Open six envelopes, drink coffee – and it really is good coffee, wonder if Holly is taking her nap, check messages, return eleven emails, drink more coffee, wonder if Holly is up from her nap, break down and text Jemma:

All good?

Unsatisfying response: All good :)

Eat energy bar. It doesn’t work. I am just so sleepy. And I’m not used to sitting still and, you know, focusing… Maybe if I open my office door, the air and outside sounds will wake me up?

As I’m swinging the door in, music comes on the PA system in the hall. That’s new. We never had ambient music before. I pause, swaying to the infectious beat, and listen.

“Zion,” by Lauryn Hill.

Henry appears around the corner. He is wearing grey yoga pants and a tuxedo jacket with a pink silk hanky in the breast pocket. No shirt. Must be a party in the spa this afternoon.

“Hey, girl,” he says. “You gotta see this, come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall.

“Henry, what is it? I have so much to do! Have you heard from Jemma today?”

“Zion” finishes and Natalie Maines starts singing “Godspeed.”

He comes to a halt in front of the conference room and opens the door with a flourish. I look in.

The first thing I see is a banner that reads “O Baby!” There’s a pile of gifts on the conference table, and a cake in the shape of a… is that a pink rabbit? The room is very crowded. I look at them, and they look at me, and suddenly they all start clapping. And whooping. A few whistles. I look at Henry accusingly.

“Don’t blame me.” He smiles.

Now, after baby tears and guilt, stress and traffic tickets and exhaustion, it’s the show of love and support from friends that does me in. Tears fill my eyes. Something else spilling on this dress.

Carrie rushes up to me, wearing a pink feather boa and a huge smile. She hugs me and says, “Chloe, we wanted to do this before the baby came, but it all happened so fast, and then you were gone.” She takes off the boa, wraps it around my neck, and leads me to the head of the table, where she pushes me into a chair.

She turns to the room and claps her hands. “HellO!” she calls. This is how our employee events typically open.

“HellO!” they call back.

It’s kind of like elementary school, I know, but it works.

“Everyone pick up a gift,” Carrie instructs them. “We’ll open them one at a time. Chloe will start, and then we’ll go around the room. When it’s your turn, please read the card and tell us who the gift is from. At O, we share the love.”

She winks. They hoot. Mousy Carrie has obviously been experiencing some professional growth while I’ve been gone. Also, the refreshments appear to include wine and beer.

She bends over and scoots a big, professionally-wrapped box toward my chair.

I open the card. “It’s from Andrew McCormick,” I read, “and it says ‘Cheers from Anterdec!’”

I tear off the paper. It’s a case of Dom Perignon. Oh my. The perfect gift for any occasion.

“Next!” Carrie announces.

Zeke is first on my left. “This is from the team in Accounting,” he says. Pulling off the box lid, he holds up a garment, adult size. “Oh that’s so sweet,” Zeke comments. “It’s something special for you, Chloe.” Yards of cotton flannel spill out onto the floor. Zeke stands to display it better. It has long sleeves and a high neckline, and as he spreads the top across his chest, we all see that it features various slits and flaps on the bodice. There’s also a pair of fuzzy slippers.

“I didn’t realize you were adopting,” Diane from Accounting says. “It’s a nursing nightie.”

“Thank you,” I smile. “You can never have too many nighties.”

Diane is next in line to open. “It’s from Human Resources,” she says, sounding puzzled. “The card says, ‘We heard what Accounting was giving you.’”

She rustles the tissue paper and, with two fingers, lifts what appears to be a bright red chiffon bra. In her other hand is a matching lace thong. Diane’s face is the exact same bright red color.

Zeke laughs so hard he falls off the side of his chair.

Hayley’s next. She unwraps a package and reveals a soft plush baby doll, cute as a button. According to the box, it is from the “Girl Talk” line of educational toys.

“Wait,” she says, examining it, “I think it talks!” She hunts around a bit and finds a button, which she presses.

“No means No!” the doll exclaims in a tiny, android voice. Hayley presses it again. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

“Next!”

Next is Ryan, and his gift is from the staff at ONY. A Camelbak Antidote Reservoir, 100-ounce capacity. It’s a backpack-type hydration unit for exercise, fitted with a small tube and a mouthpiece, hands-free. They must think I am a runner?

Ryan reads the card, written by Jack. “‘We see the moms in Central Park wearing these all the time. Good luck!’” Ryan squeezes it. “It’s filled with something.” He opens the valve and takes an experimental sip. “Gin,” he says, in a voice filled with admiration. “Hendrick’s.”

“Mommy juice,” someone laughs, but I notice that Ryan tucks the box under his chair instead of putting it back on the table.

A sunbonnet from the skincare team is added to the pile. Marcy Silverman sent an envelope with a U.Fund College logo on the corner, but I said quickly that I would open it later.

Finally we come to the biggest box of all, which proves to be from Facilities Management. The card says, “Very popular in Cambridge!”

It’s my very own MulchingMama. According to the instruction booklet, by using the enclosed sample diapers (refills sold online for $150 per case) and processing the soiled diapers through my MulchingMama unit, I can turn Poop to Profit. And potentially save the planet.

In my spare time.

Carrie begins slicing the cake and distributing plates and forks. At first, the cake appeared to be a big pink rabbit, but now that I have a chance to inspect it carefully, I see that it closely resembles a giant penis with long ears, a fluffy tail, and a smile made of M&Ms. I catch Carrie’s eye.

She shrugs and whispers, “Catering. They did their best.”

Henry, seated on my right, is last. He’s not holding a gift. Standing, he picks up a bottle of Dom from the case, taps the side of it with his cake fork, and the room grows quiet. He clears his throat.