The following afternoon, Ariel stood near the window of their shared office, index cards spread across the couch, her brow furrowed in focus. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, catching in the slight gleam of sweat on her temple as she paced slowly—barefoot, because the shoes she’d worn to work were already pinching her. Her weight shifted heavily with each step, her body soft and commanding, her presence grounded.

  Across the room, Holly sat cross-legged on the office loveseat with a legal pad balanced on one knee, pen tapping against her lip. She had her new reading glasses on. The ones that made her look like a sexy librarian, as Ariel had declared a hundred times. Her expression was a picture of affectionate scrutiny.

  Ariel cleared her throat.

  “I’m going to try it all the way through this time,” she said.

  “Good,” Holly nodded. “Just remember: pace yourself. You always rush the last third when you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “It’s adorable that you think you can still lie to me,” Holly said, grinning.

  Ariel rolled her eyes, exhaled, then started.

  “Hi everyone,” she said, holding her imaginary mic. “Thank you all so much for being here tonight. I can’t tell you what it means to stand on this stage, surrounded by the people who made Lumio Forest a reality…”

  She continued, her voice growing stronger, her rhythm smoother as she wove through the speech—thanking the studio, praising the dev team, sharing stories about development hiccups and triumphs, giving nods to community feedback and even cracking a gentle joke about Holly’s endless notes and rewrites. She even slipped in a bit about the first time she’d sketched the idea for the lantern-girl character on a napkin at a noodle bar.

  “…because games don’t just reflect who we are—they give us space to become. And for me, Willowbound has never been about making products. It’s always been about making meaning. Together. With people who give a damn.”

  When she finally finished, there was a pause. Ariel glanced up, flushed, expectant.

  Holly’s eyes were glassy.

  “That,” she said, voice thick, “was the one.”

  Ariel blinked. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Holly said, setting down her notes and standing. “You hit everything. The gratitude, the humor, the purpose. It was all there. And that last line? Chef’s kiss.” She mimed tossing something into the air and catching it with flair.

  Ariel beamed.

  Holly crossed the room and took both of Ariel’s hands in hers. “You’re going to own that stage, Red.”

  “I’ll only own it if you’re right there reminding me not to fidget,” Ariel whispered.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Holly booped Ariel on the nose. She then gave her a wicked grin. “Now let’s go over it again, but this time, I’m going to interrupt you every ten seconds with completely made-up heckles to prepare you for the worst-case scenario.”

  Ariel laughed. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. You don’t think they’re going to have hard-hitting questions two weeks after launch? I’ve already got a list.”

  “Of course you do,” Ariel said, eyes bright. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “If I could choose a thousand lives…”

  

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  Later that evening, long after several more run-throughs, the golden hour light caught the windows of the bistro where they'd planned to meet their friends. Ariel and Holly were the last to arrive, greeted with enthusiastic waves from their friends already seated at the large patio table.

  Maddy stood to hug them both, her pink blazer glittering faintly in the sun. "Fashionably late, as expected," she teased.

  Jordan chuckled from his seat, gently bouncing a curly-haired three-year-old on his knee. "Lin’s been asking when her fairy godmothers would show up."

  Lin squealed as soon as she saw them. "Auntie Red! Auntie Hol!"

  Ariel melted instantly. She crouched with a small grunt and opened her arms. Lin launched into her with toddler force, wrapping sticky fingers around Ariel’s neck.

  "Hey, Bug," Ariel murmured, squeezing her tight.

  Holly kissed the top of Lin’s head. “You’re even taller than last week. That’s illegal.”

  Marissa and Lila sat close together, holding hands across the table. Lila’s curls had grown longer, pulled back with a velvet ribbon, and Marissa wore a sundress that matched the wine in her glass. They both smiled wide when Ariel and Holly approached.

  The dinner unfolded with easy rhythm as stories about Lin’s misadventures at daycare were shared and plenty of laughter was had. Plates arrived heaped with fresh pasta and seasonal vegetables, followed by wine and sparkling water. Ariel’s voice rose and fell with joy, and Holly’s hand stayed resting on her thigh beneath the table.

