Page 24 of Catastrophically Yours
ELEVEN
THE WEIGHT OF DREAMS
The champagne bottle felt heavier with each step up the stairs, though Piper knew the weight came from anticipation rather than the bottle itself. Thai Palace's familiar takeout bags rustled against her arm as she fumbled for her keys, mentally rehearsing the words she'd practiced during the entire walk home.We figured it out. We can make this work long-term. I want you to stay.
Her conversation with the property manager had gone better than expected—a lease modification to add Drew as an official tenant, pet deposit for Pickle, everything above board and permanent. Worth every penny to see Drew's face light up when she realized she didn't have to choose between the recording contract and having a home.
"Drew?" The key turned easily in the lock. "I have news about our?—"
The words died in her throat.
Drew sat motionless on the couch, shoulders rigid as a marble statue. Legal documents fanned across the coffee table in precise rows, their official letterheads catching the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. The apartment felt wrong—too quiet, too still. Pickle was nowhere to be seen.
The champagne bottle slipped slightly in Piper's suddenly sweaty grip.
"Drew?" Her voice came out smaller this time. "What's wrong?"
Drew's head turned with mechanical precision, revealing a face drained of color. Her hands rested flat against her thighs, fingers spread wide as if she were trying to keep herself grounded. When she spoke, her voice carried the careful neutrality of someone delivering tragic news.
"Chris stopped by."
Two words. Two simple words that somehow managed to tilt Piper's entire world sideways.
Piper's feet carried her forward without conscious thought, setting the champagne and food on the kitchen counter with deliberate care. Each movement felt underwater—slow, distant, unreal. She forced her breathing to remain steady as she returned to the living room, cataloging details with the same methodical precision she used for financial audits.
Legal contract. Multiple pages. Watermarked paper stock. Official signatures.
"What kind of contract?" The question emerged in her professional voice—calm, analytical, betraying none of the ice crystallizing in her chest.
Drew's fingers traced the edge of the top document without lifting it. "Three-album deal with Mercury Nashville. Fifty-thousand-dollar advance." Each word dropped like a stone into still water. "They want me in the studio next month."
Next month.Piper's mind immediately began calculating timelines, logistics, practicalities—anything to avoid processing the emotional implications. "That's... that's quite an opportunity." The words tasted like ash. "What are the terms? Length of commitment? Creative control?"
"Two years minimum in Nashville for recording and promotion. They retain rights to approve songs and collaborations." Drew recited the details in that same flat tone. "Standard industry contract for new artists."
Two years in Nashville.The champagne bottle seemed to mock her from the kitchen counter. All that careful negotiation with the property manager, all those promises about long-term tenancy and responsible pet ownership—suddenly as relevant as yesterday's weather forecast.
"And the advance? Is it recoupable against future earnings?" Piper heard herself asking, falling back on technical questions because they felt safer than examining why her chest felt like it was caving in.
"Yes. But it's enough to..." Drew's voice caught slightly before smoothing back into that careful monotone. "It's enough to solve everything. Housing, financial security, career stability. Everything I've been struggling with since college."
The silence stretched between them like a chasm. Piper found herself studying Drew's profile—the determined set of her jaw, the rigid line of her shoulders, the way her breathing had become shallow and controlled. Everything about her posture screamed of a decision already made but not yet voiced.
"What do you plan to do?" Piper's question emerged softer than intended, vulnerability leaking through despite her best efforts.
Drew finally looked at her directly. Those warm brown eyes that had become so familiar now seemed carefully shuttered. "I haven't decided yet."
But the careful control in Drew's voice told a different story. This wasn't uncertainty—this was the measured tone of someone trying to deliver bad news gently. Piper recognized it because she'd used it herself when explaining to clients that their financial situations were beyond saving.
"Of course." Piper managed what felt like an appropriate smile. "It's a big decision. You should take time to consider all the factors."
"The timeline is aggressive," Drew continued, her words sounding rehearsed. "Chris says the industry moves fast, and waiting too long could mean losing the opportunity. If I'm going to do this, I'd need to leave... soon."
Chris says.Of course he did. Piper's hands clenched briefly at her sides before she forced them to relax. "He's probably right about industry timing. These kinds of offers don't come around often."
"No," Drew agreed quietly. "They don't."
Piper retreated to the kitchen, ostensibly to deal with the quickly cooling Thai food. Her hands moved through the motions of unpacking containers while her mind raced ahead, calculating how quickly she could help Drew find a storage solution for her belongings, how to handle the lease situation, how to minimize the disruption to Drew's obvious departure plans.
