The Surrogate’s Gift

by Davis, L. G.

  A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf covers the opposite wall. From what I can see, most titles are fiction, mostly thriller and suspense, Marcia’s favorite genres.

  “Grace,” Travis says, coming down the stairs. “You’re here.” He gives me a hug and smiles down at me. “How was your flight?”

  “Uneventful,” I say and take a step away from him. He’s one of those people who doesn’t seem to respect personal space.

  “That’s wonderful.” He bends to lift my luggage. “I’ll take these to the guesthouse.”

  Marcia and I follow Travis through the main house and out into the backyard toward the guesthouse. A ginger cat follows behind Marcia.

  “Her name is Marigold,” Marcia says. “We’ve been friends for many years.” She pulls a key from her pocket. “I hope you don’t mind staying out here. We thought you’d want your privacy.”

  I appreciate it, especially since I have no way of knowing when the next anxiety attack will hit. I wouldn’t want them to be around when it happens. It’s something I haven’t told them about. I didn’t want it to stop them from picking me to be their surrogate.

  “Thank you,” I say when she opens the door.

  My eyes land on the pink and white interior, then on a crisp white bassinet that could also be used as a Moses basket. It has wheels and a small electronic pod attached to it, with various buttons on it. The main house had an adult feel to it, but this place is a large nursery. Even the air smells like baby powder.

  As I move closer into the room, I take in everything—the rocking chair, the changing table leaning against one wall, the baby monitor on the mantle. Everything a baby needs.

  Marcia takes my arm. “Let me give you a short tour.”

  I nod and allow her to lead the way.

  The bedroom is a little girl’s room, complete with a pink princess bed adorned with frilly pillows and covers. The bathroom is white and pink marble. Every tool or appliance in the kitchen is either pink, cream, or white. Come to think of it, the entire guesthouse reminds me of one of the miniature dollhouses Rachel and I used to have as kids.

  When we return to the living room, my gaze lands on a glass shelf with Barbies displayed inside it. There have to be at least fifty to a hundred Barbies, all staring at me with their plastic eyes.

  “I hope you like it,” Marcia says, picking up a stuffed giraffe, hugging it to her body.

  I cringe inwardly. “It’s... it’s so lovely.”

  Liar.

  I wish I could tell her the truth, that it’s too much. Standing inside this place makes me feel like I’m one of the Barbie dolls.

  “I personally think it’s overkill,” Travis admits, coming to stand next to Marcia in the kitchen. “But my darling wife has the final say when it comes to decorating. And in case you haven’t noticed, she thinks the baby is going to be a girl. That’s why most everything around here tends to be pink.”

  “I’m positive that it’s a girl,” Marcia says. “And this is going to be the perfect playhouse for our little princess.”

  “You know what, Grace,” Travis says, pulling his wife close while his eyes meet mine. “I do wish it’s a girl.”

  “What if it isn’t?” I ask.

  He rubs his beard. “It doesn’t matter. Girl or boy, it won’t change how I’ll feel about her or him.” He pauses. “We just want a baby. And anyway, it’s quite acceptable for boys to wear pink these days.” He kisses Marcia on her temple.

  I wish for a love like theirs, but I can’t allow myself to dwell on it, not while I’m carrying someone else’s child.

  When Marcia moves away from him to look through the fridge and cupboards, Travis pulls me aside. “We’re so excited about this,” he whispers. “Please, do everything you can to make it happen.”

  I glance over at Marcia. She looks so happy, and she has put on a few pounds since the day they told me I would be their surrogate. After all the work she put into preparing their home for the baby, it would hit her hard if it ended up not happening.

  I give Travis a tight smile. I can’t give him any promises, not the kind he wants. Pregnancy does not come with a guaranteed baby at the end. What I do know is that I’ll do everything in my power to protect this child.

  Thankfully, before I can answer him, Marcia comes back to us and tells me to settle in before joining them for lunch in the main house.

  Once they leave the guesthouse, I lower myself onto the couch and keep still until the anxiety starts to melt away.

  Five

  I’m standing in the driveway of my townhouse, watching him through the windshield of his car. His eyes are vacant, like no one’s been home inside his body for a while. But I can’t look away.

  His eyes fill with blood. As the red liquid trickles down his cheeks, my first scream almost chokes me. The one that follows it brings me back to consciousness.

  I wake up in the princess bed with a storm raging inside my body. The right side of my head is throbbing, the pain an invisible knife slicing through my skull. The sheets stick to my skin, damp with sweat.

  I draw in a shaky breath, but it’s not enough. I gulp in some more oxygen until I’m a little satisfied.

  I haven’t had the nightmare for close to six months now. I should have known that it would return, that it would follow me wherever I went. It was lying dormant deep within my subconscious, waiting to awaken and torment me when I least expected it.

  I jump out of bed and switch on the night light. The heaviness in my belly immediately reminds me I’m carrying a baby and can’t move too fast. Sometimes I forget. That’s not allowed to happen. I should be aware of it every second of each day.

