Chapter 50
Fifty
Piper
I’m in my childhood bedroom again.
The steam from the shower has finally cleared from the mirrors. My hair is damp and falls down my back, and I’m sitting on the edge of my old bed. It has the same pink quilt and the same dent in the middle. I’m staring at the silly floral pillowcase I used to pretend was grown-up.
I exhale slowly. My shoulders drop under the weight of something familiar and unwanted. I’m back at the beginning. Square one. Ground level. I have no home, no job, and no plan.
My phone sits turned off on the nightstand.
I don’t reach for it or even want to look at the screen.
Being disconnected these past two weeks has been its own strange comfort.
There’s less noise and fewer expectations.
There’s less of the world shouting at me.
Or maybe I was just living in it for once.
Posters from my teenage years still hang above my desk.
A shelf is packed with dusty trophies from competitions.
My old violin case leans against the closet where I left it before heading to college.
It feels like walking into a time capsule of a girl who didn’t know how the next decade would shape her—or shrink her.
I pull in a deep breath just as the door cracks open. Madison steps in first. She’s holding two margaritas while wiggling her hips. Rowan follows behind her with her own glass. Her chin is high, and she’s already sipping.
“Margaritas make everything better,” Madison announces.
A startled laugh escapes me. “I mean, maybe not everything, but I’ll take it.”
She hands me mine and sits cross-legged on the bed. Rowan plops down beside her and leans back on her elbows. I take a sip. It’s strong. Thank God. I’m not sure margaritas can fix me, but they might take the edge off for tonight.
We settle into a loose circle on the bed with our knees touching. It feels like we did as kids when we’d gossip about boys and teachers. We used to argue about which Disney princess was objectively the best. Rowan insisted on Mulan every time, while Madison changed her answer weekly.
Rowan shifts to find a better position against the headboard and suddenly hisses. Her face contorts briefly as she clutches her side.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching out toward her.
She waves me off and forces her features to smooth out. “Yeah. Fine. I just slept wrong.”
She doesn’t look like she just slept wrong. She looks like she’s holding her breath, but I know better than to push Rowan when she’s decided she’s indestructible.
“So,” she deflects while swirling the liquid in her glass. “What now?”
I let out a long breath. “I have no idea, but I need a job.”
Madison and Rowan exchange one of those looks.
“What?” I demand.
Madison tries to hide her smile and fails. “Cathy called.”
I blink at her. Cathy Brennan is the musical director I’ve worked with for years. She schedules the concert seasons and knows exactly which soloists go with which conductors. She was the first person who called me after I started canceling my life. She left two voicemails I didn’t return.
My stomach flips. “Why did she call?”
“She saw the video,” Madison says. “Apparently, half the city saw the video.”
“Oh God.” I put my face in my hands.
“And,” Madison continues, dragging it out for the drama, “she said, and I quote, ‘Now that she’s gotten rid of that leech, tell her to call me back.’”
I snort and choke on my drink. “She did not say that.”
“Oh, she did,” Rowan says. “And she said it louder than she needed to.”
A weird mix of embarrassment and warmth settles under my skin.
Cathy? A show? Me?
Part of me feels a spark of hope I don’t trust yet.
Madison wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s directing some big thing in a couple of months. I think she wants you in it.”
I stare at my drink, unsure whether to smile or cry. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. How am I supposed to perform?”
“Because that’s who you are,” Rowan says simply. “You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”
Before I can respond, the door opens again. Beckett walks in carrying a bowl of popcorn, tortilla chips, and salsa. He also has a fresh round of margaritas. He sets everything on the nightstand and lifts a hand.
“Hi, Piper.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Hi, Beckett.”
“You doing okay?” he asks. His voice is soft in the way he saves for family.
“I will be.”
He nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. Then he leans down and kisses Madison. He has his hand on her cheek like he forgot we exist.
Rowan and I exchange a long look, then we both fake gag loudly. Madison bursts into laughter and shoves Beckett’s shoulder.
“Ignore them,” she says.
“I always do.” He ruffles Rowan’s hair on the way out. “Stay with your sisters tonight,” he tells Madison. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Love you,” she calls out.
He winks and disappears.
“He’s going to grab a beer with Hudson,” Madison says, watching the door with a soft expression.
Rowan scoffs and rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “The head doctor?”
“He’s a psychiatrist, Rowan,” Madison corrects her, her voice taking on that patient tone she uses when she’s defending people she likes. “What exactly is your problem with him? He helped Mom last year.”
“I don’t have a problem with him,” Rowan says, though her jaw is tight enough to snap. “I have a problem with head doctors in general. They’re all the same. Always looking for a crack to fix.”
Madison flops backward onto the bed, ignoring her. “Ugh, don’t ever settle. That’s my advice.”
Rowan snorts. “You’re literally engaged.”
“Exactly. I caught the good one. There’s only one.”
We settle again in a comfortable triangle. We pass chips and drink margaritas with our shoulders bumping together.
We talk about stupid things like Rowan’s disastrous attempt to dye her hair at home, and Madison almost falling over at a press conference last week. We laugh about Dad breaking the lawnmower and blaming faulty engineering.
We talk about deeper things, too. We talk about what healing might look like and what I want, even if I can’t name it yet. But mostly, we’re just sisters. We are three girls on a childhood bed, passing drinks and comfort back and forth.
Yeah, I think to myself. I’m going to be okay.