Page 99 of The Surrogate Mother
I know—I didn’t want him to be named David. But Sam really pushed for the name—it was his father’s name, after all. Sam doesn’t talk about how much he missed his father after his heart attack took him away from their family, but it meant a lot to him to name his son after the man. And the name is also meant partially to honor Denise, who made me the woman I am today.
And now David is one year old, pulling up on the coffee table, and taking those first cautious steps into the abyss of our living room. He’s cautious and serious—just like his dad. He’s also sweet like his dad. In so many ways, David is a clone of Sam.
I adore him. I love him more than I thought it would be possible to love another human being. I loved my parents and Sam, of course, but this is different. I spend hours marveling at his perfect little hands. When I hug him, I feel like I can’t squeeze him tightly enough. When I have difficulty sleeping at night, all I have to do is go into his bedroom and peer down at his sweet little sleeping face,listen to his deep, even breathing, and all the tension drains from my body.
He has changed my life.
Sam comes into the living room with a plastic container of baby food. After all the complaining I did about how awful baby food tasted, Sam decided he was going to cook his own. And believe it or not, even though Sam couldn’t cook adult food to save his life, the little meals he puts together for David are absolutely delicious. Even I think so. It’s like he’s got a talent. I told him he needs to start his own company, but he says he’s going to stick to math.
David loves the food too. As soon as he spots the container, his chubby little cheeks stretch into a smile. That smile tugs at me every time.
Sam ruffles David’s hair affectionately before lifting him into his high chair. That’s something David’s got that isn’t like either of us—blond hair. Sam claims he was blond as a kid, but I’ve seen pictures and he’s lying. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than it is now, but he’s not towheaded the way David is. That hair is all Monica.
Thanks to my son, there isn’t one day that goes by when I don’t think of that woman. There isn’t a day when I don’t search his face for traces of her features. I will never stop watching his behavior, wondering if he’ll end up like she was.
I was lucky in that when the police searched Monica’s apartment after she shot herself, they found plenty of evidence linking her and her mother to the murder of Denise Holt. They also found out she’d been stealing money from the company—something I worry would have been attributed to me, if things had gone differently on that fateful day. This is surely why they wanted to wrap things up neatly by making it look like I killed myself—she knew ifshe were ever under investigation, the truth would come out.
We also discovered that prior to offering to be my surrogate, Monica had been in contact with Janelle and had convinced her the two of us would not be appropriate parents. She was the one responsible for taking away the baby that was supposed to be ours.
Also, she’s still alive.
“Yum, yum,” Sam is saying as he holds the little plastic spoon out for David. “Yummy mashed turkey.”
David gobbles it up like it’s poached lobster. And honestly, it is pretty good. I sample everything Sam makes, because there’s still part of me that doesn’t trust him after Salmonella Surprise, but everything is great.
“Yum yum,” David babbles.
Sam laughs. He’s so good with David. He adores him more than I could have imagined. And David adores Sam. It sometimes makes me sad we had to wait so long for this. And we’d still be waiting if not for Monica.
So yes, Monica is still alive.
Alive but in a vegetative state. The last time I saw her, she was lying in a hospital bed, breathing with the aid of a ventilator, drool sliding down the side of her chin. Her scalp was crisscrossed with staples. Severe brain injury, they said. Unlikely to have a meaningful recovery.
I heard recently that she was off the ventilator, at least, but still not eating or talking or walking. She doesn’t know what’s going on around her. Still in a vegetative state. After a year, it would be considered permanent.
Sam finishes feeding David the container of baby food, and he’s gotten it absolutely everywhere. There’s baby food on his bib, but it’s also on his chubby little arms, his hair, his cheeks, and there’s a glob on his eyelid.
“How does he always get so messy?” I muse.
“He takes after you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” Sam nods, wide-eyed. “I’m always picking food out of your hair after you eat dinner. Honestly, it’s such a pain, Abby.”
I smack him in the arm, and he grins at me. Everyone says having a baby kills your sex life, and… well, I can’t say we’re as hot and heavy as we were before. We’re both tired a lot more than we used to be—David hasn’t been the best sleeper in the world. But at the same time, we still make time for each other. We have regular date nights. We still make out on the sofa while David’s asleep in his crib. There are times when having a demanding baby has put a strain on our relationship, but for the most part, it’s made our family complete.
“Do you want me to give him a bath?” I ask.
Sam shakes his head. “Nah, I’m on it.” He turns to David. “You ready for a bath, big guy? What do you say?”
David throws up his arms excitedly. “Ba!”
That kid loves baths as much as he loves Sam’s baby food.
Sam lifts him out of his high chair, doing his best to mop off some of the baby food, but it’s a hopeless cause. The two of them disappear down the hallway to our bathroom. I can’t help but smile. Maybe David’s technically got Monica’s genes, but I’ve seen hardly any traces of her in him, aside from his hair. He’s all Sam so far.
While I work on cleaning up the disaster David left in his high chair, the buzzer rings to alert me there’s a visitor downstairs. I go to the sink to quickly wash the mashed turkey dinner off my fingers before I press the button on the wall to see who’s there.
