Page 16 of Catastrophically Yours

FOURTEEN

THE SOUND OF CHOOSING

The Blue Moon felt hollow at three in the afternoon—like a theater waiting for its audience. Drew adjusted the microphone stand for the third time while Marcus hauled tables from the back room, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Fidgeting with that thing won't improve your voice," he called out, wrestling a table into position.

"Just want everything right." Drew's laugh came out thin. Luna leaned against the brick wall, afternoon light catching the worn spots on her grandmother's guitar. Tonight felt like it might demand that same kind of steadiness her grandmother had always carried.

Marcus stopped, giving her the look he reserved for nervous first-timers. "It's not about right, kid. It's about honest."

The door chimed and Piper walked in with her family—Janet moving carefully but determined, Robert offering his arm, and Brian practically vibrating with excitement. Piper had dressed for business in her navy blazer and perfect hair, but Drew caught the tightness in her shoulders.

"Donation table goes there," Piper told Brian, pointing near the entrance. "Better visibility, easier access for?—"

"Piper." Janet's voice carried gentle amusement. "Breathe."

Drew wanted to walk over, catch Piper's eye, share one of those moments that had been building between them.

But Sarah arrived with her violin case, followed by two other musicians, and suddenly Drew was pulled into conversations about set lists and sound checks while Piper remained across the room, organizing with mathematical precision.

The café filled gradually. Some faces Drew recognized from open mic nights, others were clearly here for the benefit—drawn by social media or word of mouth. Conversation mixed with Marcus's jazz soundtrack, creating the atmosphere that usually made Drew feel at home.

Usually.

"Drew, honey?" Janet appeared beside her, moving with careful grace. "I wanted to thank you before things get crazy. What you've organized—it means more than I can say."

"Wasn't just me." Drew glanced toward Piper, who was checking items off a printed list with military efficiency. "Your daughter deserves the credit."

Janet followed her gaze, something knowing flickering across her face. "Piper's good at taking care of everyone else. Always has been. Sometimes she forgets she deserves care too."

The words lodged in Drew's chest. She was still processing them when she caught a familiar silhouette near the entrance.

Chris stood by the door, scanning the room with the calculated assessment she remembered from venue scouting days.

He looked polished but not overdressed—dark jeans and a fitted henley that suggested he'd put thought into blending with the Blue Moon's casual atmosphere.

When his eyes found hers across the room, he offered a small wave rather than his usual commanding smile.

Drew's stomach tightened. She'd been half-expecting him to show up, but seeing him here felt like two worlds colliding in a space that had become sacred to her.

"Excuse me," she murmured to Janet, making her way through the growing crowd.

Chris met her halfway, his approach careful rather than confident. "Hey. Hope it's okay that I came. I know you said you needed time to think, but..." He gestured around the café. "Figured this might help me understand what you're choosing between."

"It's a benefit concert, Chris. Not an audition for my life choices." Drew kept her voice low, aware of the conversations flowing around them.

"I know." His tone was gentler than she'd expected. "That's kind of the point. I wanted to see you in your element, doing something that matters to you." He paused, studying her face. "You look nervous."

Despite herself, Drew felt some of her defensiveness ease. This was the Chris she'd fallen for originally—observant, present, genuinely interested in understanding her perspective rather than reshaping it.

"Always am before performing. Especially when it's for something important."

"The medical bills thing." Chris nodded toward the donation table where Brian was arranging informational materials. "That's Piper's family?"

"Her mom." Drew watched his expression carefully, but saw only curiosity rather than judgment. "Janet's a retired teacher. Thirty years of service, and one ER visit nearly bankrupts them."

"Sounds familiar." Something flickered across Chris's face—recognition, maybe, or old pain. "My dad went through something similar after his stroke. Insurance fought everything."

The admission surprised her. Chris rarely talked about his family, especially the parts that didn't fit his carefully curated narrative of upward mobility and artistic ambition.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged, but the gesture lacked his usual dismissiveness. "Not exactly the story you tell at industry mixers, you know? But watching you organize all this..." He gestured around the busy café. "It makes sense. You always did see people first, music second."

Before Drew could respond, Marcus was tapping the microphone and the crowd began settling into their seats. Chris touched her arm lightly.

