point—making her threat—without having to even seem mean.

Rob stormed back to his car, filling with anger with every footstep. Because no matter what happened, Mae was not going to take Elle from him. And if she thought so, she had another fucking thing coming.

---

Within 24 hours of dropping Mae back off, Rob was flying over California.

He had been situated into first class–not his request–and kept a hat as far down as he could. He’d wear sunglasses in this flight if it wasn’t too suspicious.

In just the past few days, the millions the previous songs had been pulling had begun converting into record sales. At this point the band had only small batch pressings available. In the past few days after they all had sold out, the label had put out pre-orders for a full pressing.

Tens of thousands of pre-orders later, it was starting to look like a four or even five figure royalty check this month.

Thanks to his work with MAE, he had never hurt for money after she went big—and made about as much as a predominant lawyer from royalties alone. And as uncomfortable as he had been with his growing wealth as of late, he had to admit that a royalty check that size wasn’t life-changing anymore.

But was it to J? Was it to Sam and Austin?

The thought of meeting them drew a pit in his stomach, so he returned his focus again to the drink on his tray.

Within another hour, the plane had landed. Rob practically bolted from the gate terminal to the baggage claim—picking a spot in the corner to avoid any growing paparazzi activity. In Seattle he was a virtual unknown. But here, being the ex-husband of one of the biggest pop stars of the decade made it easy to be seen. The In Bloom explosion didn’t help either.

And sure enough, just as he grabbed his bag—

“Rob! Rob!” Some lanky boy with a patchy beard sprinted up to him with a DSLR. The flash was already blinding. Rob threw his glasses over his eyes before trying to move past him, towards the door.

“What do you think of In Bloom’s recent success? Is more retro rock making a comeback?”

“What?” Rob couldn’t help but mutter aloud. ”Classic rock??” he thought to himself. What the fuck happened to California in the past few years?

The paparazzo, unflustered, continued a rattle of questions while maintaining about a six inch distance between himself and Rob. “Have you spoken to Mae recently? What does she think of the success of your side project? What are your thoughts about Jane’s newfound sobriety?”

That one stopped him dead in his tracks. J had gone sober? How was that news? Once a few years back someone had asked him what he thought of her in rehab, but he didn’t think on it much further than that. And if he was being honest, he brushed it off with the mindset that it was typical for her.

But now, on his way to see her and the others, he was just now finding this out?

He was beginning to feel worse and worse about this.

“Look, man,” Rob finally said, “I’ll answer one question if you ask just one.”

The two were nearly outside–where airport security would no doubt stop this guy before following Rob any further.

Without hesitation, the paparazzo responded: “What happened between you and Jane in the first place?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rob turned to go outside. “Nevermind,” he said as he turned away from the guy and his promise. “Sorry, kid.”

---

Rob was quickly whisked into a black SUV, which took Rob up and up—higher and higher into Chino Hills. He had a brief call with Evan to get the details: it would be a three-story AirBnB with a private drive and a security detail nearby in case of any fanatics. The kitchen was stocked with as much junk food and booze as they could find. The basement was a converted theater-turned-studio and they had installed the simplest soundboard they could find for them to record demos with. And finally, at any point they could call in pros to get some better sound and even cut a record right then and there.

Rob only had one question, which he asked as they pulled up to the gate and his driver started to enter in the access code:

“Am I first?”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “But you won’t be alone for long.”

The driver pulled up the home–a nice, distinctively Los Angeles-looking mansion–and drove off without a second world.

Leaving Rob with a suitcase and little else to enter inside.

He didn’t spend too much time looking around. In fact, he almost immediately moved upstairs and picked a room.

He briefly considered picking the master bedroom—an old band tradition of whoever got to a rental home first—but saw that the entire mansion was designed for the purpose of making music. Each bedroom had its own mini-fridge (with more booze), a bathroom, hot tub, and even sauna.

Rob picked the first one he entered, unpacked a few things, and plopped down, face first, into the bed.

Every moment he spent here alone was bringing him ever closer to confronting the rest of the band. Had they spoken since the band ended? Did they have some sort of anti-Rob group chat? What did they think of his and Mae’s overpublicized divorce?

He calmed himself and decided laying in bed may not be the best move. He moved down to the studio space, got behind the kit, and got to practicing.

If anything was going to get these two weeks over with, it was going to be the work.

As he played, he pulled out a whisky shot, and took it.

Lord knows he’d need it for however this first talk with J was going to go.