“Josephine,” Davida answered. “She’s calling her Joey.”
“Ah.” I had no idea why, but that made sense. Of course Catherine had named her baby Josephine. “Do you”—I lowered my voice, so I wasn’t overheard by the nosy, gossipy assistants—“have a picture you can share?”
Raymond snorted. “Davida has a whole album.”
In the time Davida had worked at LD, I hadn’t known her to be soft or anything but professional. Right now, her cheeks pinkened, and she smiled like a proud grandma or something. The change was disarming.
“I can send you the link if you’d like,” Davida offered.
Yes was almost out of my mouth when I hesitated. “If you think Catherine would be okay with it, please.”
Surely, pictures of her child were precious. I didn’t imagine Catherine as one of those social media types who spread their personal life far and wide, but I could have been wrong. She might’ve plastered her every meal, thought, medical dilemma, and everything in between on the World Wide Web.
Even as I thought it, I instinctively knew that wasn’t who she was.
“She wouldn’t mind me showing them to you.” Davida tapped on her phone a few times then looked up. “The link is in your inbox.”
“Thank you.” I held up the cigar. “Enjoy your celebration, everyone, but make it short. There’s work to be done.”
Once I returned to my desk, I made myself wait to open the email and went through my morning routine, minus Catherine’s handwritten schedule and our standard meeting. I was already thrown off balance, and the absence of my daily habits skewed me even further.
I forced myself to stay focused on returning emails, including one to the temp agency, letting them know Daniel Nussbaum would be needed immediately.
Once those tasks were completed, I clicked the link. There were fifty-two photos, and I went through each one.
The first was Catherine in a hospital bed, machines around her, looking small despite the basketball she was carrying around in her middle. And maybe I was reading too much into her expression, but she also looked afraid.
Next came a few of Davida and Raymond posing around her. All three were grinning, though Catherine’s smile was the smallest by far. I wondered what part of labor this picture had been taken. Surely, in the beginning, since none of them looked worse for wear.
There were several more of the three of them, then they focused on Catherine. In one, she was holding Raymond’s hand. In another, he was wiping her forehead. There was a shot of Davida leaning over her, saying something in her ear while tears glistened in Catherine’s eyes. Curiosity made me willing to give up a lot to learn what she’d been saying to her.
I clicked to the next picture and came to a standstill. Catherine was curled forward, her forehead misted with sweat, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks, with her baby on her chest.
My stomach churned at the feeling I was seeing something I wasn’t supposed to. Catherine had to have no idea these were the photos Davida was sharing. And even if she did, would she want them shared with me?
None of my reservations stopped me from looking through the rest, though. There were more of Raymond and Davida crowded around Catherine, now holding a wrapped-up Josephine.
The final few pictures were of Josephine by herself. She’d obviously been bathed and was swaddled snugly in a hospital blanket.
I studied her tiny features, finding Catherine in her everywhere. The shape of her rosebud lips. Her almost pointy nose. The tufts of auburn hair sticking up from the top of her head. As she grew, I imagined she’d look even more like her mother.
Mother.
Just like that, Catherine was a mother.
At a loss for what to do next, since Catherine was the one who kept me on track, I decided to email her my well-wishes. It seemed like the right time to do it.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Catherine,
Congratulations on the arrival of your daughter, Josephine.
I was told by Raymond and Davida you were goddess-like when bringing her into the world, which I don’t doubt. I’m also not surprised you managed to give birth in an efficient amount of time. Ten hours of labor should be applauded. Not too long or too short. Good going.
I’ve seen pictures of Josephine, and she’s as lovely as expected. Good going on that too.
Please let me know if you need anything, and I’ll be happy to provide it.
Yours,
Elliot
I was preparing to leave for a meeting at the Rockford building when Catherine’s reply came in. It had only been twenty minutes. I was surprised and eager to know what she had to say. I sat back down in my chair and opened the email on my computer so I could read it on a bigger screen.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Elliot,
Only you would praise me for my efficiency in childbirth. I wish I could take the credit, but I had no idea what I was doing, so I think we can both agree it was just luck—and there was nothing goddess-like about it.
I am cringing thinking about which pictures Davida might have shown you. There weren’t any of me, were there? I’m really hoping you’ll tell me you only saw my Joey-Girl. Please tell me she didn’t send you any pics of the emergence. I’ll never be able to look at you again if she did.
Thank you for saying she’s lovely. She really is, isn’t she?
Yours,
Catherine
P.S. I’m sorry if I’ve said anything unprofessional in this email. I’m running on no sleep and might be slightly delirious. Please disregard anything that might get me reported to HR.
I was supposed to be heading out the door. Instead, I replied to her.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Catherine,
The album was entirely made up of “the emergence.” Is that not good?
Don’t panic. I’m kidding. There were no shots below the waist, though there were plenty of you. I looked at those with only one eye, though, and barely saw them. Don’t worry.
I was surprised by your quick reply (but should I have been? You are known for your efficiency). I hope you’re resting up and they’re taking care of you and Josephine.
Just so you understand how vital you are to me as my assistant, I’m running ten minutes late for a meeting because I chose to write you an email instead of getting in the car waiting for me downstairs. You never would have let that happen.
By the way, you forgot to let me know if there’s anything you need.
Yours,
Elliot
In the car, I should have been reading the designer’s notes for the meeting I was headed to. Instead, I refreshed my inbox thirty times. On the thirty-first, Catherine’s response arrived.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Elliot,