"Break a leg up there. I'll just... watch from the back, okay? This is your show."

Drew took her position on the small stage, Luna warm and familiar in her hands.

The crowd was larger than expected—maybe forty people packed into the intimate space.

Janet sat in the front row between Robert and Piper, face bright with gratitude.

Chris had found a spot near the bar, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed but his attention fully focused on her.

"Good evening, everyone." Drew's voice came out steadier than she felt.

"Thank you for being here. We're raising money for medical expenses, which shouldn't be necessary but unfortunately is.

Janet Novak is a retired teacher who spent thirty years shaping young minds, and she deserves better than choosing between health and financial security. "

Applause rippled through the room. Drew caught Piper's eye and saw something vulnerable there, a crack in the careful composure she wore like armor.

"Music has always been about community for me," Drew continued. "About people taking care of each other. So let's do that tonight."

She launched into her opening song, a gentle ballad that always warmed up both voice and crowd. The familiar routine began to settle her nerves—the interplay between melody and lyrics, the way strangers became temporary family through shared rhythm.

Three songs in, as Drew paused to retune, she noticed Chris had moved closer, though he remained respectfully at the edge of the seating area. When she looked in his direction, he offered an encouraging nod but didn't try to catch her attention or draw focus to himself.

Drew found herself relaxing further, letting the music carry her instead of worrying about external pressures or competing loyalties. This was why she performed—for moments like these, when a room full of people became something larger than the sum of its parts.

Halfway through her set, she caught sight of Piper watching from her seat, and suddenly the song she'd been planning to play next felt wrong.

Instead, her fingers found the progression that had been floating in her head for weeks—the melody born from quiet mornings and shared coffee and the gradual realization that home wasn't a place but a person.

"This next song," Drew said into the microphone, "is about finding something you didn't know you were looking for."

Her eyes found Piper's and stayed there as she began to play:

"I've been chasing spotlights, running toward the noise

Thinking love was something I could buy with my voice

But the strongest songs are sung without a stage

Written in the margins of an ordinary page..."

The rest of the room faded until there was only music and truth and the courage to finally say what mattered:

"So I choose the morning coffee and the quiet kind of real

I choose the hand that steadies me when nothing else feels

Like home, like hope, like everything I never knew I'd find

In the space between your heartbeat and mine..."

The last chord hung in the air. Drew looked out at the audience—at Janet wiping away tears, at Brian grinning with obvious pride, at Piper whose careful composure had cracked to reveal something raw and hopeful underneath.

And at Chris, standing near the back with an expression she couldn't quite read. Not anger or disappointment, but something that looked almost like understanding.

Applause filled the café, warm and genuine. Drew set Luna aside and stepped down from the small stage as other musicians took their turns. The benefit continued around her, but she felt suspended in the moment of choice she'd just made public.

Chris approached during the break between sets, moving through the crowd with careful respect for the ongoing event.

"That was beautiful," he said when he reached her, and his voice carried none of its usual calculation. "The song, I mean. Really beautiful."

"Thank you."

"I think..." Chris paused, running a hand through his hair in a gesture she recognized from their most honest moments together.

"I think I get it now. What you're choosing.

It's not about the music versus stability or any of that.

It's about writing your own story instead of fitting into someone else's. "

Drew felt something ease in her chest. "Yeah. That's exactly it."

"The label offer—it's still on the table if you change your mind.

But I'm not going to push anymore." Chris glanced around the café, taking in the community that had gathered to support a stranger's medical bills.

"This is good, Drew. What you've built here.

Don't let anyone convince you it's not enough. "

He started to leave, then turned back. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Even if it means I don't get to work with you again."

After he left, Drew stood in the warm chaos of the benefit concert, surrounded by musicians and neighbors and the family that had somehow become hers.

Piper caught her eye from across the room and smiled—not the careful, controlled expression she usually wore, but something open and wondering and full of possibility.

The evening continued around them, music and laughter and the satisfying weight of money being raised for people who needed it. But Drew felt settled in a way she hadn't in years, anchored by the knowledge that she'd chosen authentically rather than safely.

Some choices were worth the risk of everything. Especially when everything turned out to be exactly what you'd been looking for all along.