Page 90 of Plain Sight

“Babies are so fucking cute,” Julien says. “Ready to go?”

Newborn sessions take special care because⁠—

You know what I’m going to say, right?

Because newborns. Newborns are tiny and squishy and delicate. They’re more resilient than people think, though in my experience it’s the new parents who need the most delicate handling.

Lily and Jameson strike an impressive balance. They both look tired—most new parents do—but Lily’s radiant and smiley and good-natured and Jameson’s practically glowing with joy.

“Look at this, August,” he says the second we arrive in the foyer of their house. It used to be this parents’ house before they were murdered in a fire, and now he owns it again. Julien and I have been here many times. I bring a camera even when they say I don’t need it, because that’s when you get the best candid shots. “Julien. Both of you. Look what my hot wife made.”

Jameson shows off the bundle in his arms. So tiny. So soft. I feel a pang. I ignore that I’ve felt the pang. I decide not to feel the pang anymore, or at least not until later, when we go home.

What’s this baby’s name? I sign.

“What’s this baby’s name?” Julien says.

“Henry,” Jameson answers in a tone that borders on reverence. “But we’re calling him Harry.”

“It’s a joke,” Lily says from his side. “Because it’s not any shorter.”

The baby is so small.

The baby is so soft.

I photograph him in the living room in a pool of gorgeous natural light. Then I photograph Henry—Harry—with Lily, then with Jameson, then with both of them.

“Hey, Augie?” Jameson asks during a break.

My entire fucking soul sighs at that nickname. Do we have to use that nickname? I sign.

“You’re killing me,” Julien says.

I don’t laugh, but only because he’s my brother and I’m used to his paraphrasing. It’s not the done thing to paraphrase when you’re translating. Julien only does it when we’re among particularly trusted friends.

Jameson gives Julien a look. “I know that’s not what he said, buddy.”

Julien rolls his eyes. “My entire fucking soul sighs at that nickname. Do we have to use that nickname?”

“Your entire soul?” Jameson bows. “I apologize. I apologize, August⁠—”

I hold up a hand.

Call me what you want. You were about to ask me a favor.

Julien’s voice feels like an echo of my hands. Attached, almost.

“Yeah. Would you mind hanging out? Everyone’s coming to meet the baby this afternoon and I know they’ll want photos. I’ll pay you for, like, a location wedding or whatever.”

What food will there be?

Jameson grins hugely. “Elise made a birthday cake. The baby can’t eat any, though, so we’ll have extra.”

Julien shifts ever-so-subtly next to me.

Alcohol?

“I am prepared,” Jameson says. “I got your favorite and Julien’s favorite. I would never invite you to my home without having the necessary amenities. Fire?”