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, andlie 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.
twenty-five
. . .
Jake
I knockon Natalie’s door with my arms full of wrapped presents, adjusting the stack so nothing slips before she opens it. Even though she invited me to come over tonight, my heartbeat still kicks up, the kind of steady thrum that always seems to show up right before I see her.
The lock clicks. The door opens. And there she is.
Her face softens the moment she sees me, something small and real shifting through her expression like a quiet welcome.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” I lift the presents a little. “These are for your tree.”
She steps aside, letting me in with that slow, warm ease that tells me she wants me here, even if she’s still figuring out what that means.
The Christmas tree glows in the corner, except now I spot a few new ornaments tucked between the branches.Little additions she made on her own. It makes something in my chest settle.
I kneel near the tree and set the boxes down carefully. One with her name. The other labeledIsla?with a question mark.
She steps beside me, her voice quiet. “Isla?”
“I wanted to see what it felt like,” I say.
