Page 58 of One-Star Romance

And how could she look this gift horse in the mouth? This was everything she’d ever dreamt about. Angus hadn’t proven to be as bad for Gabby as Natalie had feared, but that didn’t mean she had to kill her own ambitions just on the off chance this might upset him.

“Of course,” Natalie said, feeling like she was about to faint. “I’m in.”

The development process had been a fast-tracked whirlwind. Despite the dominance of streaming, it turned out there was still a market for network sitcoms in the mold of The Big Bang Theory, and Tyler had been right. If you took the most basic scaffolding of Apartment 2F—two roommates who are best friends, one falls in love with an annoying fop who the other one hates, annoying fop unofficially moves in—and added in “shenanigans ensue,” it did work as a laugh-tracked multicam.

Their unofficial mandate was “Dumb it down,” starting with the stupid, punny title. (“They live in apartment 2B, and the girlfriend thinks they’re meant 2B!”) Natalie stayed true to her vow to herself, leaning into the dopily attractive interpretation of Dennis. Surely nobody would connect Tyler’s version—always walking around the apartment shirtless—with Angus. Plus, given the title change, people wouldn’t associate the show with the book unless Natalie pushed for it, and she wouldn’t.

Somehow, each time they reached a new step where she thought the project would die, it just kept going, like some monster with regenerative powers. Maybe it had something to do with Tyler’s chill confidence. He was manifesting, he’d explained to her, and had acquired a crystal meant to guarantee success.

So, here she was, less than two years after she’d begged Gabby for a job in advertising, one of the head writers on a television show that was pulling in numbers, respectable numbers, enough that they felt secure in starting to talk about what they might do in a second season. She got to sit in a room full of other writers every day and come up with dumb jokes and ridiculous situations. What if Dennis decides he’s going to fix their clogged sink and ends up flooding the whole apartment building? What if Dennis starts a dog-walking business with apartment 2B as his home base?

Occasionally, in quiet moments, she could admit to herself that the work wasn’t the most creatively fulfilling. The Sisyphean structure of each episode where nothing changed and nobody grew might eventually bring her to a breaking point. Her pitches to have the characters deal with more complicated feelings or break out of their rigid roles were mostly shot down by the showrunner. She was inundated with well-wishes from people who knew her, but it was less that they respected her work, more that they respected that she’d gotten the chance to do it. Also, she’d had to move to the West Coast, and every time she drove herself to the writers’ room, she worried she might die on the freeway.

But holy shit, who cared? In almost all the ways, she was living the dream.

It was a delicious irony that she’d spent so much of her twenties thinking that she had to figure out her life before turning thirty or she’d be doomed. And then, at thirty, an opportunity she’d never even let herself imagine dropped into her lap.

No, she shouldn’t say dropped, as if she’d had nothing to do with it. The opportunity had come about because of groundwork she’d laid without realizing. That was the strange part about success—there was no predicting it. The things you thought would pan out didn’t, while the random job you took to pay your bills might reward you beyond your wildest dreams. It was enough to drive you insane, the unpredictable not-knowing of it all.

Now, she was back in NYC for a few days before the holidays, seeing Iman, taking some meetings alongside Tyler, who had also come back to the East Coast.

Then she’d bring her mother on a trip, just the two of them, to Italy, which Natalie was proudly paying for. And look, Greg was welcome to come if he wanted to pay his own way! A notorious cheapskate, he did not, and Ellen did not seem too upset about that. Natalie had finally figured out a way to get alone time with her mother. Maybe some night in a cozy trattoria over a bottle of wine, she’d bring up that devastating conversation they’d had all those years ago the night before her mom’s wedding. She’d tell her mom what she’d begun to learn over the past year and a half—that she’d become so much less afraid of men getting bored with her once she’d learned how not to get bored of herself.

But before all that, Gabby and Angus’s housewarming party. She’d mentioned it to Tyler at lunch that day, as they were walking out of an overpriced steakhouse where they’d met with a New York–based exec. “Ooh, can I come?” Tyler had asked.

“Really? It’s just going to be hanging out in the suburbs.”

“Yes. I love going to normal people parties! Sometimes it’s nice to be around, like, less people doing cocaine, more people eating chips and salsa.”

Natalie grimaced. “Unfortunately, Gabby and Angus are huge cokeheads.”

“Oh.” He thought hard. “Well, that’s okay too.”

“I’m joking,” she said, laughing.

“Always writing jokes, even on vacation!”

“That’s me.”

“You write the jokes, I tell them, it makes us a perfect pair,” he went on, and she shot him a look. “Pair of friends. Unless we ever decide to be something more. Which we could, but we don’t have to.”

“Okay,” she said. “I don’t know if you going to this party is a great idea.”

“It is!” He’d pulled a puppy dog face until she agreed.

Now their car pulled into Gabby and Angus’s driveway. Gabby had sent Natalie pictures of the place, but it was prettier in person, with white trim and a dark slate roof. Electric candles flickered in the windows. The front door, painted a cheery red, beckoned.

Tyler followed Nat as she strode up the walkway and tried the door handle. Unlocked. They walked into the party, which was already in full swing. The crowd spilled out of the living room, and throughout the first floor, a mix of people Natalie recognized who had come in from the city and those who she assumed were Gabby and Angus’s new neighbor friends. Gabby had decked the halls and then some. Combine Gabby’s Catholic upbringing with her stifled artistic talents, and this was what you got: garlands and lights competed for space, a Christmas tree stretched almost to the ceiling, and there were plenty of Santas ranging from stuffed dolls to an animatronic Kriss Kringle near the door whose belly shook with laughter whenever someone passed by him.

Nat had walked into rooms alongside Tyler plenty of times in LA. She’d felt the current of excitement that began to buzz when people realized a celebrity had entered the building. People’s conversations would grow more animated, as if they might draw Tyler’s attention to them, might make him think that they were fun. They’d throw their heads back in laughter, their eyes flitting Tyler’s way. But that was LA. Celebrities entered buildings all the time.

In suburban New Jersey, Natalie and Tyler walked in, and people’s conversations stopped. Not all conversations. It wasn’t like in the movies, where a hush descended over the room. But the people who noticed them poked one another and whispered. Not just about Tyler, she realized. About her too, their friend who had made good after they’d all spent years worrying to one another: Does Natalie have a backup plan? Such a shame, she had potential, the world is just so tough for creative types. She flashed them all a wide smile.

And then Gabby swept toward them. “Natalie!” Gabby yelped and hugged her. As Tyler examined the animatronic Santa, entranced, Gabby whispered shakily in Nat’s ear, “You brought Tyler Yeo? Is this my Christmas present? Am I allowed to talk to him?”

“Yes, he’s very nice,” Nat whispered back.

Gabby smoothed her hair, then smoothed it again, and attempted a calm smile as she turned to Tyler. “Welcome to our party. And house. This is, um, my house.” She let out a loud laugh for no apparent reason, her cheeks flaming red.

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