5. The bloom arrives
THE BLOOM ARRIVES
S pring stood at baggage claim inside of Hobby Airport.
Mindlessly watching the carousel spin past. She hadn’t packed much – in fact, she’d questioned if she needed to pack what she did considering she wasn’t planning on staying long, but through her grief and pain she’d packed more and more, as if the extra time taken would delay the inevitable.
Now she waited for the suitcase, something that would usually annoy her, but today it didn’t bother her in the least. It kept the rest of her day at bay.
It delayed tomorrow and every next decision.
She rubbed her temples to alleviate the stress headache that was building. She wanted to run. Anywhere was better than here, but this is where Cameron was.
She stood in silence, listening to a podcast as the suitcases circled around. Black. Blue. A pink duffel that looked like it had survived three lives. None of them hers yet.
She checked her phone for the fifth time, thumb hovering where there were no new messages.
The funeral wasn’t until the next day. That fact sat in her chest like unfinished business.
Her cousin was still unburied; still between worlds. Everything felt temporary, up in the air – her body, her plans. But none of it had to be real until her bag came off the conveyor belt.
She tried to distract herself with ideas for her next documentary, but before she could, her bag appeared. She sighed as she picked it up. There was nowhere to hide now.
She began walking towards the exit.
Now came the decisions, the headache.
She began to panic inwardly when her phone buzzed. A much needed reprieve.
Rae was on the other end. She picked up the FaceTime call. “Girl, you have incredible timing.”
“You know I got your back. I figured I’d give you twenty minutes to get your luggage and another five before you decided to finally leave the airport.”
“Don’t presume to know me, hoe.”
Rae chuckled. Spring could hear her popping the gum she was chewing in the background. Without breaking stride, she asked. “So, was I right? You land yet?”
Spring exhaled. “Yeah. I mean my body’s off the plane, but my head…”
“Still in Atlanta?”
“Still in my bed. Girl, I do not want to be here.”
“I know, but it’s where you need to be, and we both know it.”
“I know, Rae. Shit… they’re saying it was drugs. When did Cameron start using? Every time we talked, he was fine.”
“Like you always tell me, what’s the first rule of journalism?”
“You don’t know until you know… Fuck my life.”
“Now that you got that out your system, where you staying?” Rae asked as gently as possible. The question itself was loaded and they both knew it.
Spring looked toward the glass doors leading out of the terminal.
Houston waited on the other side – humid, familiar, too big to hide in and too small to disappear.
She wanted to avoid the question, but she knew Rae wasn’t going to let it go.
It was one of her most endearingly annoying traits. “Spring?”
“I don’t know yet.”
There was a pause, A beat that lingered between the two of them.
She and Rae both knew this conversation would be like walking through a land mine; she didn’t want to do it.
Nonetheless, it needed to be done. She sat in the comfortable silence of her words until Rae resumed the conversation. “A hotel?”
“Maybe.”
“Nah, not your style. Sooo, where else could you stay in a town you practically grew up in. Hmm, let’s think…”
There it was, the unavoidable moment she knew she’d have to face the second she booked the flight. Spring closed her eyes. “You know why that’s complicated.”
Rae didn’t push. She never did. She let silence work people over better than questions.
They walked through the terminal together on FaceTime, Rae’s ceiling fan spinning lazily in the background of her screen. She was the kind of friend that wasn’t going anywhere even when she was unwanted, because those kinds of friends are never truly unwanted when they’re needed.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Rae said. “But you also don’t need to punish yourself.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are,” Rae cut in gently. “You do this thing where you make grief harder than it has to be. Like if you suffer enough, it’ll mean something.”
Spring stopped walking, passersby grumbling as they walked around her. “It already means something, Rae,” she said quietly. “All of it – Houston, Cameron, all of it means something. There’s a reason I left this place.”
“I know.”
“He was supposed to be here,” Spring said.
“Cameron was like a big brother, you know? We always had each other’s backs.
He was supposed to walk me down the aisle, if I ever did that dumb shit again.
