Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Natalie
The dressing room mirror is unforgiving.
I’m twenty-one weeks now, almost five and a half months, and apparently that’s the point at which your body decides subtlety is no longer an option. Last week at the anatomy scan, I could still button my regular jeans if I didn’t breathe too deeply. This week? Not a chance.
I’m staring down at my sixth pair of jeans, the button several inches away from success, and I give up. Fully surrender. White flag.
My belly has officially rounded out. There’s no hiding it anymore, no strategically oversized sweaters that can disguise the curve.
And the weird part? I’m ecstatic about it.
Seeing this physical proof that our daughter is growing, thriving, real.
But I’m also frustrated because nothing in my closet fits and I refuse to live in leggings for the next four months.
“These don’t fit either,” I call through the curtain.
Stella’s voice floats back. “None of them?”
“None of them.”
“What about the stretchy ones?”
“Those are maternity jeans, Stella. I’m not ready for maternity jeans.”
“Why not? You’re literally pregnant.”
I yank the curtain open dramatically, the too-small jeans unbuttoned and clinging to me out of pure spite. “Because maternity jeans feel like…admitting something.”
She’s leaned back against the wall scrolling her phone, but she lifts her eyes, one brow raised. “Admitting what? That you’re growing a whole human? Newsflash, babe, the evidence is literally right there.” She gestures at my stomach.
“Admitting my body is changing. That I’m not in control anymore.”
Stella softens immediately. The teasing vanishes, replaced by full best-friend gentleness. “Your body is doing the most important job of your life. It’s supposed to change.”
“I know that. In my brain. My brain is Zen about it.”
“And the rest of you?”
I sigh. “Freaking out.”
“Then let’s get jeans that actually fit instead of torturing yourself. Suffering isn’t a personal virtue.” She plucks a few pairs off the rack. “Here. These are cute and stretchy, but in a good way.’”
I take them and disappear again. The first pair slips on without a fight. They look good. Normal. Like maybe I haven’t turned into a bloated marshmallow.
“These work,” I call.
“Show me!”
I step out. She gives a satisfied nod. “Get them in black, dark wash, light wash, and whatever that fourth color is.”
We check out with jeans, sweaters, a dress Stella claims I “need,” and then rush to lunch.
The restaurant is all exposed brick, conversations at excessive volumes, and tables the size of small cutting boards. Blair waves us over from the back, Ruby on her knee, babbling away. Jess is showing Sophia something on her phone, causing both to laugh hysterically.
“Hiiii!” Blair calls in her mom-voice.
We’re swallowed into hugs. Blair careful, Jess enthusiastic, Sophia giving me double cheek-kisses like the glamorous celebrity she is.
“How was Thanksgiving?” Jess asks as we slide into the booth.
“Low-key,” Stella says. “Brandon cooked. I supervised.”
“Grant made an entire feast,” Sophia says. “For the three of us. Hazel inhaled mashed potatoes like it was a competitive sport.”
“How’s she doing?” I ask.
“Nine going on nineteen. She wants her ears pierced for Christmas.”
“And?”
“Grant said no. I said maybe. She’s learning negotiation.” Sophia grins.
Blair adjusts Ruby on her lap. “We missed you at your parent’s house, Soph. It was actually nice, except when your mother kept asking when we’re having another baby.”
“Yikes,” Jess says.
“Right? I told her to ask me again in two years.” Blair looks at me. “What about you, Nat? What did you do?”
“Dinner at my dad’s.”
Stella gives me a pointed look. “Not with Jake?”
Our server appears, as if she’s been summoned by the universe to save me from that question. But once she leaves, the table goes quiet again.
“So?” Jess asks, sipping her iced tea. “Why not Jake?”
I trace circles on my water glass. “I don’t know.”
Stella snorts. “Lies.”
“It’s not lies. It’s just…complicated.”
“Tell us why it’s complicated,” Blair says gently.
“Thanksgiving in Connecticut with his mom is a relationship thing. That’s meeting-the-family territory,” I say.
The truth is I’ve been thinking about him constantly since he left earlier this week.
Missing the way he shows up at my door with food I didn’t know I was craving.
Missing his hand on my stomach to see if the baby is kicking yet.
Missing the sound of his laugh and the way he looks at me like I’m something precious.
“You miss him,” Sophia observes, reading my face.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I do.”
I hesitate before saying more, knowing this will open a can of worms. “But writers’ room starts Monday. I need my head in the game. This show is everything I’ve worked for. I can’t get distracted.”
“Have you told them yet?” Blair asks gently. “About the pregnancy?”
My stomach tightens. “No.”
“Nat,” Jess says carefully. “You’re twenty-one weeks. You’re showing.”
“I know. I’ll tell them. Soon.” I shift in my seat. “I just want to prove myself first. Get a few weeks under my belt so they see what I can do before they start seeing me as a liability.”
“They’re not going to see you as a liability,” Sophia says.
“You don’t know that. The industry isn’t exactly famous for supporting pregnant women.” I take a breath. “I’ve worked too hard to get here. I just need a little more time to show them I deserve to be in that room.”
