on her daughter. Pressing her face into the abundant dark curls, she sniffed and croaked, ‘It’s the best hug ever.’ It really, really was, and she might need plenty of them over the coming days.
‘How are you, sweetheart?’ Her mum kissed her gently on the other cheek and passed over a handful of tissues.
‘I’m good. About everything. Though I feel like a freight truck’s driven through me.’
There was doubt in those knowledgeable eyes that she’d known all her life. Not even shock tactics had diverted her mum from her real mission. ‘When do you see the psychologist?’
Give me strength.
That was the last person she wanted to talk to, but there’d be no avoiding that particular conversation. It was part of the surrogacy deal she’d signed that she talk to everyone this side of the Crown Ranges about her feelings. If the shrink lady didn’t come looking for her then her mother would be hauling her to the counsellor’s rooms herself.
‘In a couple of days, unless I need her sooner. Honestly, Mum, I’m fine. When Grace cried, I felt a tug on the heartstrings, but she has always been Abbie’s baby and nothing’s changed.’
Nothing I can’t handle. I hope.
Hell, what if she couldn’t manage, was crippled with longing for the baby that wasn’t hers?
Her mum cut through the sudden pain in her head. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am,’ she answered more forcefully than she intended. Pushing the demons back into their box? ‘At the moment I’m more in need of sleep.’
Her mother smiled her special mum smile and gently pushed the hair away from Emma’s forehead. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think I could’ve done what you have.’
More tears. ‘Thanks, Mum. You got a hug for me too?’ Why did she need so many?
Rosie squirmed in close, pushing her way under Emma’s right arm. ‘Me, too, Mummy. I love hugs, don’t I?’
‘This a hug fest?’ The booming question came from across the room.
Emma’s eyes flew open. Nixon stood at the entrance, looking uncertain of his welcome. ‘Hey. You want to join in?’
‘Me? I don’t think so. There’s a crowd already.’
‘Chicken.’ The challenge slipped out with no input from her brain. No problem, he’d refuse. He’d asked her out about six months ago. With every other available female, and some not so available, swooning at his feet, she knew she’d shocked him by saying no. She wanted nothing more to do with dating men, or so she’d told herself over and over since that day, trying not to wonder what it would’ve been like going out with Nixon. Once he learned she was pregnant, he’d got over his shock quick smart and they’d started getting on great guns as friends. Perfect. Really? Was it perfect?
A wriggle, a squirm, and Rosie shrieked, ‘Nixon, have you seen the baby? Mummy won’t take me to see it and I want to hold her.’
Emma’s mother stepped back, rubbing her ear. ‘Quieter, Rosie.’
Emma ran her hand over Rosie’s curls. ‘That’s not what I said. Abbie’s feeding Grace so you have to be patient.’
‘That’s like asking a cat to ignore the mouse running across its paws.’ Nixon winked. ‘Especially with this one.’ He knew Rosie from the times she used to be dropped off at the department after pre-school on the days Emma was running late signing off. Her daughter had fallen under his spell in the flash of a chocolate bar and a wide smile. Easily bribed, her girl.
Nixon moved up, leaned over and wrapped his arms around Emma. ‘You’re looking good for what you’ve been through.’
A warm sigh trickled across her lips. This hug felt special. The perfect elixir for lurking emotions left over from handing the baby to Abbie. Emma leaned forward ever so slightly to rest against Nixon’s chest and breathed deeply, absorbing the man scent and strength. She lurched backwards. This was all wrong. They were pals, not lovers.
There had been one time she’d said too much to him. At the end of a particularly hectic shift she’d been tired and achy, heavily pregnant and despondent, and when he’d walked out of the department with her and suggested a wind-down drink over the road at the café, she’d burst into tears. It had to have been the tea that loosened her tongue, or otherwise why had she spilled her guts to Nixon about her feelings over giving up the baby? The feelings she wouldn’t share with Abbie so as not to rattle her friend’s confidence that she would hand over Abbie’s baby.
He’d listened without interruption as she’d explained her fear of not being able to let go the baby, which would break her friend’s heart along with her own. Not once did Nixon say it was her fault she was in that predicament. He’d shown another side to himself. He’d always been popular, but also somewhat wary, and known to be a focused, caring doctor. She doubted anyone at work had seen Nixon so thoughtful and considerate about something unrelated to work. Which made her wonder what else he was hiding behind his everyday face. And glad she’d turned him down for that date. She had enough of her own problems to be carrying on with, without taking on anyone else’s.
Now he stepped back, those thoughtful eyes watching her too closely for comfort.
‘Mum, you haven’t met Nixon, have you? Nixon Wright, this is my mum Kathy Hayes. Nixon’s our emergency specialist,’ she added for clarity. No point raising her mother’s hopes that she’d found a man. How her mother could want her to get married again was beyond Emma. Not after her last fiasco. But then, all her family held onto some guilt over that. They’d fallen under Alvin’s spell too and had encouraged her marriage.
‘You’re not a local.’ Her mother shook Nixon’s hand, appraising the tall, strapping specimen before her as if she was about to interview him. Which, being her mother, was definitely on the cards. And her mum had nothing on her brothers or father. Emma wouldn’t put it past them to tie any man she might be interested in up to the fence and throw icy water over him while proceeding with an interrogation about whether he knew his hands were not made to be used against their sister and daughter.
He gave a light smile. ‘I shifted here from Dunedin a year ago, so, no, most people don’t know what I like to eat for breakfast or what grades I got in school.’
There were few secrets in Queenstown amongst the locals, for sure. Hurrying to cut her mother off before she got started on in-depth questions, Emma said, ‘Grace weighs three point seven kilos, has ten fingers and ten toes, and is cute as a button. Abbie’s besotted.’
Nixon agreed. ‘I saw her in the nursery on my way here. I think we could have a Force Six earthquake and she wouldn’t notice.’ His smile dipped. ‘You’re all right?’
The same loaded question her mother had asked. No doubt she’d hear it a few more times yet. ‘Yep.’
He locked eyes with her, as if he was looking for more. But what could she say? Especially in front of her mother, who had had misgivings about the whole surrogacy thing from the day she’d told her family she was having Abbie’s baby. ‘I have no regrets. Okay?’
‘I didn’t think you would.’ Nixon looked away, and got caught in the beam of her mother’s stare. ‘You’ve got
