The Surrogate’s Gift

by Davis, L. G.

He apologized. I told him it was okay, but he insisted I give him my number, claiming he wanted to take me out for dinner to make it up to me. One week later, we went out on our first date.

  Now here we are, back where we started, and our future looked dull at best.

  I smiled as I walked into the restaurant, gliding in my beautiful dress underneath the crystal chandeliers.

  My mouth parted a little when I spotted him at the table planted right in the center of the restaurant. I’d never seen him wearing a suit before. He looked distinguished and exuded self-confidence, which I had always found sexy in a man. Instead of flopping over his forehead, his hair was swept back with gel. Even though he preferred a five o’clock shadow, he had gone for a clean-shaven look. The flickering candles on the table cast shadows that made his face look sculpted.

  A warm ripple surged through my veins, bringing my senses to life.

  I was so focused on him that it took me a moment to notice that the other tables in the restaurant were unoccupied.

  When I came close enough, he pushed back his chair and stood. A grin lit up his face the way the candles lit up the table.

  “Good evening, beautiful.” He kissed me first on the forehead before his warm lips met mine. “Happy anniversary to us.” He picked up a bouquet of roses from the table and handed it to me.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, tears choking my throat. I never thought we would get back to the way we were, but maybe this was a new beginning.

  Our last two anniversaries had been nothing special. We did what we normally did most days of the week—we ordered food and ate it in front of a movie. Tonight was different, and I was relieved.

  “Someone made an effort.” My eyes swept the dining room. “Where is everybody?”

  “Forget everybody else. Tonight is about you and me.” He pulled out a chair for me.

  It didn’t surprise me that Chad reserved the entire restaurant. It was owned by a friend of his, an orthodontist like himself.

  “Wow.” I eyed the champagne on the table. “This is really special.”

  “You’re special.” He sat down, then took my hands into his. “Tonight, I need us to remember what we have. I want us to talk about our future.”

  My mouth dried up, and I pulled my hands from his. “Chad, we need to talk about something important.” I hated bringing up the surrogacy in the middle of our romantic anniversary dinner, but if he wanted to talk about our future, it was something we needed to address.

  “Let me say something first.” He stood up again, then dropped to one knee.

  I gasped when I saw the black velvet box he pulled from his pocket.

  “I want you, Grace,” he said. “I want you forever.”

  Tears filled my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. I tasted the salt at one corner of my lips.

  The perfect words. The perfect man. The wrong time.

  Or was it?

  “You’re asking me to marry you?” A question with an obvious answer, but I needed time to gather my thoughts.

  “If you’ll have me.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’m not perfect, but we are good together. We complement each other. Will you be my wife, Grace Cooper?”

  He reached for my hand again, and I found myself nodding. We kissed, we laughed, and we kissed some more.

  Then, out of nowhere, reality set in and I asked him to sit.

  “Chad, I want to marry you, but I also want to… I’m still going to be a surrogate for my sister. I signed the papers and—”

  “Without telling me?” His voice was suddenly thick with anger.

  “You never wanted to talk about it. You didn’t want to be involved.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand why she can’t find another surrogate. I’m sure there are enough of them out there to choose from. I sent you links to websites.”

  “She wants me to do it for her, not some stranger. I’m her sister and I have made my decision.” Since we were twins, and I would be donating my eggs, the kid would have a higher chance of actually looking like Rachel.

  “But you don’t have to support her that way. That’s drastic.” He rubbed the side of his face roughly. “And now you’re about to get married. You need to focus on our future.”

  How did I miss it? I should have known the moment he dropped to one knee. The proposal was not pure. It came with a condition.

  “That’s why you proposed, isn’t it? You wanted me to choose between you and my sister.”

  “No.” He rubbed his brow. “I proposed because I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  I was too choked up to answer. Instead of gazing into his eyes, I watched raindrops sliding down the large window, blurring my view of the busy street outside.

  A waiter brought us lobster tails smothered in a rich garlic sauce, served with thin, round slices of Thermidor butter and fresh green salad. We ate it in silence. Neither of us had the courage to fill it with words.

  I had so much hope for tonight, but it ended up being a disaster.

  After dinner, Chad offered to drive me home. I turned him down. When he left, I walked outside in the rain for an hour, thoughts stumbling over each other in my mind.

  What if Chad was right? What if I was putting my life on hold and missing out on my chance at happiness?

  When my thoughts had tortured me enough, I took a cab to Rachel’s house.

  She opened the door and saw me standing out there, my beautiful dress drenched, my makeup smudged by rainwater and tears. I didn’t have to say a word. She already knew.

  I tried to apologize, to make her understand. I even showed her the ring, but she shut the door in my face.

  That night, I gained a fiancé and lost my sister.

  Even if I changed my mind and told her I would go ahead with the surrogacy, she would never trust me again. I had given her hope, then I snatched it away and gave it to somebody else.

  I betrayed the one person who meant the world to me, my only family.

  Chad and I would get married, but the pain I caused Rachel would always stand between us.

  The next morning, Chad called me early.

  “Good morning, fiancée.” His voice was a deep, velvet murmur. “We’re still getting married, right?”

