Page 14 of Catastrophically Yours

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 of grinding 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.

The café smelled like espresso and possibility when she pushed through the front door. Marcus looked up from behind the counter where he was counting register receipts, his gray beard neatly trimmed and flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Drew! You're here early. Usual?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about using the space for a benefit concert." She approached the counter but didn't sit, energy humming through her like pre-show nerves. "My roommate's mom is dealing with some serious medical bills, and I thought we could organize something to help."

Marcus set down his stack of receipts and gave her his full attention. She'd always appreciated that about him—the way he listened like whatever you were saying mattered. "Tell me more."

Drew outlined her conversation with Janet, watching Marcus nod thoughtfully as she described what she was envisioning. An evening concert with multiple local artists, maybe some food vendors, a small cover charge with all proceeds going directly to the medical expenses.

"I like it," Marcus said when she finished. "Community taking care of community. That's what this place is supposed to be about. When were you thinking?"

"As soon as possible. This weekend if we can make it work."

"That's ambitious." Marcus rubbed his beard, eyes already calculating logistics. "But doable. You'll need to coordinate with performers, get the word out, handle sound equipment..."

"I'll make it happen." The words came out with more confidence than she felt, but commitment was the first step toward making anything real. "Can I camp out here today and make some calls?"

"Course. Want that usual now?"

Drew spent the rest of the morning moving between coffee shops and practice spaces around downtown, building a list of musicians willing to donate their time.

Word traveled fast in their small scene, and by noon she had tentative commitments from six different acts, ranging from folk duos to a locally famous blues guitarist who'd heard about Janet through the medical community grapevine.

Her phone buzzed constantly with texts about equipment needs, time slots, and promotional ideas.

In between calls, she checked for messages from Piper and felt a hollow disappointment when none appeared.

They'd exchanged exactly three texts since morning—all about practical matters like groceries and what time Drew would be home.

The careful distance felt like wearing clothes that didn't fit.

When Piper walked into Blue Moon Café at three-thirty, she was still in her work clothes—tailored blazer, crisp white shirt, hair perfectly arranged despite whatever her day had thrown at her.

She looked around until she spotted Drew in the corner booth, papers scattered across the table like battle plans.

"How's it going?" Piper slid into the seat across from her, maintaining the polite tone they'd adopted since last night. Professional. Careful.

"Good progress." Drew turned her notebook so Piper could see the growing list of performers and sponsors. "Marcus is donating the venue space, we have six acts confirmed, and I think I can get Valley Sound to loan us a better PA system."

Piper studied the notes with the same focused attention she probably gave client files, green eyes tracking across Drew's handwriting. "This is impressive work for one day. What can I do to help?"

The question was practical, generous, completely devoid of the warmth that usually colored Piper's voice when they worked together on projects around the apartment. Drew missed that warmth with an intensity that surprised her.

"Phone calls, mostly. I have a list of local businesses that might sponsor or donate auction items." Drew slid a second notebook across the table. "I know you're good with that kind of thing."

"Professional communication. Yes." Piper pulled out her own pen, something expensive-looking that probably cost more than Drew spent on coffee in a month. "Should we divide the list?"

They worked side by side for the next hour, phones pressed to ears as they pitched the benefit to restaurant owners and shop managers around town.

Drew listened to the rhythm of Piper's voice between her own conversations—the way she laid out facts clearly and persuasively, never pushing but making it easy for people to say yes.

Sarah the barista brought them coffee without being asked, setting the mugs down with a knowing smile.

"You two are like a well-oiled machine," she commented, glancing between them. "Been planning this benefit long?"

Drew felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Just since this morning, actually."

"Impressive. You work really well together." Sarah's tone held the particular warmth reserved for couples she approved of, and the assumption hung in the air like background music neither of them could acknowledge.

Piper's laugh came out slightly too bright. "We're both goal-oriented people."

Drew managed her own nervous chuckle and immediately buried herself back in her phone list, but she could feel Piper watching her across the table.

When she glanced up, their eyes met for just a moment before Piper looked away, fingers tapping against her pen in the precise rhythm that meant her mind was sorting through complex calculations.

The afternoon dragged on with their careful dance—working together while keeping everything else locked away. Drew called musicians while Piper handled business owners. They compared notes and made decisions together, but everything felt provisional, like they were both holding something back.

The dynamic shifted when Brian pushed through the café door at five-fifteen, backpack slung over his shoulder and face lighting up when he spotted them.

Drew felt her first genuine smile of the day as Piper's younger brother made his way over, energy radiating from him like he'd stored up enthusiasm during the three-hour drive from college.

"Drew! I didn't expect to find you here." Brian dropped into the chair next to her, immediately leaning forward with interest. "What's all this?"

"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 belonging to 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?