Page 61 of Never Been Shipped

She liked the idea of John planning things out to that level. “Well, second date,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at that, and she popped a grape in her mouth, letting him think about it for a minute.

“Last night?” he asked.

“I mean, I ordered all that food,” she said. “That took some effort! And sitting out on the balcony, looking over the water—come on, the vibes wereright. I didn’t have any expectation about how the night would end, but I definitely had my hopes.”

He laughed. “I had no expectationsorhopes,” he said. “Maybe we should try having a date where we actually both know we’re on one.”

“Let’s start now,” she said, leaning back on her hands to look at him. He was so familiar to her, soJohn, but she tried to see him as she might if he was just some guy she’d made it to a second date with. She’d think he was hot—that mess of curly dark hair, those deep brown eyes, the soft pillow of his lower lip. She’d fixate on the way his forearms flexed every time he reached for something, she’d wonder when he’d reach forher. “What do you do, John? What are you into?”

“Oh no,” he said. “Notthosequestions.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what else do you lead with on a date? We’re in our early thirties; the ‘What do you do?’ question is inevitable.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I just dread it. Uh, I play guitar in a couple bands. And no, they’re no one you would’ve heard of, unless you’ve spent time around Union Hall in Lakeland.”

“Have you played guitar in any bands I would’ve heard of?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, and she could tell that, all joking aside, this line of questioningwasmaking him a little uncomfortable. Which was interesting, given that of course she already knew the answers.

“This is where I would sayI don’t know, what bands have you heard of?” he said. “And then let you list a bunch that I could say no to before you give up. That’s only if you haven’t Googled me beforehand, in which case then usually I try to dodge a bunch of questions about what happened to the band,why we broke up, et cetera, because I never know if it’ll end up in a Reddit thread somewhere later.”

“Why don’t you just say you were in ElectricOh!,” Micah said. “It’s not bragging or admitting something bad. It’s a fact about you. As much a fact as saying you play in the Knock-Offspring.”

“Well, I try not to admitthat, either,” he said, “because I can’t keep a straight face. And I never liked talking about ElectricOh! with random people. It felt like such a long time ago. It felt like it had nothing to do with who I was anymore. And yet it has everything to do with who I am now, there’s something about it that’s…”

“Too personal? Vulnerable?”

He nodded. “And sacred, too. Something I want to hold to myself, and not share with anyone else.”

That made sense. Micah had also never liked talking about the band with anyone, although she was rarely in a situation where someonedidn’tknow about that part of her past. She had a few glib jokes prepared that she would make about the band’s breakup, and then she’d find a way to change the subject.

“What about you?” he asked. “What doyoudo?”

He was right. The question was awful—she had no idea why everyone still used it as an opening gambit on an early date. Maybe knowing someone’s job told you a lot about them as a person, how they spent their time, what they were good at, how they earned their living. But maybe it didn’t tell you anything except whatever rut they were currently stuck in.

“Just coasting on royalties, baby,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

John frowned. “Wait, is that really what you say?”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“It sounds…”

“Like I’m a lazy, privileged person with no purpose in life? Like I’m a failure, a washed-up has-been still reaping the benefits from her glory days? Like I’m an anxious-depressive quasi-recluse who stays up all night, sleeps all day, and then gets my groceries delivered because I don’t know if I want to deal with leaving my apartment?”

“I was going to sayreductive.” John looked at her, and she wished she hadn’t said any of that. It was way too revealing—not what she would’ve said on a second date withanyone, and not what she wanted to say on a second date with John, who’d been practically beaming at her all evening, making her feel like her ability to transition smoothly from one chord to another made her some kind of guitar god.Micah, that is fuckingtight, he’d said to her at one point, and even the memory sent a pulse to her core.

“You know what happened with your career isn’t your fault, right?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It is very explicitly my fault,” she said. “I was in a successful band, which I blew up. And then I had the hubris to think anyone wanted a solo album out of me.So Much Wasted Promise.That should’ve been the name of it. The songs got warped so much in the studio that they barely felt like mine by the time they were done, and then I had to tour with them. I would read all these terrible reviews and comments on the internet, and then I’d put on my costume and my makeup and go out on the stage and try to pretend I didn’t agree with half the shit those people wrote.”

“But that’s the machine, though,” John said. “The songs gotwarped because record labels don’t give a fuck about what you’re trying tosay, they care about making money. If they think a dance beat will get you more radio play, then they’ll slap a dance beat on it and who cares if it fits the song or not. If their algorithms push songs withheartin the title, bam, suddenly every single song isheart heart heart.”

“I know,” she said. “But good songs come out every day—music that people can be proud of, thatstillmanage to sell records. So it is possible—I just couldn’t do it.”

“But they didn’t even give you achance,” John said. “Stars are not made based solely on talent and hard work, I promise you that. If that were the case, I could name about a million people who should have the career that Adam Levine has had. Record labels decide who they want to try to break out, and then theypushto break them out. Those people work hard and have talent, too; I’m not trying to take away from that. But they also get that push, and you never got that. The label got you a producer who wrote a few cookie-cutter hooks, rushed the album out, scheduled a limited tour, landed you a single magazine placement and one late-night show performance, all so they could say they’d done it. And then they washed their hands of you. None of that wasyourfault.”

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