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The calls don’t come as often these days.
Back in the day, back when she wore her hair in curls and he hadn’t yet gone grey, they were near constant. Bosses and colleagues were used to him ducking out of meetings with his phone pressed to his ear. She was used to waking up and going to sleep 3 hours earlier than all her friends because he was on the east coast.
These days, he worries he can’t remember her voice properly.
There are a lot of people that don’t call anymore. Josh. Sam. Will. He doesn’t mind.
He aches every time he picks up the phone and it’s not her.
Today, it’s her. He sits in his favorite armchair, glasses perched low on his nose as he grades papers. The buzzing and the light of the screen seem more interesting than the essay of a student that somehow managed to make it to the Ivy League but can’t figure out where to put a comma. There’s no question as to if he’s going to answer when he sees her name on the screen.
“CJ…” he breathes as he answers. Her name brings a curl to his lips and his shoulders relax before she’s even said a word.
“How did Andy tell you she was pregnant?”
He should’ve expected something like that. Their conversations have never been casual. They’ve never exchanged pleasantries. They’ve never talked about things without it meaning something else, something more.
Despite it, he still says, “Hello to you too, CJ.”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line and for a split second, he can see her face. It concerns him that he can only envision her for a second.
“Hey Toby,” she sighs. “When Andy got pregnant with the twins, how did she tell you?”
Through the phone, he can hear shuffling and despite the distance and time apart, he can now see her perfectly. She’s nervous, shifting and swaying from side to side. She’s most likely playing with the hem of her shirt or wrapping her free arm around herself. She’s nervous and he hates himself for not hearing it in her voice sooner.
“Have you eaten lunch?” He glances at his watch, quickly ensuring that it is in fact lunch time out in California. In New York, it’s the awkward time stuck in between lunch and dinner. Somehow, that feels fitting.
“No.” I can’t eat today, she doesn’t say, but he hears it. They’ve never talked about things without it meaning something more.
CJ can hear his slow intake of breath and somehow, it comforts her to know at least one thing hasn’t changed.
“Andy was always blunt.” As he speaks, he remembers standing in Andy’s dream house and being told he was too sad. These days, he can’t quite disagree with her.
“So, what? She dropped the test in your lap and said ‘Voila! By the way, it’s twins’?” CJ asks. She doesn’t remember Andy well enough - never really knew her well enough even back then - to know what her voice would’ve sounded like or what face she might’ve made, but she can see Toby clear as day. The stoic look on his face, the subtle twitch of his fingers, the millions of unsaid things that can only be understood by looking in his eyes.
In another life, she actually can see it. It’s her giving him the test. It’s her on Air Force One despite his protests. In that life, he doesn’t think he’s too sad and she goes into labor in the White House rather than outside a white house bought as a desperate cry for love.
But that life is not this one.
“I’m pregnant, Toby,” CJ whispers.
He sucks in a deep breath and it doesn’t feel quite voluntary. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
“It’s Danny’s.”
“Yeah.” His throat feels tight and he knows why, but he won’t admit it. She knows why too.
There’s silence after that. No speaking. No shuffling. Not even rustling. For a moment, he’s not even sure she’s still there on the other end of the line.
“He won’t be upset. When you tell him.” It feels almost foreign, predicting the thoughts and actions of anyone other than CJ. But he knows this.
“I know. It’s Danny.” There’s a slightly smiley quality to her voice and Toby hates the part of himself that doesn’t want to hear it.
This whole thing would be easier if he hated him. If Danny was some weird jerk like Ben or too perfect like Simon Donovan, Toby could hate him. But he isn’t. He’s Danny. Danny, who bought CJ a goldfish that somehow lived through both terms. Danny, who dressed up as Santa just so he could bring a smile to her face. Danny, who has a Pulitzer and the most loving soul. No, Toby can’t make himself hate Danny.
It’s her voice that rouses him from his thoughts. “He’ll probably suggest we name the baby Gail if it’s a girl,” she laughs.
Toby can almost see her now. Her eyes pouring over a baby name book and scrutinizing each name. Calling out the names of old reporters or Senators or White House aides. He can almost see her, belly round and full with their baby.
Their baby. CJ and Danny’s. Not his. He has to remind himself of this. His throat feels tight again and he moves the phone away from his face as he tries to get himself under control. She’s always been able to knock him off balance.
When he brings the phone near again, it’s still quiet. Not silent. There’s a slight rustling and Toby tries to imagine what she’s doing. If she’s looking through her calendar or playing with her hair or smoothing her hand over her flat stomach and wondering what the next nine months will bring her.
“Hey, Toby?” she murmurs after a few more minutes of this settled silence. “I think I like the name Zachary for a boy."