“Being with someone doesn’t automatically mean distraction,” Sophia says, changing the subject back to Jake.
“For some of us,” Jess adds, “it’s support.”
“I can’t ask Jake to play that role for me,” I argue. “It’s already throwing him into a parenting role he didn’t sign up for.”
“Actually,” Blair says, “I’m pretty sure he would love to play that role. Besides, Jake is one of the best people I know.”
“Grant says the same thing,” Sophia adds. “One of the few attorneys he actually likes working with.”
Jess leans in. “We’re not saying jump into a relationship. We’re saying stop pretending you don’t care about him.”
My stomach dips. “I don’t—”
Stella cuts me off. “Nat. You’ve been glowing for weeks, and it’s not the prenatal vitamins.”
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes.
Jake
Mom says hi. She’s already planning how to spoil our daughter.
A smile pulls at my mouth spontaneously.
Blair sees it. “Oh boy.”
“It’s just a text.”
Jess laughs. “Your face says it’s more than the text.”
I ignore them and look at my phone as another message comes in.
Jake
Missing you. Sorry if that’s weird.
My chest tightens, warm and a little achy.
Sophia leans over. “Show us.”
I comply—resistance is useless with this group.
Sophia whistles. “That’s not baby-related missing you. That’s missing you.”
I shouldn’t reply. I know I shouldn’t.
But I also know I’m lying to myself about what I feel.
Natalie
Not weird. I miss you too.
Stella claps like she’s at a sporting event. “She admitted it!”
“Would you stop?” I laugh, covering my face.
We shift to safer topics—Ruby’s sleep regression, Hazel’s classroom drama, Sophia’s potential movie deal—but eventually Blair glances at me with those soft, mom-level intuitive eyes.
“Can I ask something?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” she concedes. “What are you so afraid of?”
The question slices right through me. “I was left at the altar,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
The table goes silent.
I force myself to keep going, even though my throat feels like it’s closing. “We had the venue booked. The dress. Hundreds of guests. I spent the morning getting ready with my mom and my bridesmaids, and I was so happy. So stupidly, blindly happy.” I swallow hard, but it doesn’t help.
Jess makes a small, wounded sound.
“His best man told me five minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start. Said he couldn’t go through with it. That he was sorry.” My voice cracks. “Turns out he’d been cheating on me for months. With someone from his office. He married her six months later.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Blair whispers.
The memory crashes over me. Standing in that white dress, makeup perfect, hair perfect, feeling like my entire body was made of glass and someone had just taken a hammer to it.
The whispers I imagined from the guests, even though my mom rushed everyone out.
The flowers that suddenly felt like a funeral arrangement.
The terrible, suffocating humiliation of having to tell people, over and over, that there wouldn’t be a wedding.
I couldn’t eat for weeks. Couldn’t sleep. Kept replaying every moment of our relationship, searching for signs I’d missed. Wondering what was wrong with me that he could do that. What I lacked. Why I wasn’t enough to keep him.
“It took me a really long time to come back from that,” I say quietly, looking down at my hands.
“I questioned everything. Was it me? Was I not enough? Was I fundamentally unlovable?” I force myself to look up, meeting their eyes.
“And I promised myself I’d never be that vulnerable again.
Never let someone have that kind of power over me. ”
My voice drops to almost a whisper. “Because what if Jake realizes I’m too much work? Too complicated? What if he decides I’m not worth it and just…leaves? I don’t know if I could survive that again.”
Jess reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “That wasn’t your failure. That was his.”
“Maybe. But there were no signs. I trusted him completely. I just, I’m not interested in going through that kind of pain again.”
Sophia’s expression softens. “I think Jake is worth the risk.”
“How do you know?” My voice is smaller than I’d like.
“Because it’s obvious he’s all in.” Stella says. “I think he’s the kind of guy you take the risk on.”
“And,” Blair adds gently, “you’re falling for him. Whether you want to or not.”
I don’t answer because they’re right. I am falling for him.
Maybe I’ve been falling since July fourth.
Maybe since that first doctor’s appointment when he held my hand.
Maybe since he arranged groceries and prenatal vitamins without being asked.
The terrifying part is I’m not panicking the way I should be.
With my ex, there were no red flags because everything was performative. Like we were playing the roles we were supposed to play. He said the right things, did the right things, but there was always this distance. This sense that I had to earn his attention, his affection, his presence.
With Jake, it’s different. He shows up. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. He listens when I talk about Spellbound, asks thoughtful questions, celebrates my wins like they’re his wins too.
And the way he looks at me. God, the way he looks at me.
Like I’m not too much. Like my walls and my sarcasm and my fears don’t scare him away. Like he sees all of it and wants me anyway.
The thought should terrify me.
But underneath the fear, there’s something else. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
Instead, I turn to Sophia. “So tell us everything about this potential movie.”
Everyone glances at each other, fully aware I’m changing the subject. I appreciate the moment they decide to let it go. Sophia shifts the conversation and laughter bubbles around the table again. But under it all, there’s a quiet understanding.
They know I heard them. And even though I’m still terrified, some part of me—the soft, foolish part I pretend doesn’t exist—hopes they’re right about us.