  “Yes.” The word was like a hammer cracking my heart open. “I’m still wearing the ring if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  The bitterness in my tone was hard to disguise. But I couldn’t take it out on him. It wasn’t his fault. I had chosen him instead of my sister’s happiness. The guilt was mine alone to carry.

  “Last night didn’t go as well as I planned,” Chad continued. “I want to make it up to you today. Let’s have lunch to celebrate our engagement.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a terrible headache.”

  Thank God it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to go to the office. I had a few guest blog posts to review for a future feature, but it would be in the comfort of my own home.

  I was engaged to the man I loved. I was supposed to be the happiest girl in the world. But the part of me that held joy was empty. A dark cloud hung over my relationship.

  “Did you make a decision about the surrogacy?” Chad asked.

  “I did, and you’ll be happy to know I’m not going through with it.”

  As I listened to him telling me how happy he was that I had come to my senses, I couldn’t stop thinking about what the future held for us. Every time we smiled, every time we celebrated our love, I would be reminded of my sister’s pain, of the dagger that I had plunged into her heart.

  Later down the line, when we had kids together, I’d be reminded of the fact that my sister couldn’t have any. Or maybe fate would punish me by not giving me children of my own, so I could experience the same pain my sister did.

  For the rest of that day, I couldn’t shake the feeling that by betraying Rachel, I had cursed my future, and my happiness would always be tainted by her tears.

  Seven
>
  Present

  I peel my eyes open and drag myself out of bed. Forget the nap. Sleep opens the door to nightmares, anyway.

  The claustrophobia of feeling trapped inside the guesthouse has reached a new high. I need to get out.

  I slide on a pair of jeans and a striped black and white T-shirt—two pieces among the many maternity clothes Marcia had filled up my closet with. She said she didn’t want me to spend my own money on a baby that wasn’t mine. I was grateful, but if I had been given the chance to choose my own clothes, I would’ve gone for bright colors to lift my mood. The clothes she picked are various shades of gray, black, and an occasional white.

  Before stepping outside, I open the fridge and remove a bottle of the fresh watermelon juice I prepared in the morning. I pour myself a glass and take it with me outside, along with a book to read.

  Before I became pregnant, I didn’t like watermelons. To me, they tasted like a sponge filled with sweet water. But after Marcia talked me into having a slice for breakfast three days ago, I can’t seem to get enough. If I had a choice, I’d eat the fruit at every meal. Fortunately, there’s more than enough. Last night, Travis surprised me with the largest watermelon I’d ever seen. He promised to bring more when I finished it.

  Outside the guesthouse, I walk along the flagstone path that cuts through the perfectly trimmed lawn. I pass the tree house and Marcia’s art studio, which looks as weathered as the tool shed a few steps away from it. She claims it inspires her more to paint there than in a perfect environment. I wish I could get a peek at some of the art pieces she’s working on, but Travis said she’s strict about anyone entering her studio.

  “She’s working on a painting for the nursery,” he whispered to me once at dinner. “She won’t let me see it until the baby comes.”

  I stroll past the shed and make my way toward a whitewashed vintage metal table with matching chairs covered by gray cushions. The garden furniture is positioned only a few steps from the edge of the river, underneath a large weeping willow.

  I put the juice on the table and flip my book open: What to Expect When You’re Expecting, the most popular book out there when it comes to pregnancy. It was a gift from Marcia, one of two she bought. The second copy was for herself.

  I don’t get it, but I’m not about to question it either. Once this is over, she’s going to end up with two books. Whatever she gives me during this time, including the clothes, I’ll leave behind.

  A yellowing four-inch leaf detaches itself from a branch and falls on top of my head before sliding down my forehead and plopping between the pages of the book. I pick it up, hold it in the palm of my hand for a few seconds, then let it fall to the ground.

  I can’t focus on the book, so I get to my feet and press my hands on my lower back, massaging away the constant ache. It refuses to budge, but that’s ok. Being out here makes me feel better. The air is a touch cooler today, and I close my eyes to enjoy the moment.

  At first, I think it’s the brush of the breeze across the nape of my neck, but it’s not. It’s the fine hairs rising, responding to a stare.

  I turn to see Marcia standing at the small window of her studio, watching me. She gives me a wave. I hesitate before waving back, my jaw stiff.

  Even when I think I’m alone, I’m not. She’s everywhere.

  Since they have an extra pair of keys to the guesthouse, she comes and goes as she pleases, checking up on me and bringing me things I didn’t ask for. It’s as if by agreeing to be their surrogate, I also gave away my right to privacy.

  When Marcia’s not watching me, it’s Travis. The worst is when both of them do it at the same time.

  Desperate to escape her stare, I kick off my sandals and walk away, nearing the edge of the river. The tickle of the grass on my bare feet is invigorating, like it used to be when I was a child visiting my grandparents’ farm in Missouri.

  I throw a glance behind me at the studio. Marcia’s eyes are still on me.

  I continue to walk along the edge, praying she won’t come and join me.

