“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 metaltin 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’sSpellbound?”
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 whenSpellboundwas 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.
