"Have you seen this movie?"

        Jun leans to get a better view of Everleigh's Instagram. I followed her the morning after the concer. Her account went private an hour later. I assume out of precaution in case MARS fans do some invasive digging into her account.

        She's a big fan of horror.

        "I don't think so," Jun answers. "Looks good, though. Gotta be better than Werewolf in the Catacomb."

         "The Room is better than Werewolf in the Catacomb." I shake my head, flying to update my Letterboxd watchlist. "You can tell she's got good taste in movies."

        The house is quiet since everyone else is out. Jun and I snuck into an ice skating rink with Jenny last night. We lasted a couple of hours before we noticed the stares. Once those start an avalanche is bound to follow, so we know we don't have long before we need to leave. A getaway was necessary but we enjoyed it while we could.

        Now that we're hungover from a late night of wine drinking after ice skating, neither of us is up for leaving the house.

        Jun snakes his arm around a throw pillow in search of his phone. When he pulls it out a few seconds later, the screen illuminates to life with an email.

        "Did you check out those questions yet?" he asks.

        "Some."

        "What do you think?"

        "Probably shouldn't be too painful."

        The team at the magazine in charge of the profile sent over a preliminary list of questions the interviewer will likely ask so we can get an idea of the direction they're looking to go in. It's hard to judge since interviews tend to ebb and flow with the natural cadence of each participant. But, based on her interviews I can find, there shouldn't be any reason to worry.

        Most of the standard points of interest are there. Where did we meet? What inspired us to start writing music together? Do we foresee doing solo work in the future? And the more Hawaii-centered questions. What was it like growing up in the island state? How different was it getting used to living in Los Angeles? Are we planning another show in Hawaii soon?

        Jun takes a sip of apple juice from the Tokyo Disneyland mug. "Hopefully not. Lauren is already getting cold feet."

        "Why?"

        "Maver. She's afraid they're gonna ask about him."

        "It's not like they keep their relationship a secret."

        "Yeah, but they're not official. And can we blame her for not wanting to talk about Maver Vincent?"

        My gut reaction is to agree because it's true. There are few things I'd rather talk less about than him. Discussing bowel movements sounds more appealing.

        But if our conversation in Australia is still applicable, she wants to be around him. I may not understand it, but I can't just write it off. Whatever feelings she's harboring are strong enough to keep him around, even with all the fights and mixed signals.

        "At some point, you're going to have to say something."

        Jun looks at me. "What are you talking about?"

        "It's not fair she comes to you about Maver when things are unresolved between you two."

        His jaw clenches. "I'm trying to be a good friend. I'm not going to turn her away when she needs someone."

        "I'm not saying that's what you should do. You can absolutely decide to keep things as they are, but I think it'd be better to talk it over. Make sure there's mutual understanding about how much she should expect from you."

        "That feels unfair to her."

         "Is it?" I ask. "It's not like it's one-sided. I think that would be different. Working with your best friend when you both have feelings for each other isn't easy, especially when she comes to you about the guy she's dating. Just come to some sort of understanding before it all blows up in everyone's face and becomes a much bigger issue."

        "Has she said anything to you about me?"

        At first, Lauren would come to me about her feelings toward Jun, but they soon fell to the wayside. I always assume because Jun and I are the closest and she understands putting me in the middle means complicating more than just their friendship.

        But it's hard to separate personal issues when everyone in the band is friends. I'm not expecting them to jump into a relationship any time soon—or ever, if that's not what they want—but it hurts to see Jun struggle balancing being a good friend and trying not to cause a rift between their friendship.

        Everyone else in the band can see how it affects both of them, too. Lauren seeks Seira's advice more now, which is fine, but it's still a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. And leaving things to fate will undoubtedly yield more casualties than just the two of them.

        "Fine," he sighs, sinking into his seat. Jun is quick to present himself as a shoulder to cry on, but avoids seeking out the same help for himself. His short responses don't surprise me. "I'll....think about it."

        I hold his hand. "You don't have to listen to me, just consider it. Or take my advice with a grain of salt. What the fuck do I know about relationships?"

        "No, you're right. I think." Jun relaxes into my touch. "At some point, it'll get messy and I'd rather avoid that for everyone's sake." Turning to the side, he slides me a cool glance. "They had a question about the Netflix rumors in there, too. I'm sure Marty is going to shut that one down."

        "I don't blame him," I scoff, pulling away. "It's so far away and he's not going to want anyone to take the glory of announcing it. Even if Twitter detectives basically know it already."

        "Now that it's real, it's kind of weird to think about, huh?" he asks. "Cameras following us around. Being directed to do things when we're just trying to live."

        "As long as they don't make me repeat myself because they didn't get a good shot, I'm good."

        "You know they're going to do that."

        "Let me dream a little, would you?"

...

While Jun steps away to microwave another bag of popcorn for a second round of reruns, my phone rings. I answer it expecting it to be Marty or Jenny. They're the only ones that call this late.

        "Hey, honey."

        I freeze.

        They say the sound of a parent's voice can soothe a fetus in the womb. That's why my mother sang to me so much before I was born. She believed it was her way of connecting us spiritually, and for a while, I thought it worked. If I came out like a songbird, it is because of my mother.