  I wish I could tell her how uncomfortable she’s making me with her hovering, but it is her baby I’m carrying, and I came here so she and Travis could be a part of the journey. I have no reason to complain.

  I knew it would be hard, but not like this.

  When I’m a safe distance away and can no longer see her face clearly through the window, the tension in my shoulders and back melts away.

  I shut my eyes again and inhale the scent of wildflowers. Then I take a step toward the water, sliding my feet into the liquid.

  The initial shock of cold makes me gasp, but it’s not long until I start enjoying the gentle waves dancing over my feet.

  I don’t even mind the touch of the slimy rocks underfoot. It’s all a part of nature. The buzzing insects and the birdsong make me feel like I’m far away, in a place where I don’t have to worry about a thing.

  Less than ten minutes later, a twig snaps behind me. I spin around to find her standing there.

  “Hi, Grace,” she says, coming to stand next to me. “Stepping on those slippery rocks might not be such a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry, Marcia,” I say. “I’m careful.”

  “Good.” She puts a hand on my arm. “Now, would you like to come in for some smoothies? I made them fresh, and they’re packed with nutrients for you and the baby.”

  The smoothies. The mere thought of drinking them makes me want to throw up. I have always preferred juice instead, and I’m not a fan of vegetables being mixed with fruits either. The spinach smoothies are the worst.

  “No, that’s all right. I already had one not long ago, avocado and peaches.”

  Shortly before I arrived, Marcia brought a blender to my kitchen and gave me a short course on how to make the perfect smoothie. She also left me a recipe book for pregnancy green smoothies.

  “Great. Then why don’t we go shopping for the baby?”

  I want to say no. I should say no. Last time we went shopping, it was exhausting. Marcia had forced Travis to come with us, and the two couldn’t decide on what kind of stroller to buy. In the end, they purchased two oversized strollers, a white, feminine version for Marcia and the baby’s outings, and a black and white high-tech version for Travis.

  Who buys two strollers for a baby?

  But why should I care? It’s not my baby, and it’s not my money.

  What does annoy me is that both strollers are inside the guesthouse living room, along with everything else they keep buying.

  “That’s a good idea,” I say. I’ll accompany her to town, but she’ll come back alone because I plan on spending hours away from this house. “I’ll go get ready.”

  Marcia and Travis have given me a Volvo XC40 that I can use when I’m staying with them. Since I haven’t driven it yet, now seems like a great opportunity to try it out. The main reason for giving me access to a vehicle is so I can be mobile on the off chance I need to get to the hospital in an emergency. I doubt they want me to be driving around town for the hell of it.

  “Aren’t you riding with me?” Marcia asks when I exit the guesthouse with the car keys.

  “No, I think I should give this baby a test drive.” I point to the metallic gray vehicle.

  She tries to convince me to get into her car, but I stand my ground until she backs off. Fine wrinkles of disapproval form around her lips, but I don’t care.

  If I drive with her in the same car, I’ll have to rely on her to bring me back.

  It’s time to get back my freedom.

  “Where are you two going?” Travis asks, emerging from the house, running a towel over his damp hair. He looks clean and fresh in a white polo shirt and dark denims.

  “Shopping for the baby,” Marcia says, opening her car door. “Want to join us?”

  “I wish I could. But I have a class with high school kids today.”

  “I see,” Marcia says, her voice low.

  Travis and Marcia met when he was hired to
shoot for a campaign for MereLux, one that Marcia was spearheading, long before she started modeling for the brand. According to her, it was love at first sight.

  After they got married, Travis took her last name instead of the other way around. Marcia complained he was spending too much time away from home for photo shoots, so he gave his fashion photography career up for her. With the Thorpe fortune supporting him, he doesn’t need to work, anyway.

  Now he spends some of his time either only photographing his wife, or giving photography lessons to the locals and tourists.

  “Have a great time,” he calls as we get into our separate cars.

  The shopping trip is a grueling experience. Marcia agonizes over every little item. By the time we’re done, I’m desperate to get away from her. I wait until she’s stuffing the bags into the trunk before telling her I’m staying a while in the town square.

  “Why?” she asks as the trunk closes. “What will you be doing all by yourself?”

  “I want to give myself a short tour. There are places around here I haven’t seen yet.” I was in Wellice once before, so I’m not a complete stranger to the place.

  “That’s a lovely idea,” she says, smoothing down her floral dress, preventing it from billowing in the breeze Marilyn Monroe style. “I’d love to show you around. Maybe we can have lunch afterward, just us girls. Travis will be gone all day, anyway.”

  “Oh, no… I don’t want to be a burden. Go home and relax. You’ve been so busy getting everything ready for the baby.”

  She hesitates, then bobs her head. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

  “I am.” I give her a nudge toward the front of the car. “Do something nice for yourself.”

  When she gets into the car, it feels like some of the invisible chains around me break away. I wander around town for a bit, popping in and out of shops, searching for a unique handbag for Sydney. In a store selling recycled products, I come across a tote made from computer keyboard keys. I search inside for a price tag and find none.

  “How much?” I ask the woman behind the counter. Despite the heat, she’s wearing a bright pink knitted hat with a matching sweater.