Page 17 of The Surrogate Mother
“It’s at one-thirty. But it’s fine. Monica is getting everything set up.”
Shelley nods in approval. “Nice. She’s really efficient.”
“Actually, she’s amazing. I really like her.”
“Me too.”
“I like her so much,” I say, watching my best friend’s face, “I’m asking her to be a surrogate so Sam and I can have a baby.”
Shelley laughs. She thinks I’m joking. I told her after the failed adoption attempt that Sam and I would be trying for an older child. This sounds like a joke. And admittedly, even as the words were leaving my mouth, they sounded comical. Who asks their assistant to carry a fetus for them in her womb? Last month, we got a memo saying we weren’t allowed to have our assistants dolaundryfor us.
I clear my throat. “That wasn’t a joke.”
“Yeah, right,” she snickers.
I don’t say anything.
Shelley’s mouth falls open. “Wait. Are you serious?”
“I am.”
She stares at me, shaking her head. “I… I don’t understand…”
Briefly, I outline everything that’s happened so far. Monica’s offer. The terms of what our contract would be. Sam’s reluctant agreement to “think about it.”
“I can’t believe Sam is going along with this,” Shelley mutters. “I thought he had more sense than this.”
“So you don’t thinkIhave any sense?”
“Clearly not!”
My face burns. Shelley doesn’t get it. When we both started here as assistants, we were single and happy about it. Then I found Sam and she found Rick, and everything changed. After Sam talked me into trying for a baby, Shelley started trying too. We jokingly talked about how they’d be the same ages so they could play together. When Shelley got pregnant before I did, we joked her daughter would be a bigsister to my child. Then she got pregnant again, and I was informed my eggs were useless.
Even though Shelley and I are still best friends, she scrupulously avoids talking about her kids in front of me. We talk about work, our husbands, the latest movies—but never kids. Not until the promise of this adoption—the one that’s now fallen through. Shelley knows how much I want this. She knows how much this means to me.
“You don’t get it,” I finally say.
Shelley lets out a sigh and takes a sip from her Diet Coke. “I know you want this, Abby. I get it. But… you really don’t see why this is a bad idea?”
“I really don’t.”
“You’re using Sam’s sperm, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So,” she says, “this pretty assistant who is over ten years younger than you will be pregnant with your husband’s child. And that doesn’t bother you?”
“It will be our child. Sam’s and mine.”
“Unless Monica changes her mind and decides she wants it.” She gives me a pointed look. “And then Sam’s on the hook for child support. Or worse.”
“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “We won’t sign the contract if she’s allowed to change her mind.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure, why not?”
Shelley keeps shaking her head. I know she doesn’t approve of this, but I wish she’d be supportive anyway. She’s got her two babies. It’s my turn now.
