Page 20 of The Surrogate Mother
I thank her again, but as I put down my phone, there’s something tugging at the back of my mind. Something not entirely right. But that makes no sense. Mrs. Johnson was perfectly nice, especially given what we’re proposing to her daughter. Nothing she said raised any kind of red flag.
So what is that nagging feeling that I’m missing something?
_____
There’sa baby in a booster seat at the table next to mine. An adorable little girl with beautiful blond curls. She’s got a handful of Cheerios sprinkled all over her tray and she’s picking them up awkwardly and stuffing them in her mouth. I watch her, trying to ignore the growing ache in my chest. I almost had a baby. I was so close.
“Chee-wo,” the little girl informs me.
I smile at her. Why are kids so cute? Denise doesn’t find children cute. She could look at a little girl like this one, shrug her shoulders, and go right back to texting on her phone.
“Chee-wo!” the girl says again, and this time she holds out a Cheerio to me with a chubby little hand dripping with saliva. She’s sharing her food. What a kind, generous baby. The mother is so lucky. She’s so lucky and she has no idea. She’s gabbing with her girlfriend, not evenlookingat her precious child. It’s sounfair.
Oh God. I think I have to move.
“Abby?”
I lift my eyes. The girl standing in front of me gives off a “nice girl” vibe. She has a pretty, round face, with blond hair tied back in a high ponytail at the back of her head. She’s wearing a black short-sleeved blouse, which she hastily explained is part of her waitressing uniform. She has a well-scrubbed, clean-cut, American girl vibe—she’s the sort of girl who you might hire to babysit your children.
“Chelsea?” I ask.
She nods.
Chelsea Williams is Monica’s roommate. The two of them have lived together for the last several years, and she’s the last person I’m scheduled to speak with before comingback to my husband to assure him that Monica is indeed “squeaky clean.” But from the bland, pleasant smile on Chelsea’s face, I know this meeting is going to go exactly as I thought.
“Please have a seat,” I tell Chelsea.
She slides into a chair across from me at the table. “I’m not late, am I?”
I shake my head. “I’m early.”
“Like Monica.” Chelsea laughs. “She’s always early.”
I already know this fact about my assistant. I value promptness in an employee, and this is yet another way Monica has managed to impress me.
“So how long have you been living with Monica?” I ask her.
“We met in college.” Chelsea opens up the menu in front of her. “So we lived together two years then and now for a year in the city. She’s probably my best friend.”
“So you know her very well then?”
She nods eagerly. “Absolutely. What would you like to know about her?”
I don’t have any notes from Sam this time. Really, there’s only one thing I want to know about Monica. Is it likely she’s going to change her mind and fight to keep her baby?
But I can’t straight out ask that.
“Is she responsible?” I ask.
“Well, yeah!” Chelsea giggles. “Honestly, if it weren’t for her, we would have been booted out of our place ages ago for forgetting to pay the rent.”
I hesitate. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment.” She raises an eyebrow. “You think a boyfriend would be okay with something like this?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, then.”
