Page 17 of Catastrophically Yours

FIFTEEN

PERFECT HARMONY

Sunlight filtered through curtains that represented three months of compromise—Drew's flowing emerald fabric panels softened the edges of Piper's precise white blinds, creating patterns that shifted and danced across the hardwood floor.

The apartment told the story of their three months together in countless small details: Piper's alarm clock sat beside Drew's scattered guitar picks on the nightstand, while a framed photo of them at last month's farmers market leaned against a small wooden jewelry box Drew had brought from home.

Piper stirred first, as always, her internal clock more reliable than any device.

Drew's arm draped across her waist, warm and secure in sleep.

Three months ago, Piper would never have imagined waking up grateful for another person's unconscious claim on her space.

Now she found herself reluctant to slip away from Drew's embrace, even for her morning routine.

The coffee maker burbled to life in the kitchen as Drew hummed something new—lyrics still forming, melody finding its shape in the quiet morning air.

Piper emerged from the bedroom to find Drew swaying slightly as she measured coffee grounds, wearing one of Piper's button-down shirts over sleep shorts, the pale blue fabric bringing out the warm undertones in her skin.

"New song?" Piper asked, settling at the kitchen table where their shared calendar spread across the surface in organized sections.

"Mmm, maybe." Drew glanced over with a smile that still made Piper's chest tighten in the best way. "Or maybe I'm just happy."

The calendar presented a rainbow of careful planning: blue dots for Drew's gigs, green blocks for Piper's client meetings, and purple highlighted squares for their joint activities.

What had started as Piper's desperate attempt to create structure around Drew's chaotic schedule had evolved into something neither had expected—a visual representation of their life building together, complete with inside jokes written in margins and Drew's occasional musical note doodles.

"Mrs. Patterson confirmed the album recording budget," Piper said, uncapping her favorite pen. "We can book the studio for four days next month if we want the package deal."

Drew set a perfect cup of coffee beside Piper's elbow—two sugars, splash of cream, the way she'd learned Piper preferred without being asked. "Four days. In a real studio." Wonder colored her voice. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're actually doing this."

"We're doing this." Piper looked up from the calendar to meet Drew's eyes. "The numbers work, the songs are solid, and you've got an audience waiting to hear them."

Pickle wound between their legs, purring his approval of the morning routine.

He'd grown even larger over the past three months, his orange and white bulk now a solid fifteen pounds of contentment who showed no favorites—just pure satisfaction at having arranged his humans' lives to his exact specifications.

Drew's plants had found homes alongside Piper's filing system, bringing life to corners that had previously held only functional furniture.

Her guitar propped against the bookshelf of financial texts like an old friend joining a conversation.

The refrigerator displayed both family photos—Drew's large, boisterous Italian gatherings mixed with Piper's smaller portraits of Janet and Brian—creating a gallery of the people who mattered most.

"Blue Moon tonight?" Drew asked, settling into her chair with her own coffee.

"Wouldn't miss it." Piper made a note on the calendar. "Though I still think you should try the new harmony on the bridge."

"Trust issues," Drew teased. "You've heard me practice it exactly twice."

"I have perfect pitch, remember? You're sharpening the third when you're nervous."

"I don't get nervous performing with you anymore."

The simple statement landed between them with unexpected weight. Drew's fingers stilled on her coffee mug, as if she'd surprised herself with the admission. Piper felt warmth spread through her chest—not the anxious flutter of new attraction, but the steady glow of recognized truth.

"Good," Piper said quietly. "Because you're brilliant, and I like being there when people realize it."

The Blue Moon Café buzzed with early evening energy, the exposed brick walls warm with Edison bulb lighting and the comfortable chatter of familiar faces.

Drew tuned her guitar while Piper adjusted the piano bench, their pre-performance routine as natural now as breathing.

They'd developed an easy musical conversation over the past months—Drew's emotional intuition guiding Piper's precise technical skills, creating something neither could achieve alone.

"Ready?" Drew asked, fingers finding the opening chord.

