Romantic comedies tend to hold a certain stigma for many moviegoers. But when you round up a cast of somewhat obscure stars and a veteran supporting cast with plenty of comic and theatrical credibility, then throw in a sensitive subject like abortion, you get a film that transcends genre tropes in favor of a strong story with realistic characters and conflicts. Such is the case with Obvious Child, a comedy that happens to revolve around romance (though definitely not with a fairy tale happily-ever-after ending).

The stars of Obvious Child may not be immediately recognizable, despite having had a fair amount of exposure on the small screen. Jenny Slate plays Donna, a down-on-her-luck comedienne who, like many comics, uses the stage as a place to publicly purge her frustrations in an entertaining way. (Though there was something familiar about Slate as soon as the movie started, my girlfriend quickly pointed out that Slate also plays Mona-Lisa, Jean-Ralphio’s obnoxious sister from Parks and Recreation.) She gets dumped by her frumpy boyfriend who has (somehow) been having an affair with an even prettier girl, then loses her job at the cleverly named Unoppressive Non-Imperialist Bargain Books (which is apparently a real place, if you click on the hyperlink) due to its closure. Though these events should provide Donna with plenty of new material for her comedy sets, she’s in for even more surprises after she has an onstage meltdown during at a Brooklyn comedy club.

That’s when she meets Max (Jake Lacy from the final season of The Office, whose wholesome good looks are a cross between Clark Kent and Nicholas Hoult). They proceed to develop an intoxicated connection that leads to a night of singing, dancing and drunkenly slurred outbursts such as, “Did you know Hulk Hogan‘s real name is Terry?,” while Max is removing her panties. A one-night stand with a handsome guy with few commonalities is probably just what Donna needs, until she and her friend Nellie (Gaby Hoffmann) discover a few weeks later that Donna is now pregnant. Given her financial struggles and the fact that she will likely never see Max again, she decides to get an abortion. Coincidentally, her appointment is on Valentine’s Day.

Then she meets Max again when he unexpectedly stops by the bookstore and asks her out to lunch. Then she meets him again when he turns up at her mom’s (his professor’s) home to return a book. No matter how hard she tries not to run into Max, it seems that Donna is fated to share her secret with him. Finally, she works up the nerve to have lunch with him and tell him. Then she chickens out when he says something about how much he looks forward to being a grandfather. While the solution to Donna’s conflict seems really obvious (pun intended), she just can’t bring herself to tell Max that she’s pregnant. He’s a successful college student with a bright future and she’s free spirit whose comedy career seems to be leading to her impending homelessness. Why would she want to burden him with this news, let alone risk the possibility of any sort of commitment to someone who can clearly do better?

After ditching Max to hang out with fellow comedian Sam (played with salacious sleaziness by David Cross), Donna soon realizes what she’s missing out on with Max. Comedy being her only comfort zone, she breaks the news to Max by inviting him to one of her shows, where she once again uses her real-life predicament as a way to get an uncomfortable laugh. It’s a risky move, but abortion jokes are often funny despite their questionable taste. Surprisingly, it’s a risk that works as she and Max are able to make their absurdly strange Valentine’s plans together. Even though “happily ever after” just doesn’t seem to be appropriate when such a significant sacrifice is being made, first-time director Gillian Robespierre offers a hopeful ending to a situation that initially seems desperately doomed by bad decisions and uncertainty.

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