how up front she was about what she wanted out of the contract, money aside.
Tapping my spoon gently against the sides of my now-empty bowl, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have another woman carry a baby for me—a baby I had no genetic link to. My mind filled with a million questions and concerns, like how we would pay for it, and how our friends and family would react, and how I could be certain the surrogate wouldn’t change her mind in the end and fight us to keep the baby. And if I would love a baby that wasn’t mine as much as one I gave birth to.
Ben and I had agreed to put the surrogacy idea on the back burner. He preferred the idea of adoption, worried about the astronomical costs and complications—both emotional and logistical—that came with surrogacy, and as a last resort, option C. With a sigh I shut the laptop and took my bowl over to the sink. While I rinsed it I imagined rinsing out baby bottles after midnight feedings, and the pain in my belly was so intense I doubled over the sink, dropping the ice-cream bowl—the loud clang as it hit the stainless-steel tub echoing through the kitchen.
“Fuck it,” I said, drying my hands and opening the laptop again.
Scanning the ad I found the contact information, and before I could even think about what I was doing, I typed her an email. With my finger over the enter key, poised to hit Send, I realized I was shaking. I told myself I wasn’t committing to anything. It was just an email, and Ben didn’t even need to know about it because nothing would likely come of it.
I hit Return, saw the confirmation my email had been sent and then went back to bed.
KATE
My cell phone rang, the familiar bars of Michael Jackson’s “Pretty Young Thing” filling the silence of the kitchen. Hannah. I jumped, a hand to my chest, only then realizing I was still holding the butter knife I’d been spreading the peanut butter with.
“Shit,” I said, glancing down at my previously white shirt. There was a large peanut-butter stain right in the middle of my chest. Why did I even bother trying to wear clean shirts, and a white one at that? I ran my finger over the excess peanut butter and licked it off, answering my phone.
“Hey, you,” I said. “How goes it?” I tucked the phone in the crook of my neck and, glancing at the large clock on the wall, swore under my breath and quickly cut the crusts off the bread. My head was still pounding, despite the migraine medication I’d taken at four in the morning, but at least the tingling in my neck and arms was gone and my stomach had settled.
“Hey, are you going to be around for a bit after the girls go to school?” Hannah sounded weird. Out of breath. Like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to let burst out of her mouth.
“It’s a migraine morning, so David’s taking them. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, good. Okay, I’ll be by in about forty minutes. Want a latte or maybe a tea for your head?”
“Coffee, definitely,” I replied. “I haven’t had a chance to make any yet. That’s probably why my head is still pounding.”
“For the last time, set your coffee timer. It will change your life, promise.”
“So you say.” I leaned into the knife as I pressed it against the sandwich, the soft bread squishing and some peanut butter and jam squeezing out the edges.
“I’ll get you a double shot. See you soon.”
“See you soon,” I said, hitting End with a peanut-butter-covered fingertip. “Shit!”
“Mom, you need to put a dollar in the jar.” Ava came into the kitchen and grabbed a triangle of the sandwich before I could stop her. “Is this peanut butter?” Ava asked, holding the sandwich up in the very tips of her fingers as though it were poisoned.
“Yes, it’s peanut butter. You love PB&J sammies. What’s the deal?”
Ava rolled her eyes. “First of all, stop calling them ‘sammies.’ You sound really lame.”
“Well, excuse me,” I replied, tucking the other triangles into Josie’s reusable sandwich bag, which was covered with bumblebees and tulips. “And I’m not lame. I’m your very cool, very hip mother.”
“Secondly,” Ava said, ignoring me, “you know you can’t send peanut butter to school. We need that soy nut butter crap.”
“Shit,” I said, quickly followed by, “Don’t say it. I know.” I pointed a finger at the jar on the windowsill, which was half-full of dollar bills. “I’ll put my money in today and after school you need to put a dollar in for using the word crap.” It had been my idea to do the swear jar, after watching some parenting show while I was at the dentist’s office trying to ignore the drilling in my mouth. But it had backfired, as I was responsible for at least 70 percent of the money in there. I reached into the pantry and grabbed two protein bars and two fruit cups. “There’s no time to make more sandwiches, so protein bars it is.”
“Fine,” Ava said, taking her lunch bag from me and putting it in her backpack. “I’m tired of sandwiches anyway.”
“Where’s your sister?”
“She’s changing again. Something about not feeling the color pink today.”
“Josie!” I shouted up the stairs, just as David started coming down. “Sorry, can you grab Josie? They’re going to be late.”
David turned and went back up the two stairs he had come down, shouting Josie’s name as he did.
I finished packing Josie’s lunch and tucked it into her backpack, mentally running over all the things I needed to do before they left for the day. My mind felt foggy, an irritating side effect of the medication I took to thwart the debilitating migraines that struck every month or so.
David and Josie came into the kitchen, looking as if they’d coordinated their outfits. Josie was dressed in black leggings and a tunic, and David wore his all-black paramedic uniform. “You look lovely.” I kissed Josie on top of her head. “Black is a great color on you.”
“Thank you, Momma,” she said, her chin tilting up and a smile coming across her freckled face at the compliment.
“Okay, get going or you’ll miss the morning bell.” I kissed the two of them on their cheeks, foreheads, noses and lips, just like I did every morning. Ava wiped her lips afterward, but Josie came back for a second kiss. I was grateful I had a few more years of kisses and snuggles and Josie thinking I walked on water before the hormones kicked in and I became her “lame,” forgetful, cussing mom instead of her hero.
David pecked me on the lips when I handed him his lunch, and I pulled him in for another kiss. “Have a great day,” I said.
“You, too.” He smiled at me, his gaze settling on me in a way that made me feel warm inside. “How’s the head?”
“Better,” I said. “Hannah’s bringing me a coffee, so I’ll be right as rain in no time.” David kissed me again, and then in a rush they were out the door, and suddenly all was quiet in the house again. With a sigh, I sat at the kitchen table and rubbed the back of my neck while I checked my inbox filled with spam offers and PTA to-dos, impatiently
