Her mom sighed. “I’ve been on hold so long, I thought that girl forgot about me.”

“Nope. What’s up?”

“I just called to see how you were doing.” Her mom sounded concerned. (Her mom liked to sound concerned.)

“I’m fine,” Georgie said.

“Well . . .” Another sigh. A fortified sigh. “I talked to Neal this morning.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I set my alarm. I knew you guys were leaving early—I wanted to say good-bye.”

Her mom always made a big deal about plane trips. And minor surgery. And sometimes just getting off the phone. “You never know when it’s going to be the last time you see somebody, and you don’t want to miss your chance to say good-bye.”

Georgie propped the phone between her ear and shoulder, so she could type. “That was nice of you. Did you get to talk to the girls?”

“I talked to Neal,” her mom said again. For emphasis. “He told me you guys are spending some time apart.”

“Mom,” Georgie said, bringing her hand back to the receiver. “Only the week.”

“He said you were splitting up for Christmas.”

“Not like that—why’re you making it sound like that? Something just came up for me at work.”

“You’ve never had to work on Christmas before.”

“I don’t have to work on Christmas. I have to work around Christmas. It’s complicated.” Georgie resisted checking to see if Seth was listening. “It was my decision.”

“You decided to be alone on Christmas.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with you.”

“But, honey, we’re spending the day with Kendrick’s family—I told you that—and your sister’s going to her dad’s. I mean, you’re welcome to come to San Diego with us. . . .”

“Never mind, I’ll figure it out.” Georgie glanced around the room. Seth was throwing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth. Scotty was sprawled out miserably, like he had menstrual cramps. “I have to get back to work.”

“Well, come over tonight,” her mom said. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’m fine, Mom, really.”

“Come over, Georgie. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“There’s no ‘right now,’ Mom. I’m fine.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll make dinner—come.” She hung up before Georgie could argue any more.

Georgie sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her eyelids felt greasy. Her hands smelled like coffee.

“I can’t do this,” Scotty moaned. “Everyone can tell I have a secret.”

Seth glanced up at the door—it was closed. “So? As long as they don’t know what the secret is . . .”

“I don’t like it,” Scotty said. “I feel like such a traitor. I’m Lando on Cloud City. I’m that guy who kissed Jesus.”

Georgie wondered if any of the other writers actually did suspect something. Probably not. Georgie and Seth’s contract was up soon, but everybody assumed they were staying. Why would they leave Jeff’d Up after finally dragging it into the top ten?

If they stayed, they’d get raises. Giant, life-changing raises. The sort of money that made Seth’s eyeballs pop out like Scrooge McDuck whenever he talked about it.

But if they left . . .

They’d only leave Jeff’d Up now for one reason. To start their own show. The show Georgie and Seth had been dreaming about practically since they met—they’d written the first draft of the pilot together when they were still in college. Their own show, their own characters. No more Jeff German. No more catchphrases. No more laugh track.

They’d take Scotty with them if they left. (When they left, Seth would say. When, when, when.) Scotty was theirs; Georgie had hired him two shows back, and he was the best gag writer they’d worked with.

Seth and Georgie were better at writing situations. Weirdness that twisted into more weirdness, jokes that built and built, and finally paid off big after eight episodes. But sometimes you just needed somebody to slip on a banana peel. Scotty never ran out of banana peels.

“Nobody knows you have a secret,” Seth told him. “Nobody cares. They’re all just trying to get their shit done so they can get out of here for Christmas.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Scotty propped himself up in the chair. He was a smallish Indian guy, with shaggy hair and glasses, and he dressed like almost everybody else on the writing staff—in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and stupid-looking flip-flops. Scotty was the only g*y person on their staff. Sometimes people thought Seth was g*y, but he wasn’t. Just pretty.

Seth threw a grape at Scotty. Then another one at Georgie. She ducked.

“The plan,” Seth said, “is we come in tomorrow as usual, and we write. And then we write some more.”

Scotty picked his grape up off the floor and ate it. “I just hate to abandon everybody. Why do we always move as soon as I make friends?” He shifted to sulk in Georgie’s direction. “Hey. Georgie. Are you okay? You look weird.”

Georgie realized she was staring. And not at either of them. “Yeah,” she said. “Fine.”

She picked up her phone again and thumbed out a text.

Maybe . . .

Maybe she should have talked to Neal this morning before he left. Really talked to him. Made sure everything was okay.

But by the time Neal’s alarm went off at four thirty, he was already out of bed and mostly dressed. Neal still used an old Dream Machine clock radio, and when he came over to the bed to turn it off, he told Georgie to go back to sleep.

“You’ll be a wreck later,” he said when she sat up anyway.

Like Georgie was going to sleep through telling the girls goodbye. Like they weren’t all going to be apart for a week. Like it wasn’t Christmas.

She reached for the pair of glasses hooked over their headboard and put them on. “I’m taking you to the airport,” she said.

Neal was standing outside his closet with his back to her, pulling a blue sweater down over his shoulders. “I already called for a car.”

Maybe Georgie should have argued then. Instead she got up and tried to help with the girls.

There wasn’t much to do. Neal had put them to bed in sweatpants and T-shirts, so he could carry them out to the car this morning without waking them.