He was Batman. Batman doesn’t die, and he damn sure doesn’t overdose.
And now he’s gone. What in the hell was he thinking? ”
“Honey, he’s still gonna be there?—”
“I don’t want to hear that ‘he’s with you in spirit’ shit. I mean here. On Earth. I want to hear his voice. I want to see him dance and be the life of the party. I’m… I’m just tired Rae.” Her voice cracked. She hated that it surprised her.
Rae softened. “I know, Spring, and I know you feel like you have to process this all by yourself, but you don’t have to do it tonight, nor do you have to be alone.”
Spring sighed. “I don’t know if I can do small talk. Or… pretending.”
“You won’t have to,” Rae said. “You’ll just exist in the same space as someone who knows you. Let love fill the voids, however small. You know it will be there, and maybe that’s enough.”
Spring let that sit. They both knew who Rae meant.
“You don’t have to fix anything,” Rae added. “You don’t have to explain anything. You can just… be. Think about it, is all I’m sayin’.”
Spring glanced at the ride-share pickup area. Cars idled, drivers leaned out of windows, calling names. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go.
“Say his name for me,” Spring said suddenly.
“Cameron.”
“Say it again.”
“Your cousin, Cameron, aka Batman, called to tell you he loved you.”
Her chest tightened.
Rae continued. “The one who made everybody laugh too loud. The one who always said yes before thinking it through. The one who loved you like blood and choice at the same time.”
Spring nodded, eyes burning.
“You’re here because of him,” Rae said. “Not to run from or deal with anything else.”
A long pause. “Okay,” Spring said finally. “I’ll go.”
Rae smiled, relief soft but visible. “Good.”
“Well, I gotta rent a car.”
“Already rented for you. Just go to the Enterprise Rental counter and show them your ID,” Rae preened.
Spring smirked. “You know you could have done the hotel just as easy for me?”
“And why would I do that?”
“Okay, girl, I hear you loud and clear. Love you.”
“Love you, too, chica . Bye.”
Spring ended the call and walked to the register to get the car. When she got the keys to the black sedan, she opened the sunroof and exited the parking garage. Houston hit her immediately – heat, sound, movement. The city didn’t pause for grief. It just kept breathing.
The drive was quiet for a late fall evening. Too quiet. She passed neighborhoods that felt familiar without being hers. Gas stations glowed under fluorescent lights. Churches with banners announcing next Sunday’s announcements. None of it changed, yet all of it different.
This wasn’t home anymore, and maybe it never was. She kept thinking about how excited she’d been to move to Houston from Beaumont in the middle of her junior year. The only bright spot in a very dark time in her life, after her mother had passed away.
Her cousin’s face kept flashing in her mind – not the version from headlines or whispers, but the version that used to steal her fries and swear he didn’t touch them. The one who stayed up too late arguing about music like it mattered more than sleep.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, the sky had darkened completely. The house lights were on.
She sat in the car longer than necessary, hands resting in her lap.
This wasn’t about blame. This wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about standing in the same room as someone who shared the same loss, and letting that be enough for tonight.
She thought about Rae’s words. This was about Cameron. She pulled out her phone and texted her friend. Made it. Thank you for tonight. Luv u , before grabbing her bag and stepping out.
The door opened before she had a chance to knock.
They stood there for a second – too close, too familiar, not sure which version of themselves to be.
Father and daughter seemed more foreign than Spring Greene and Rashad Ellison III, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.
He looked well, and for that she was thankful.
Rashad was the kind of handsome that aged well. Not flashy, not soft – steady.
He was a tall, dark ginger-brown man whose salt and pepper hair was working way too well for him.
He was broad through the shoulders, with a solid build that came from long hours and old habits rather than the gym.
His face carried structure and restraint: a strong jaw, watchful eyes, and the kind of expression that suggested he’d learned early when to speak and when to stay quiet.
She examined her dad; he kept himself neat, never missed his weekly haircut, clothes pressed, shoes always clean.
