Page 18 of Catastrophically Yours
"You're as bad as she is about schedules," Drew muttered, watching Pickle investigate the same fire hydrant he'd examinedyesterday and the day before that. "Creatures of habit, both of you."
Back upstairs, Piper was already dressed in her running gear, but she lingered by the kitchen counter longer than usual, staring at her phone with an expression Drew couldn't quite read.
"Have a good run," Drew called softly, but Piper was already deep in whatever digital rabbit hole had captured her attention.
Hours later, when Drew returned from a fruitless job search expedition, she found evidence of Piper's day scattered across the dining table—documents, printouts, and her laptop displaying a complex spreadsheet that hurt Drew's head just looking at it. Piper herself was nowhere to be seen, but voices drifted from her bedroom, muffled by the closed door.
Drew busied herself in the kitchen, giving Piper privacy while preparing what had become her signature offering when words felt inadequate—coffee and toast with the good jam Piper pretended not to have favorites about but always reached for first.
"No, Mom, listen to me," Piper's voice carried through the door, strained with barely contained frustration. "The insurance company can't just decide an emergency room visit wasn't necessary after the fact. We're going to appeal this."
Drew's hand stilled on the coffee pot. Medical bills. Insurance disputes. The weight in Piper's voice suddenly made perfect sense.
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, Piper's tone cycling between professional reassurance and barely contained emotion. When her bedroom door finally opened, Drew was curled on the couch with her guitar, picking out a gentle melody that filled the apartment's silence without demanding attention.
Piper emerged looking wrung out, her usual composure frayed at the edges. She took in the coffee waiting on the kitchen counter, the way Drew's music provided background comfort without intrusion, and something in her expression softened.
"Thank you," she said simply, wrapping her hands around the warm mug like an anchor.
"Bad news?"
"The usual kind." Piper settled into the opposite corner of the couch, close enough that Drew could see the exhaustion she was trying to hide. "Dad had a fall last month—he's fine, mostly just bruised his pride along with his hip—but the ER visit generated some bills the insurance company is now questioning."
Drew's fingers found a different chord progression, something that matched the worried furrow between Piper's brows. "How much questioning are we talking about?"
"Eighty-four hundred dollars' worth." The number fell between them like a stone.
Drew's fingers stilled on the strings. She'd grown up with medical debt as a constant background hum, watching her grandmother ration pills and skip appointments because the choice between medication and groceries wasn't really a choice at all. Eighty-four hundred dollars might as well have been eight million to families already stretched thin.
"That's..." Drew searched for words that wouldn't sound patronizing or hollow. "That's a lot."
"My parents are proud people." Piper's voice carried the weight of generations. "Dad worked two jobs for thirty years to make sure Brian and I could go to college debt-free. Mom took night classes to become a medical technician while raising us. They've never asked for help, not once."
"But they're asking now?"
"No." A bitter laugh escaped Piper's throat. "They called toapologizefor the bills existing. Mom was crying because she thought the insurance mess might somehow be their fault."
Drew set her guitar aside and shifted closer, drawn by something raw in Piper's voice. "What are you going to do?"
"What I always do. Fix it." Piper's fingers traced the rim of her coffee mug with mechanical precision. "I've been running scenarios all afternoon. If I drain my emergency fund and set up payment plans for the rest, I can cover it. My parents never have to know the full extent."
The casual way Piper said it—drain my emergency fund—made Drew's chest ache. She recognized the calculation, the way Piper was already mentally rearranging her entire financial life to absorb this blow without letting it touch her family.
"You know," Drew said carefully, "there might be other options."
Piper's smile was tired but genuine. "You're sweet, but I've been doing this math for years. There aren't any magic solutions."
"I'm not talking magic. I'm talking creativity." Drew pulled her legs up under her, warming to the possibility taking shape in her mind. "When's the last time you let someone else be good at something you're not?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You're brilliant with numbers and planning and making sure everything adds up perfectly. But what if this problem needs a different kind of solution? What if it needs..." Drew gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. "What if it needs music?"
Piper's expression shifted from confusion to something approaching alarm. "Drew, I appreciate the thought, but a benefit concert isn't going to raise eight thousand dollars. This isn't a movie."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Piper stopped, clearly struggling with where to begin listing the impracticalities. "Because organizing something like that takes months. Because I don't have connections in the music world. Because even if we somehow pulled it together, there's no guarantee?—"