  Maddy animatedly recounted a museum acquisition disaster, flailing her hands for dramatic effect. Jordan added her own dry commentary, which sent the table into peals of laughter. Lin, nestled now between her moms, tried to feed a breadstick to Lila’s purse.

  There was something sacred in the way the evening moved, like a well-loved tune that didn’t need rehearsal. Seven years had brought change, success, stress, even fear, but it had also built something stronger: a family. A chosen, found family.

  And tonight, that family was whole, vibrant, and bursting with the kind of energy that made time feel irrelevant. Lin giggled as she climbed into Holly’s lap, her tiny fingers fascinated by the silver threadwork on her blouse, while Holly gently brushed a stray curl from the toddler’s forehead. Ariel leaned back in her chair, content and glowing, her fingers still linked with Holly’s, a smile playing at her lips as she watched their friends.

  Maddy had everyone in stitches recounting how a crate of priceless glass art had been mislabeled and nearly shipped to a sushi restaurant across town. “Can you imagine the chef opening that box expecting bluefin and finding a two-hundred-thousand-dollar blown-glass octopus?” she said, eyes wide with mock horror.

  Jordan, ever the master of deadpan, sipped his ginger beer and added, “That octopus would've made one hell of a sashimi centerpiece.”

  Lila choked on her water as she imagined the look on the chef’s face, laughing so hard she had to clutch the table for balance, while Marissa rubbed soothing circles on her back and muttered, “Breathe, agapi mou, breathe.”

  Marissa, always the calm anchor, chimed in, “At least it wasn’t the glass pufferfish,” she noted at one point, as she looked fondly at her wife and added, “We really should go see that exhibit before they start shipping things to ramen bars.”

  Ariel reached for another spoonful of lemon panna cotta and offered it wordlessly to Holly, who accepted it with an exaggerated “mmm” and a kiss on Ariel’s knuckles. The two locked eyes for a moment, quiet in the chaos, speaking volumes in silence.

  The table glowed with the warmth of shared dishes and deeper connections. Wine glasses clinking softly, silverware scattered across plates as desserts were traded and redivided. Lin sleepily murmured something unintelligible and curled against Holly’s chest, her tiny hand clutching a napkin like it was treasure.

  “I love nights like this,” Ariel murmured.

  Conversation circled around dreams for the future: new art exhibits, game release hopes, and, after gaining a second wind, Lin’s Halloween costume ideas.

  "I’m gonna be a pirate unicorn!" Lin declared with the kind of confidence only a three-year-old could muster. Her words were punctuated by a wave of her fork, which still had a bit of rigatoni clinging to it.

  Ariel’s eyes lit up instantly. “Wait… hold on. Pirate unicorn? That’s brilliant. That’s genius. You’re changing the costume game, Bug!”

  Lin beamed. "I have a sparkly tail and a sword!" She mimed a wild swing with her tiny arm, nearly knocking over her juice cup. Jordan steadied it just in time, chuckling.

  “A sparkly tail and a sword?” Holly said, eyebrows raised. “Now that’s balance.”

  “She’s been practicing her ‘Arrr!’ every morning,” Maddy added, leaning in conspiratorially. “The cat’s traumatized.”

  Ariel leaned forward, chin in her hand, absolutely delighted. “I need pictures. No! Video. I want to see this costume in action.”

  “You’ll get the full show,” Maddy assured her with a soft smile, brushing crumbs from Lin’s cheek.

  As dessert was finishing, Jordan gently raised his glass. "To friendship and family," he said, his voice warm but steady. "To the kind of people who choose each other, who build something lasting. Not just games or careers, but memories and a life. To the nights that remind us why we started, and the people who never let us forget who we are."

  Glasses clinked softly in the glow of the candles, a quiet chorus of love and history and hope.

  And as the laughter quieted into a steady hum, Ariel felt her chest ache in that beautiful, unbearable way, full to the brim with gratitude. Here, surrounded by love and light, with Holly’s fingers gently stroking her palm and her best friends just inches away: she had everything she ever wanted.