Piper's hands settled on the keys, and they began.

The song was one they'd arranged together, Drew's melody enhanced by Piper's careful harmonies and subtle piano accompaniment.

But tonight felt different—Drew's voice carried new confidence, while Piper's playing showed a creative freedom she'd never allowed herself before.

When Drew nodded toward the bridge, Piper followed her lead into an improvised section that made the small audience lean forward with interest.

Sadie caught them afterwards, grinning with satisfaction. "You two are getting scary good at that mind-reading thing."

"Practice," Piper said, but Drew laughed.

"She means we spend way too much time together."

"Not possible," Piper replied without thinking, then blushed when Drew's smile went soft around the edges.

They packed equipment with practiced efficiency—Drew coiling cables while Piper folded music stands, their movements choreographed by repetition and consideration for each other's preferences.

When Drew kissed her temple while reaching for the guitar case, Piper straightened Drew's strap in return, small gestures that spoke of established partnership rather than new romance.

The kitchen table had become their unofficial business headquarters, Piper's budget spreadsheets competing for space with Drew's album artwork sketches.

Over dinner leftovers, they slipped into their usual debate about song order, Piper's practical suggestions balancing Drew's creative vision in ways that strengthened both approaches.

"If we open with 'Riverside Mornings,' we need something more upbeat for track two," Drew said, pencil moving across paper as she reorganized the list. "But 'Coffee Shop Serenade' might be too similar in tempo."

"What about 'Pickle's Song'?" Piper suggested, pointing to a notation in the margin. "It's got the humor to offset the emotional opening, but it still flows thematically."

"See, this is why I need you." Drew looked up from her sketches. "You think about the listener's experience, not just individual songs."

"We think about different things. That's why it works."

The doorbell interrupted their planning. Brian bounded in with his usual energy, immediately gravitating toward the refrigerator while greeting Pickle like an old friend.

"Please tell me you have actual food and not just Piper's sad desk lunches," he said, poking through containers.

"Hey," Piper protested. "Those are balanced meals."

"Your sister makes excellent balanced meals," Drew said diplomatically. "I've been teaching her about seasoning."

"Finally!" Brian emerged with leftover pasta. "Someone needs to save her from bland chicken and steamed vegetables."

Over dessert, they slipped into their usual easy banter, Brian teasing Piper about her new label-making addiction while Drew defended her "organized chaos" approach to songwriting.

The sibling dynamic had expanded naturally to include Drew, creating a family feeling that Piper had never experienced but found herself craving.

When Janet called during coffee, Piper automatically put the phone on speaker so Drew could join the conversation.

"How's the album coming along, girls?" Janet's voice carried genuine interest and pride.

"Drew's being a perfectionist," Piper said.

"Piper's being too logical," Drew countered.

"Sounds like you're both doing exactly what you should," Janet laughed. "When do we get to hear the finished product?"

"Spring," they said in unison, then exchanged glances that made Brian roll his eyes dramatically.

"You're both disgusting," he informed them. "But Mom, you should see their setup here. It's like a real recording studio, except with more cat hair."

Saturday morning brought their appointment at Riverside Studios, a small but professional facility that Piper had researched extensively and fit perfectly within their carefully planned budget.

Drew tested the acoustics while Piper negotiated rates with the engineer, their complementary skills evident in how smoothly the business side progressed.

"The isolation booth has great natural reverb," Drew called out, strumming a few chords.

"And the hourly rate includes basic mixing," Piper noted, reviewing the contract terms. "Plus they'll give us the raw files for our own archive."

The engineer, a woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and knowing eyes, watched their interaction with amusement. "You two work well together. Not all artistic partnerships translate to the practical side."

"Piper keeps me grounded," Drew said, emerging from the booth with guitar in hand.

"Drew keeps me dreaming," Piper said, then felt her cheeks warm at admitting something so revealing.

"Four days in February," the engineer confirmed, shaking hands with both of them. "I think we're going to create something special."