Page 28 of Catastrophically Yours
"Concert planning," Drew said, grateful for his uncomplicated warmth. "We're organizing a benefit for your mom's medical bills."
Brian's expression shifted to something more serious, but still hopeful. "Really? That's amazing. Can I help with anything?"
"Actually..." Drew glanced at the guitar case she'd brought along for her earlier meetings. "Want to hear what I'm planning to play? I could use a second opinion on the set list."
"Absolutely."
Drew pulled out Luna, the familiar weight of the guitar settling against her body like coming home. She'd been so focused on logistics all day that she'd almost forgotten the music itself—the reason any of this mattered. Her fingers found the opening chords to "Riverside Morning," a song she'd written about watching Piper leave for her runs.
Brian listened with the focused attention of someone who understood music theory, nodding along with the chord progressions and asking thoughtful questions about her fingerpicking technique. His enthusiasm was infectious, reminding Drew why she'd fallen in love with performing in the first place.
"That's beautiful," he said when she finished the song. "The melody has this hopeful quality, but there's something wistful in the minor transitions. It's like... like watching someone you care about from a distance."
Drew's fingers stilled on the fretboard. Brian's observation was more perceptive than she'd expected, cutting straight to the heart of what she'd been feeling but couldn't say directly. Across the table, Piper had stopped pretending to organize papers and was watching them with an expression Drew couldn't quite read.
"Try this one," Drew said, launching into an older song about resilience and community support. Safer territory.
Brian asked about chord progressions and songwriting process, his college music theory knowledge creating the kind of animated discussion Drew rarely got to have. Most people listened to her music without understanding the technical choices that shaped how a song felt, but Brian heard the architecture beneath the melody.
"Have you thought about pursuing music professionally?" Brian asked during a pause between songs. "I mean, really pursuing it? You're incredibly talented."
Drew's fingers found a random chord pattern, buying time while her mind raced. "I'm considering some opportunities."
The words felt heavy as they left her mouth, and she looked directly at Piper, who immediately busied herself with her phone screen. The careful distance between them stretched taut with unspoken implications.
"That's so cool," Brian continued, oblivious to the undercurrent. "The music industry is tough, but if you can make it work..." He trailed off, then brightened. "Hey, you should join us for dinner tonight. Mom would love to hear about the benefit concert, and she makes incredible lasagna."
Drew felt the invitation pull at something deep in her chest—the promise of family dinner and easy conversation, of belongingto something larger than her own uncertainty. But accepting felt like crossing a line she wasn't sure she had the right to cross, especially with everything hanging unresolved between her and Piper.
"That's really sweet, but I should stay here and finish coordinating everything." Drew gestured toward the scattered papers. "Rain check?"
Brian looked genuinely disappointed. "Are you sure? There's always room for one more, and?—"
"She said no, Brian." Piper's voice cut through his persistence with gentle firmness. "We should let her work."
The words stung more than they should have, carrying an edge of dismissal that made Drew feel suddenly like an outsider. Piper stood and began gathering her papers with efficient movements, the careful organization she used when she needed control over something.
"I'll see you at home later," Piper said to Drew, the word 'home' sounding strange and formal in her mouth. "Come on, Brian. Mom's expecting us."
Drew watched them leave together, Piper's hand briefly touching her brother's shoulder as they walked toward the door. The gesture was affectionate, protective, and it highlighted the careful distance Piper maintained with everyone else. With her.
The café felt too quiet after they left, even with the usual evening crowd settling in for coffee and conversation. Drew packed up her guitar and papers slowly, trying to shake the feeling that she'd somehow failed a test she didn't know she was taking.
Outside, the early October air carried the first real bite of autumn, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on against the gathering dusk. Drew walked home through the tree-lined streets, thinking about Brian's question and the weight of opportunities that demanded choices.
By the time she reached Piper's apartment, the benefit concert had a dozen confirmed performers, fifteen business sponsors, and enough donated auction items to make a real difference for Janet's medical expenses. She'd accomplished everything she'd set out to do and more.
So why did success feel so much like loss?
THIRTEEN
SILENT SONGS AND SLEEPING TRUTHS
The Novak family dining room felt smaller than usual, the mahogany table that had hosted countless Sunday dinners now seeming to stretch endlessly between occupied chairs. Piper stabbed at her mashed potatoes with more force than necessary, watching the butter pool in the crater she'd created while her mother's eyes drifted—again—to the empty chair beside her.
"Are you sure she couldn't make it?" Janet's voice carried that particular tone mothers perfected, the one that meant she already knew the answer but kept hoping it might change. "I made that honey-glazed salmon she mentioned liking."
"She had other commitments." Piper's fork scraped against her plate, the sound harsh enough to make her father wince. The lie tasted bitter, coating her tongue with the metallic flavor of pride mixed with regret.