        Hearing the sound of her voice now brings me nothing but grief, and guilt wreaks havoc on my stomach for feeling that way, even if it's reasonable. It's hard to reconcile how I can ask Marty to reach out to her one day and then wince at hearing her on another.

        "Hi."

        The house was never the same after my dad died. My mom's voice stopped soothing away all of my worries. Grief often manifests in the strangest ways, but I've never been able to make sense of why hers was directed like a knife plunging straight into my chest.

        Friends have always said I look a lot like my father. Maybe she sees too much of him when she looks at me.

        "How have you been?" she asks. "How's Uncle Marty?"

        "He's fine." I close my eyes. "We're fine."

        "That's good."

         I'm not sure what else to say, so the following question blurts out of me seemingly on its own. "Mom, why are you calling?"

        She lets out a sort of hiccup. Surprised. Caught off guard. "What do you mean? Aren't you the one who's been trying to get a hold of me?"

        Her tone shifts from loving to defensive in a split second. A hug before having a plate of armor shoved in my face. It's enough to send my own guard up.

        "That was months ago." I stop myself from laughing. "And months before that. And months before that."

        "I didn't realize I had a time limit for when I could get in touch with my daughter again."

        My insides feel like they're being ravaged by a tornado. Closing my eyes, I try to steady myself, but with ground this uneven, it's impossible. I hold the phone away and release a shaky breath before pulling it back, regaining some of my composure.

        "You can't do this," I say forcefully. I come from a place where respect for elders isn't a favor—it's an essential part of our culture. Where family friends aren't just friends, they're greeted as family. Speaking to my mother with any snark feels wrong, but I convince myself it's necessary. "You can't leave me to fend for myself, accuse me of abandoning you because I'm actually trying to do something with my life, something I love doing, by the way, and then when you don't meet me halfway after trying to find a way to reconnect, act like I'm in the wrong for being frustrated."

        Here I was enjoying time with my best friend and she comes storming her way back into my life like the world's most devastating natural disaster, my heart being the casualty.

        It's not even just because of this phone call. It's the years' worth of disappointment leading up to it. So even though my heart is telling me to take a step back and calm down, give her the chance to explain herself, my head refuses to give in so easily.

        Her voice is shaky when it returns like she's surprised by the cold welcome she's receiving. "Can you please just listen? I wanted to talk. Maybe come out to see you or something. It's been a while."

        That's when it all hits me and I have to shut my eyes again. My head rolls back until it hits the wall. Not even the dull, throbbing pain can get me to move.

        "Let me guess....you want me to buy you a ticket to LA."

        She's quiet. Too quiet. It tells me all the truth I need to hear. "I can afford my own ticket to see my daughter," she replies, rejecting the accusation.

         "Oh, so you were just going to ask me for money when you got here then, is that it?" I'm not even bothering to lower the volume anymore. My anger is turned up to the highest notch, and I'm sure Jun will rush back here any minute, confused by the sudden outbursts. "Don't think I don't know Uncle Marty has been cutting you checks to help keep you afloat."

        It's such a cliche I once tried to convince myself it wasn't the truth. An estranged mother using her daughter's newly-found fame and fortune to further her bad habits is so played out that it makes me feel like I'm a character in a reality TV show. But there have been too many months back before our big break happened that Uncle Marty bailed us out because my mom wasn't able to pay the bills on time. It's not even that she'd found herself falling down the rabbit hole of drugs or alcohol. She just did anything and everything to stay away from home because all she saw when she was there was my father. Just like all she saw when she looked at me was him.

        "Don't speak to your mother like that," she says, aghast.

        My grip is so tight I'm surprised my phone doesn't crumble into dust in my hands. "Sorry. It's been so long, I've forgotten how to talk to a mother."

       "I don't deserve this."

        "Do you think I deserve this?" I demand. "You think I enjoy having a ghost for a mother? You've never supported me in my career and you're not going to suddenly reap the benefits just because you can't keep your shit together." Before she can say something, I finish off with, "Sorry that Marty's been bothering you but I'll make sure he stops. Don't call me again."

        I hang up the phone more forcefully than I need to. It falls to the floor, bouncing up from the wood with a hard crack. Thankfully, when I reach down to check its condition, It doesn't appear to have any damage, but it's not like I'd care anyway. The burst of anger pulsing through me from that short phone call is enough to send my head into a tailspin.

        "Was that who I think it was?"

        With tears cresting along the edge of my sanity, I stare up at Jun's kind and gentle face, dipped with just the right amount of pity that doesn't make me feel like a lost child still searching for my mother in a crowded mall.

        "Yeah." I cough out a fake laugh. "Who doesn't love some good mother-daughter bonding phone calls, right?"

        I may have the blood of a musician running through my veins, but his silence is the only sound I want to hear right now. His presence is more than enough for me.

        Quietly, he makes his way across the room until he slides down on the couch next to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. I clutch his shirt so hard I know it'll leave an imprint in the material, feeling the guilt rise in my chest at the memory of the conversation replaying in my head like a broken record. The one-sided relationship is more than enough of a reason to justify the way I handled things, but some pains run so deep we don't even realize they're there until they've breached the surface.

        "You're okay," he says between my choked sobs. "I got you."

        Even if I've done my best to differentiate between the expectations of what a mother should be and the reality of who my mother really is, no amount of daydreaming makes it hurt any less.