Page 45 of Geordie

She nods and it seems Connie the surrogate has returned. “The process will begin even before I become pregnant.” Her gaze more focused than nostalgic. “We'll take this intense journey together, every high, every low, and all the mundane in between. At the end, we should have a healthy child.”

The articles I’ve read say it's best to find someone you know to be your surrogate. An overwhelming hope pushes me to go one step further. This condition wasn't in the initial proposal, but I can add it to the surrogacy contract. “Connie, would you consider donating an egg?”

She sits back, eyes dreaming for a few heart beats, but it seems that minutes are ticking away as I wait for her answer. Her eyes meet mine, before she responds. “For you, George, I'll think about it.”

From there it felt like we were in a time warp catching up on our lives until the conversation came back to the reason for our meeting. Connie showed genuine excitement as she patiently explained the surrogacy process and the relationship between the surrogate and the intended parent as our scheduled one-hour meeting turned into three.

“I should go,” she announces, pulling her phone from her jacket. “My husband will report me as a missing person soon if I don't let him know I'm still here.” She sends off a text. “There, that's done, but I've got to leave. It's been wonderful having this chat.”

I push away from the couch to walk her out, wishing she could stay longer to prolong this feeling of hope. “I'll walk you to your car.”

She waves a hand at me. “There's no need. My husband is picking me up. Just walk me to the door.”

She steps into the silent hallway.

“Good night, Connie. Thank you for meeting me. I enjoyed catching up.”

She tilts her chin, looking up at me, the same woman I dated all those years ago and lost. Her arms are about my neck, urging me closer until I respond, her hands slipping to my chest to give me a kiss on my cheek. “You're welcome,” she whispers. Emotions flood my body like neon lights. I cradle her face in my hands to place a kiss on her forehead. I say nothing. With a nod, I let her go.

She takes two steps back, gives a wee wave, then turns, and the soft swish of rubber-soled footsteps on carpet echo as she heads for the elevator. “I'll call you soon,” she says over her shoulder. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Have a good night,” says another voice.

Connie responds in passing, “You too,” and my heart drops.

Lily barrels down the hall, like a tomahawk missile, until she pushes past me into the apartment with arms full of bags, the aroma of dinner in her wake. I shut the door, leaning heavily on my crutch to catch up with her before reaching the kitchen. I pause in the doorway to see her drop her bundles on the counter, an errant onion rolling to the sink. She yanks a drawer open to extract scissors, then slams it shut.

“You're home early, lass.”

“I forgot to leave your dinner before I left. You've been waiting to eat with me when I return. That's too late for someone who needs to be at work in the morning. I came back early with food from the restaurant. I mistakenly thought you might resort to a frozen dinner in front of the TV if you couldn't wait.” She snips the netting on a bag of potatoes, then sweeps them up. Another hard yank on the pantry door, and cans shudder inside.

“That was thoughtful. What did you bring?” Inching forward, I approach as if she's an untamed beast.

She frowns up at me before dumping the potatoes in the hamper. I step back, not wanting to invade her space. “Roasted chicken, potatoes, broccoli, and your favorite chocolate bread pudding,” she grits out.

“I haven't eaten yet. I'll set the table and you can tell me about your day.”

Her eyes blaze, which I take as a no.

“I'm guessing you saw my visitor. She's an old friend who got back in touch with me.”

“It's none of my business,” she snaps, pulling covered dishes from the cloth bag.

“It was unexpected. I haven't seen her in years.” I step in front of Lily before she darts to another cabinet. “Lily, talk to me. Why are you angry? I can't have visitors while I'm healing?”

“We need a system, if you decide to entertain a guest.” She says, waving the scissors at me, “I don't want to walk in on… anything.”

“We don't need a system. That was a one-off. Unless you decide to have a guest overnight.”

She narrows her eyes. “I don't need to signal my intentions. If I want to spend time with a guest overnight,” she starts as she abandons the scissors on the counter to form air quotes, “I'll go back to his place or my apartment.”

“Are you dictating who I can see in my apartment?” My voice takes a sharp rise, but this conversation is ridiculous.

She shoves a covered dish into the microwave and turns it on. “Your dinner will be ready in 2 ½ minutes.” She brushes past me. I reach out to catch her around the waist, bringing her back. “Let's reset, lass. We live under the same roof; we've got to work this out.” She's in a snit, but she doesn't back away from my touch.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my guest, but we agreed to a visit just this afternoon. I’m not used to having a roommate, but I'll make a full disclosure in the future. Thank you for bringing me dinner and saving me from the evils of a frozen meal.” She reluctantly turns up one side of her lips. I place a finger under her chin so I can look into her eyes. “I look forward to having dinner with you every night, even though I know it’s late and you're dead tired from the restaurant and would rather fall into bed than keep me company. Can you forgive my thoughtless behavior?”

Lily stares up at me, her anger fading, and I imagine her as my overnight guest, in my bed, soft in my arms. It's been too long since I've had company, and she's too beautiful not to be in one or two of my fantasies. I remind myself that she's not mine and drop my arm from her waist. It's too tempting to take advantage of our closeness. “Please, say you'll have dinner with me.”

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