Page 12 of The Surrogate Mother
I can’t think about this anymore.
When Monica returns with a fresh white mug with steam coming out of it, she’s got a funny expression on her face. She places the mug down on my desk and straightens up, but doesn’t leave. She just… stands there.
I raise my eyebrows at her as I take a cautious sip of the hot coffee. She made it just the way I always take it—bitter and black. “Yes?”
She chews on her lip. “I would do it.”
“Do what?”
“Be your surrogate.”
I start choking on the coffee. It’s very dramatic. Flecks of coffee fly out of my mouth, dotting the white papers in front of me. I’m glad I wasn’t eating steak, because Monica would probably have to Heimlich me. Which I’m sure she’d do expertly.
“Wha… what?” I finally manage.
Her pale cheeks redden. “Sorry, I just… I was thinking and… I think we could help each other out.”
“Monica.” I self-consciously wipe my coffee-spit off the surface of my desk. “It’s, um… nice of you to offer, but it would bereallyinappropriate for you to do something like that for me. I mean, weworktogether.”
She squeezes her fists together, and at this moment, she looks so much like I used to at her age, it’s like looking into a time machine. “Listen,” she says, “I’ve been wanting to go back to school and get my Masters in graphic art, because what I really want is to be a creative director. That’s always been my dream.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about copywriting?”
“I like it, but graphic art has always been what I love.”
Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Monica has done sketches for some of our ads and it’s clear she’s got artistic talent. “So why not get your Masters at night?”
“It’s expensive and I’m already deep in debt from college.” She shakes her head. “And youknowwhat the schedule is like here. I’d never have time for both.”
She makes a good point.
“Don’t you see, Abby?” Her eyes are shining. “This is perfect! I can give you the baby you want, and you can help me get my advanced degree, which would be a drop in the bucket for someone like you with a trust fund and everything. It’s a win-win.”
Technically, everything Monica is saying makes sense. But in reality, it’s insane.
“You don’t want to do this, Monica,” I say. “Think about what you’re offering. This would be, for all intents and purposes, your baby. You’d be willing to just give away your own baby?”
“I’m not ready to be a mother.” Her eyes become distant. “There are so many things I want to do in my life before I’m tied down with a child. But you—you’d be a fabulous mother, Abby. Any baby would be lucky to have you as a mother.”
“God.” I rub my eyes. “I know you mean well, but… it’s a bad idea. We work together…”
“I’d quit.”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
“As soon as I start showing,” she says. “I’ll leave so it doesn’t become an awkward situation. If you can cover my rent, that is.”
“But I thought you wanted to be a creative director…”
“Right.” She nods. “But it doesn’t have to be here. With my Master’s degree and a strong letter of recommendation from you, I’m sure I could find a good job at another agency.”
No. This is ridiculous. I’m not going to consider this. Sam and I are going to adopt. As amazing as this potentially could be, it’s a terrible idea.
“And we look alike,” she adds. “The baby would look just like you.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t?”