Even when money was tight, her dad made sure he looked like a man who had it handled.
He’d grown up in a country town where reputation traveled faster than truth, and that had never left him.
Which is why he always made sure his clients called him Ralph instead of Rashad.
Not because it was a nickname—because it sounded more familiar in certain rooms. More approachable.
The kind of name people trusted without asking questions.
Appearances weren’t vanity to him – they were a calling card of success.
“You made it,” he said, his baritone voice slight above audible.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them mentioned why it was hard. They didn’t have to; this was one of the times to be quiet. He understood that well.
She walked in gingerly as he stood back to give her space to move around him.
Inside, the house smelled like food that had been sitting out too long, and something freshly cleaned. The television murmured low in the background, news he wasn’t listening to.
Spring examined his awards decorating the walls.
Law had been his escape route. It wasn’t just ambition; it was proof that he could outgrow where he came from.
But with that proof came pressure. He measured success externally – what people could see, what they could envy, what they couldn’t question.
Keeping up with the Joneses wasn’t about showing off; it was about never being looked down on again.
He was everything Spring tried not to be, despite her own success.
They didn’t hug right away. They didn’t talk about tomorrow. They just stood there, two people bound by an all-too-familiar grief, and history, and a love that didn’t need to be named out loud. Because Cameron was gone. And that was enough to fill the room.
“Let me get your bags,” he offered. It was a start.
Spring nodded and followed him down the hallway, the silence stretching in that familiar, uncomfortable way that only existed between people who loved each other but didn’t quite know how to bridge the space anymore.
Rashad walked a half- step ahead of her.
When he stopped, he gestured toward the door at the end of the hall. “I… uh. I kept it the same,” he said.
Spring hesitated before pushing the door open.
Her room greeted her like it had been holding its breath for her return.
The walls were still the soft neutral color he’d let her choose after a long argument about “resale value”.
The dresser sat exactly where it always had, the old mirror above it still slightly tilted to the left.
Her childhood desk – scratched, stubborn, sentimental – had been wiped down but not replaced.
Even the bedspread was the same one she’d left behind, folded neatly, smooth, like no one had slept there since.
It wasn’t frozen in time so much as preserved. He hadn’t redecorated, hadn’t turned it into an office or a guest room or a storage space like most parents did once their children left for good. He’d just… cleaned it, as if part of him believed she might come back any day.
Spring swallowed, something her father picked up on.
“I know it’s probably stupid,” Rashad said quickly from the doorway. “I mean, you’re grown. I know that. I just figured?—”
“No,” she said, softer than she meant to. “It’s… thank you.”
He nodded once, relief flickering across his face before he masked it. “I’ll let you settle in.”
When he walked away, the house seemed to exhale.
Spring moved slowly, her fingers brushing familiar surfaces.
The edge of the desk. The corner of the bookshelf.
She opened a drawer and found old notebooks stacked unevenly, the corners worn from being shoved into backpacks too many times.
A faint smile touched her lips before she caught herself.
She spotted her first creative director trophy from high school along with several others, including her SpringFest award; standing out at the end of the desk.
They were all polished and organized just the way she’d left them.
She smiled, remembering the good parts of her time here.
On the dresser sat a small stack of framed photos she didn’t remember leaving out. She picked them up one by one.
Her in a cap and gown, Rashad’s hand firm on her shoulder, pride stiffening his posture. Another from a school event she barely remembered – too many details blurred by time and distance.
Then she reached the last frame.
Four teenagers, close together. Her. Cameron. Preston and Brian.
They were mid-laugh, caught in that unguarded way people are when they don’t yet know what’s coming. Brian was posing on the ground while Cameron stood in the middle, smiling wide, alive in a way that made Spring’s eyes water. Preston leaned slightly toward her, eyes bright, familiar.
Spring stared at the picture longer than she meant to.
The room around her faded, leaving only the weight of memory settling in her hands. She lowered the photo carefully, wary to disturb it. Some moments weren’t meant to be questioned, only remembered.