  I slow down to ease the dizziness, but it gets even worse when I enter the bright pink bathroom. It feels like I’m in a room that’s slowly burning up.

  As a child, I hated it when my mother forced us to wear pink. She wanted Rachel and me to wear matching clothes, most of them pink, with ribbons and bows. Rachel didn’t mind, but I preferred yellow. Before we turned six, we couldn’t choose what we wanted to wear. As soon as I was old enough to choose, pink was deserted.

  I sit down on the closed toilet and close my eyes.

  I’ve been living with the Thorpes for two weeks now, and I dread the next couple of months.

  The constant questions about whether I’m eating right and taking care of myself, or if I have any symptoms that need to be checked out, are starting to drive me insane. They’re a constant reminder of what’s at stake if something goes wrong and I don’t carry the baby to term.

  I can’t blame them. They’ve been trying to have a baby for the seven years of their marriage. Of course they’re excited. It’s not their fault that I feel pressured. I chose to move in with them. I made my bed and now I have to literally lie in it.

  The sound of the footsteps drifts through the slanted window, then the doorbell shrills.

  Annoyance bubbles inside me and heats up my face.

  It’s Marcia.

  She claimed they wanted to give me the guesthouse to offer me privacy, but that’s not what I’ve experienced so far.

  I pull myself off the toilet and cool my heated face with water. If she sees me even a little flustered, she’ll start to worry.

  I press a fluffy towel to my face and toss it into the bathtub without folding it, creating a little imperfection. The over-the-top neatness of the place is getting on my nerves.

  Hands clenched at my sides, I make my way to the front door.

  “Hello, Grace,” Marcia says. It’s 4:00 a.m., and she looks wide awake.

  I force my face to smile, but my skin feels tight. “You’re up early.”

  “So are you.” She walks past me into the living room. She’s holding a white mug with a golden rim.

  “I saw the light on in the bathroom. I thought I’d come to check up on you, to see if everything is okay.”

  It’s not the first time she’s done something like this. With pregnancy comes constant visits to the bathroom in th
e middle of the night, but often I don’t switch on the lights because she shows up minutes later to investigate. Sometimes I wonder if she sits by the window all night watching the guesthouse.

  She’s on an extended leave from work and only has to do a photo shoot here and there, but she refuses any that would require her to travel. Apparently, she wants to be available to support me. Since it’s her family’s business, I guess she can stay away as long as she likes.

  The thought of her being around all the time for the next few months suffocates me.

  She holds up the mug. “I brought you some milk. It might help you fall asleep.”

  “I’m sleeping all right.” I fake a yawn, hoping she’d catch the hint. “I woke up to go to the bathroom.”

  “Come on, it will do you good.”

  Putting on a tight smile, I allow her to press the warm mug into my hands. I put it on the coffee table. In my exhausted annoyance, I’m tempted to pour it down the drain while she’s watching.

  Marcia eyes the milk for a moment, then looks back at my face. “Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look well. Should I call Dr. Miller?”

  Not him again. They call their family doctor if I so much as cough in front of them.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just a little tired. I should head back to bed.”

  “Good idea. I’ll leave you to it. You both need your sleep.”

  It’s another ten minutes before she walks to the door.

  “Drink the milk while it’s still warm,” she orders before stepping out. “And remember, we’re going shopping for the baby tomorrow. We need to buy a stroller. I’d like the baby to be there.”

  The baby is not even born yet. It doesn’t know what’s going on outside my belly. The way they talk to it and insist on involving it in activities is getting creepy.

  “Hang in there,” I whisper to myself. “It will be over before you know it.”

  I move to the couch and press the tips of my fingers against my eyes. I’m desperate for my anxiety meds, but that’s out of the question.

  I remain on the couch for thirty minutes. That’s how long it takes for me to get back my calm.

  The ringing of my phone in the bedroom gives me the nudge I need to get up again.

  I waddle to the room to answer it, thinking it may be Sydney.

  It’s Marcia.

  “Sorry to disturb you again.” Her chirpy voice floats down the line. “I noticed that your light is still on. The baby needs to rest.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut until my eyeballs hurt. Doesn’t she understand that the baby can sleep even if I’m moving around? It might even prefer it. But I’m not about to rock the boat. I’ll suck it up and play this game until the end.

  “I was drinking the milk.” It’s a struggle to keep the bite from my tone.

  Satisfied, she hangs up the phone and I switch off the lights, but I remain sitting in the silence. I wish I could pack up my things and return to Miami, but I don’t want to be a quitter.

  The ballerina clock ticks and ticks in the dark, but it doesn’t succeed in lulling me to sleep. If Marcia had not shown up, I’d probably be sleeping by now.

  In need of a distraction, I pick up my phone and read the last message Sydney sent me yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to respond yet.

  We often connect through text or email. It’s hard to speak to her and not hear the note of disapproval in her voice.

  You okay over there? You’ve been quiet.

  My fingers fly over the screen as I type a reply.

  I’m fine.

  Instead of receiving another text, a call comes in. She knows I’m lying.

