Page 13 of Catastrophically Yours
He extended his hand toward Piper with genuine courtesy. "I'm Chris. Drew and I used to write songs together."
Piper shook his hand efficiently, but Drew noticed how her eyes tracked everything. "Piper. Nice to meet you."
"Chris is..." Drew fumbled with her guitar case. "We used to perform together."
"Among other things." Chris's smile carried history but lacked his old calculation. He settled into an empty chair, but this time he waited for Drew's nod before sitting. "How've you been, Drew? You look... settled."
The last word felt more like observation than test. Drew focused on securing Luna in her case.
"I'm doing well. What brings you to town?"
"Had some meetings with a music collective here." Chris's fingers drummed against the table—still the same restless energy, but softer somehow. "Heard you were playing and thought..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I owe you an apology, Drew. For how things ended between us. For making you feel like your music wasn't enough on its own."
The unexpected honesty caught Drew off guard. This wasn't the Chris who'd dismissed her songwriting or rearranged her melodies without asking.
"That's..." Drew searched for words. "Thank you. That means something."
"I've been in therapy," Chris continued, his voice quieter now. "Learning about partnership versus control. About how my need to lead everything probably killed the best creative relationship I ever had."
The vulnerability was disarming. Drew glanced at Piper, who was listening with the careful attention she gave to complex problems.
"Your music tonight," Chris said, "it has this confidence I always knew was there but couldn't figure out how to help you find. Turns out maybe you just needed space to discover it yourself."
A comfortable silence settled between them. The old resentment Drew had carried was dissolving, replaced by something like closure.
"There's actually something else," Chris continued, pulling out his phone with careful hesitation. "I've been working on something, but it needs..." He scrolled to a voice memo. "Would you mind listening? Just to see if it sparks anything?"
Despite herself, Drew found herself leaning in as he played a rough melody—beautiful and haunting, but incomplete in ways she could immediately identify. Her musician's brain began filling in harmonies, hearing where her voice would naturally fit.
"It's lovely," she said carefully. "Very you, but more... open somehow."
"I was hoping you might think so." Chris put the phone away. "I know I have no right to ask this, but if you ever wanted to try writing together again—as actual collaborators this time, not whatever dysfunctional thing we had before—I'd be interested."
He stood, gathering his jacket. "I'm not asking for an answer tonight. Just... think about it? I've learned some things about myself since we broke up. About how to be a better partner, musically and otherwise."
Chris paused at their table, looking between Drew and Piper with something that might have been respect. "And Piper? Take care of her. She's special, even if it took me too long to realize it."
The cool evening air felt like relief after the café's intensity. Drew walked slowly toward Piper's apartment, her mind churning. Chris's appearance had stirred up feelings she'd thought were settled—not romantic exactly, but the intoxicating memory of musical partnership, of finding someone whose creative instincts matched her own.
But as she climbed the stairs to the apartment she now thought of as home, Drew realized that what she'd had with Chris wasn't really partnership—it was dependence. She'd been the harmony to his melody, always supporting, never leading.
With Piper, even in their few musical moments together, she felt like an equal. A partner, not an accompanist.
"I'm sorry about that," Drew finally said as they turned onto Piper's street. "And sorry about the performance. I was nervous, and then he showed up and threw me off."
"You don't have to apologize." Piper's response came measured and thoughtful. "How long were you together?"
"Two years. We broke up about eight months ago." Drew kicked a stone down the sidewalk. "He's incredibly talented. Driven. He sees the big picture."
"But?"
The simple question hung in the air. Drew considered deflecting the way she usually did when people asked about Chris. But something about Piper's patient attention made her want to try for truth.
"But he always made me feel like I wasn't enough on my own. Like I needed him to reach my potential." Drew paused at Piper's front steps. "And maybe I believed that for a while."
Piper studied her face in the porch light. "What do you believe now?"
The question hit deeper than expected. What did she believe? That she was enough alone? That her small life had value? That the security she'd found in Piper's spare room might be worth more than whatever Chris was offering?
