Page 26 of Catastrophically Yours
"Right." Drew's own smile was equally strained. "Thanks for... understanding."
Understanding.As if this were simply a matter of rational analysis rather than watching someone she'd begun to care about prepare to walk out of her life with a week's notice.
"Of course," Piper said. "Sleep well."
Drew's bedroom door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded final.
Piper remained in the living room, surrounded by the domestic details of their shared life—Drew's guitar case propped in the corner, coffee mugs from their morning conversation still waiting to be washed, Pickle's toy mouse abandoned under the coffee table. The lease modification papers lay on the countertop where she'd left them, their careful legal language now reading like a cruel joke.
Tenant may maintain one domestic cat on the premises provided said cat is properly documented and all associated fees are current.
She'd been so excited to solve Drew's housing problem, to give her one less thing to worry about. Instead, she'd secured long-term housing for someone who was planning to leave anyway. The champagne bottle caught the light from the kitchen, its golden foil still pristine. She'd imagined opening ittogether, maybe sharing a toast to new beginnings and solved problems.
From Drew's bedroom came the soft, familiar sound of guitar strings being tuned. Then a melody began—something Piper didn't recognize, played so quietly she had to strain to hear it. The notes were sad and sweet and somehow final, like a lullaby someone might sing to comfort themselves through a difficult transition.
Or like a goodbye that couldn't be spoken aloud.
Piper pulled her knees to her chest and listened to Drew play herself toward leaving, each note another step away from whatever they'd been building together. The music was beautiful and heartbreaking and perfectly suited to the moment—everything ending before it had really begun, dissolved by opportunity and careful politeness and the unspoken understanding that some things were too fragile to survive the weight of real decisions.
The champagne remained unopened. The lease papers remained irrelevant. And somewhere in the bedroom, Drew continued playing songs that sounded like farewell.
But underneath her resignation, something harder was taking shape in Piper's chest. This wasn't just about Drew choosing her career—it was about Drew choosing the easy path over the complicated one. Running toward a known quantity instead of staying to see what they might build together.
Maybe some things were worth fighting for, even if it meant risking everything.
Especially then.
TWELVE
COMMUNITY EFFORTS
The morning light filtered through the blinds in patterns that reminded Drew of guitar fretwork, but even that felt empty when she rolled over to find Piper's side of the couch arrangement already cold. The apartment held the quiet stillness of someone who'd left hours ago—probably for her morning run through Riverside Park while Drew had been lost in restless sleep.
Chris's contract lay exactly where she'd left it on the coffee table, the pages slightly wrinkled now from Pickle's considerable bulk. The orange tabby had claimed the document as his personal throne, green eyes blinking slowly at her as if he knew exactly what those papers meant.
"Real helpful, Pick," she murmured, scratching behind his ears. He purred but didn't budge, forcing her to slide the contract out from under him like she was defusing a bomb.
The numbers still looked surreal in daylight. Fifty thousand dollars. Three albums. Nashville. A week to decide, which really meant a week to pack up her entire life and leave everything she'd built here. Leave Piper.
Drew folded the contract back into neat thirds and headed for the kitchen, desperate for coffee and something productive that wasn't her own impossible situation. The familiar ritual ofgrinding beans and measuring water gave her hands something to do while her mind circled around Janet's medical bills—a problem she could actually solve.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Janet's number, surprised when Piper's mother answered on the second ring.
"Drew? Is everything alright? It's barely eight in the morning."
"Everything's fine. I hope I didn't wake you." Drew cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear while pouring coffee. "I wanted to talk to you about organizing something to help with your medical expenses. A benefit concert."
Silence stretched across the line, then a soft intake of breath. "Oh, honey, that's incredibly sweet, but I couldn't ask you to?—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering." Drew wrapped her free hand around the warm mug. "I know people in the local music scene, and there are venues that would donate space for a good cause. We could make this work."
"Does Piper know you're calling?"
The question hit exactly the nerve Drew had been avoiding. "She knows I care about your family."
Which wasn't really an answer, but Janet seemed to accept it. They spent twenty minutes going over practical details—timing, potential venues, how to handle the funds. Drew took notes on the back of an envelope, grateful for logistics that required her full attention.
By the time she hung up, she had a plan and a reason to venture out into the world instead of sitting in Piper's apartment staring at contract pages. She grabbed her jacket and headed for Blue Moon Café, where Marcus would be doing morning prep and might have a few minutes to talk.