  I think of ignoring her call, but I’m also desperate to talk to someone outside of the Thorpe household.

  “Hi,” I say and brace myself for the “I told you so.”

  “What happened?” she asks. “You’re not okay, so don’t even think about lying to me. I know you better than you know yourself.” The concern in her voice brings tears to my eyes.

  “Look, I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

  “You won’t get one.” She lets out an audible sigh. “I know I haven’t been as supportive as I want to be, and I’m sorry. You’re an adult and you have the right to make your own decisions.” She pauses. “How are the future parents treating you?”

  “Like a damn egg.”

  “Oh, no.” Sydney chuckles. It breaks the ice that’s been standing between us for weeks now. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “They’re watching my every move and they speak to the baby like it’s already here.” I lie back down on the bed with the phone to my ear. “Marcia was here a few minutes ago. I went to the bathroom, and she saw the light on. She brought me some milk.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “It is, but I also kind of understand them. They really want this child.”

  “But they should also respect your privacy. That’s why—”

  “Please don’t go there. You already made it clear that you didn’t want me to move in with them.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sydney clears her throat. “Do you get out at all? I mean, doing things without them around?”

  “Not really.”

  I haven’t thought about going out much since I have everything I need here, and going out feels exhausting. Or maybe I’m trying to avoid being stared at. Wellice is a small town. People have different opinions when it comes to surrogacy, and I don’t want them to point fingers at me. Considering the Thorpes are well known, we’re probably the talk of the town right now. It’s safer for me to remain indoors, where I only have to deal with Marcia and Travis.

  “Grace, you should get out. Being trapped on that property and being watched like a zoo animal can’t be good for your mental health.”

  “You’re right. At least we’re going out to shop for the baby in the morning.”

  “You and the parents?”

  “Apparently, Marcia wants the baby to be there.”

  “That’s ridiculous. The baby is not even born yet. Why can’t she go without you? You need to have time to yourself,” she says. “Don’t make new friends if you don’t want to, but get out there and be you.” Sydney takes a breath. “Okay, I’m done with the lecturing. I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time.”

  “I hate to admit this to you, but I kind of regret coming here. But it’s a little too late now.”

  I gave up everything in Miami. I don’t have a job, an apartment, or anything to go back to. Trying to build a new life in my current condition would be exhausting, and the Thorpes will definitely have a problem with me leaving.

  Sydney says something, but I don’t hear it because my ears have picked up on another sound.

  “I think I heard something outside. At least I think it’s outside.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure.” I get off the bed and glance out the window. I don’t see anything suspicious. The lights in the main house are switched off, but I’m not sure whether Marcia is standing by the window. “It’s probably nothing. You know what, let’s talk later. I should really get some sleep.”

  Before getting into bed, I return to the living room, suddenly craving the milk that Marcia had brought me. I don’t care if it’s cool by now.

  There’s enough moonlight streaming from the window for me to see the mug. But it’s not on the coffee table where I left it.

  There’s no way I took it with me to the bedroom.

  Back in the room, I climb under the covers and stare at the door, straining to catch any more sounds. There’s only silence.

  When I finally start to drift off, a text message from Sydney wakes me again.

  What was the sound?

  I type a quick lie.

  It was nothing. Just branches outside.

  There’s no point in worrying her, especially when there’s nothing to worry about. There has to be some kind of explanation. Marcia must have come back and taken the milk with her.
>
  But why?

  Six

  Past

  My hands glided over my body, from my bust, over the black satin ribbon around my waist, and down the skirt of the lavender cocktail dress.

  It was perfect.

  It had arrived two hours before, in a silver-lined box, accompanied by a simple note from Chad.

  Get dressed and meet me at Gunther’s Shack at seven. I can’t wait to see you.

  We’d been together for four years to the day. The last months had been tough on us, but maybe tonight would help rekindle the spark.

  Since I told him I was going to be a surrogate for Rachel, things had been strained between us. For two weeks after I shared the news with him, we didn’t see each other at all.

  A week ago, he showed up at my door to apologize for not returning my calls. I told him if we were to move on, he had to accept my decision, and if he wanted to leave, I would respect his. He told me he loved me and that he was not going anywhere. I didn’t expect him to support me, but as long as he didn’t discourage me, I could live with that.

  If only it were that simple.

  The pregnancy became the elephant in the room. Chad avoided the topic altogether, and when I brought it up, he brushed it off and changed the subject. His way of handling the uncomfortable situation was to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  The papers were signed and Rachel, Peter, and I would start the process in less than a month. Chad didn’t know that yet. I had a feeling he still hoped I would change my mind. Over the past week, I had been trying to gather up the courage to tell him, but I lost my nerve at the last second. Sooner or later, he would have to know, and I was terrified of how he would react.

  I left the house at six-thirty, taking a cab instead of driving.

  Gunther’s Shack was where we met for the first time. I’d gone there for dinner with friends and was carrying a passion fruit martini to my table when he bumped into me. The drink sloshed over the rim and spilled all over my blouse.