Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
Natalie
Jonah’s apartment door swings open before I can knock twice.
“Natalie!” he says, already reaching for the Tupperware in my hands. “Tell me that’s something with sugar.”
“Ginger molasses cookies,” I say, stepping inside.
The place smells like the holidays. Gingerbread, cinnamon, something vaguely pine-adjacent. White lights loop around the windows, a small fake tree glows in the corner alongside a menorah, and his kitchen counter is covered in enough food to cater a mid-level awards show.
“So you went subtle this year,” I deadpan, hanging my bag on a hook by the door.
“Were you expecting something different?” he says, already peeling the lid off my cookies.
Wren and Eric are already here, half arguing, half laughing near the tiny dining table, plates in hand. Iris slips in right behind me, cheeks pink from the chill, holding a metal tin that smells like butter and chocolate. Brody arrives last, balancing a paper bag of even more goodies.
“Traffic was a nightmare,” he says. “If I didn’t love you people, I would’ve turned around and gone home to FlixPix and self-pity.”
“Aw,” Jonah says, clapping him on the shoulder. “He loves us.”
“I love the cheese board,” Brody corrects, heading straight for the food.
We load up plates and fall into our normal routine of catching up with each other.
“I have an interview to write on a show,” Wren says once we’re all settled in the living room, holiday music humming low in the background. “Network. Prime time.”
“That’s huge,” I say, genuinely thrilled for her. “What is it?”
She shakes her head. “Can’t say. They made me sign a stack of NDAs, but it’s an ensemble comedy, workplace, actually funny, so I’m cautiously excited.”
“You’ll crush it,” Jonah says. “You’re the queen of secondhand embarrassment humor.”
“Thank you?” she says, scrunching her nose.
“And you?” Jonah turns to me. “How’s Spellbound?”
I lean back against his couch, balancing my plate on my knees. “Good. Really good, actually. We just finished writing the second episode.”
There’s a little ripple of impressed sounds around the room, which I pretend not to soak in like sunshine. It still hits me in waves. I can’t believe I will have a show on TV. I can’t believe I’m writing in a real writers’ room.
We settle into the couch and floor in a loose circle, plates and drinks balanced on laps, the tree lights blinking gently in the corner. For a second, I let myself enjoy it. This little pocket of people who knew me when Spellbound was just an idea.
“I still can't believe it's happening,” I say, exhaling. I press my palm lightly against my stomach, grounding myself. “Seven years of trying, and now it's actually real.”
There’s a beat of silence.
And that’s when I realize everyone’s eyes have shifted.
Down.
To where my sweater has pulled a little tighter over my stomach because I’ve unconsciously pressed my hand there.
Wren blinks first. “Um. Nat?”
I look down.
The bump is not hiding. At all.
Fantastic.
“So,” I say, my voice weirdly calm. “I’m pregnant.”
The room detonates.
“What?” Wren shrieks, launching off the couch so fast her wine nearly sloshes out of the glass.
“You’re pregnant?” Brody yelps, eyes bugging.
“Holy shit,” Eric says, sitting up straight.
Iris comes in for a hug that threatens to cut off my circulation.
“How far along?” Jonah asks.
“Almost six months,” I say.
“Six months?” they all echo, eerily harmonic.
“Have you been hiding under baggy sweaters this whole time?” Wren demands. “Is that why you ‘suddenly discovered’ the joys of oversized blazers?”
“Yes,” I say.
Jonah recovers first. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
The question is gentle, not accusatory. That somehow makes it worse.
“Because I’m terrified,” I admit. “I haven’t told FlixPix yet.
I’m scared it’ll ruin everything. That they’ll find a way to push me out, even if they don’t say it’s because of this.
” I gesture toward my stomach. “I wanted to prove myself first. Show them I can handle the room, the workload, the insanity. I thought if I got a couple of months in, it would be harder to let me go.”
The room quiets.
“When are you going to tell them?” Jonah asks.
“After the new year,” I say. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hide it much longer, and by then they’ll have seen what I can do.”
Eric nods slowly. “I get that. Lead with the work, not the thing they’ll use to make you seem ‘difficult.’”
“I just didn’t want anything to make them question hiring me,” I say. “Or make them think I’m not all in because I have this other…massive life thing happening. I’ve waited my whole career for this shot. I can’t lose it.”
“You’re not going to lose it,” Wren says, coming around the coffee table.
She’s still wide-eyed, but the edge has softened to something almost fierce.
“And for the record, we are mildly offended that you didn’t tell us you were growing a person in there, but we will shove our hurt feelings down because we love you. ”
“Deeply hurt,” Brody says, hand over his heart. “But also sobbing with joy on the inside.”
Jonah looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how I’ve been standing upright with this much weight on my shoulders. “We won’t say anything,” he says. “Not to anyone. Room’s a vault.”
Everyone nods.
Iris gives me another squeeze. “Congratulations,” she whispers. “Really. This is huge. Both things. The show and the baby.”
“Thanks,” I say, hugging her back.
We ease back into conversation, but everything feels a little different now. Lighter. As the night winds down, people start gathering their things, slipping leftovers into foil, hugging goodbye near the door while Mariah Carey serenades us in the background.
By the time I get home, my feet ache, my back is threatening mutiny, and my brain is buzzing with story beats and production calendars.
I change into one of Jake’s T-shirts and a pair of soft shorts, plug my phone in on the nightstand, and collapse onto my bed.
The house is quiet, just the faint hum of traffic outside and the soft glow of the Christmas tree coming from the living room.
My phone buzzes.
Jake
Hope you had a good night with your writers’ group. Sleep well.
I stare at the screen. I miss him. I thought giving us a little space would reset how I’m feeling, but I don’t think it’s working.
In fact, I think I want him more than before.
And if I’m being honest, I can’t believe he’s still here.
Still checking in. Still being patient, even though I’ve given him every reason to back away.
Natalie
Thanks. It was good. They all know now.
Jake
How’d they take it?
I smile, remembering the chaos, the voices, the hug that almost suffocated me.
Natalie
Really well. Supportive.
Jake
Good. You deserve that.
My throat tightens. There’s so much more I want to type. I’m sorry I’ve been distant. I miss you. I’m scared this industry will punish me for wanting both a baby and a career, and I don’t know how to let you in without feeling like I’m handing you a grenade with the pin half-pulled.
Natalie
Thank you. I’m headed to bed, but I’ll see you this weekend?
The dots appear.
Jake
Definitely. Goodnight, Nat.
I heart the message, set the phone on the nightstand, and lie there in the dim light, one hand resting over the curve of my stomach. Telling my friends about the baby helped relieve some of my anxiety. It made this feel less like a secret I’m hiding and more like a life I’m building.
But the clock’s ticking now. On FlixPix. On the pregnancy. On whatever the hell I’m doing with Jake. I can feel everything shifting under my feet, all at once. And I know that at some point, very soon, not deciding is still going to be a decision.
I just really, really wish I weren’t so afraid of wanting the thing that might actually make me happy.