The Surrogate’s Gift

by Davis, L. G.

  I wanted to explain to him how much the birth meant to my family, and how long my sister and her husband had been yearning for a baby, but I doubted he would understand. Roman was a playboy who didn’t believe in marriage or anything that came with it.

  “Let me be clear, Grace,” he continued. “If you don’t show up to that meeting, you’re out.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you seriously threatening to fire me for this?”

  “It’s not a threat. This is my magazine. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

  “Fine, Roman. Go ahead. I work harder than anybody in your company. See if you can manage without me.”

  While he went around the world, chasing one party after another, I was the backbone of his magazine, the first person to enter the building every morning and the last to leave. I held his business together.

  Deep down inside, I didn’t think he would really do it. He had made those kinds of threats many times before when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

  He hung up before I could say anything else. At first, I stood there fuming, but my anger was soon washed away by the rush of excitement bubbling up inside me. Rachel was finally going to be a mother.

  When I called Addison to explain the situation, she was fully supportive and assured me she would gladly take the reins.

  After the call, I drove like a maniac through the thick traffic of Miami. At every traffic light, my blood pressure rose as I urged the lights to change.

  By the time I arrived at the hospital, I was sweating so much my blouse clung to my back. As soon as I entered the rotating doors, I bought a large bouquet of roses, dahlias, and carnations. The flowers cost a ridiculous amount of money, but I didn’t care.

  I finally made it to the fifth floor, where the maternity unit was located.

  When the elevator doors slid open, I found Peter standing there, a huge grin on his face. He looked tired, but more than that, he looked happy.

  I gave him a hug and held him tight, already congratulating him before the baby arrived.

  “How’s she doing?” I asked.

  “Everything is going really well.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, and I noticed a slight tremble in his hand.

  “Can I go in and see her?”

  “Sure. I’m just going to get myself a coffee before I go back.”

  “Peter, if you’re tired, we can take turns being in the room with her. That way she’ll never be alone.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “We’re family.”

  He gave me Rachel’s room number and went to get his coffee.

  I entered the room to find my sister lying in a hospital bed, her face marked by both pain and happiness. By the time I made it to the bed, we were both in tears. I placed the flowers on the windowsill and went to hug her.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “Emma is coming. I’m going to be a mother.”

  She stiffened in my arms. A contraction must have snuck up on her. The gasp confirmed it.

  She relaxed again, and I gazed into her face.

  “You’re going to be the best mother in the whole world.” I kissed her forehead and placed a hand on each side of her face. “I promise to be the best aunt. Emma won’t even know who her real mother is.”

  We both laughed before Rachel succumbed to another contraction.

  “Is the nursery ready?” I asked, to distract her from the pain.

  “It’s perfect.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “My daughter will love it.”

  Every time Rachel became pregnant, she and Peter built a brand-new nursery for the baby.

  They returned or sold most of the items that had belonged to the baby they had lost and went on another shopping spree for the new arrival. Every pregnancy was a fresh start, and they didn’t want to be reminded of what they had lost.

  The only thing that was never ready was the crib. Except this time.

  Rachel told me that Peter put it together a week ago.

  When Peter returned, I excused myself to give them their moment together. “I’ll be outside, but I’ll come in from time to time to see how you’re doing.”

  Rachel smiled and squeezed my hand. “I forgive you, Grace.”

  I nodded and blinked away the tears. I had been waiting so long to hear those words, but now that she had said them, I still didn’t feel relief. She may have forgiven me, but I would never forgive myself. The guilt would always remain with me.

  I kissed her on the cheek and hurried to the bathroom, where I gripped the edge of the sink and allowed myself to cry.

  When the tears stopped, I washed my face and went to the waiting room, where I listened to my sister’s screams. I felt her pain, but I did my best to focus on the good that would come out of her torture.

  An hour later, Peter came out of the room, his face rumpled, his hair sticking out in all directions.

  “Do you mind taking over?” he asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Of course,” I said and stood up.

  It was good for Rachel to know she was never alone, that she was loved.

  When I went inside, she was so exhausted she couldn’t speak to me anymore.

  Her hand felt limp in mine. I held onto her as she pushed through every contraction.

  I listened to the midwife telling her she was almost there.

  I told her she was doing great, but she didn’t believe me.

  “Shut up, Grace,” she said at one point. I didn’t hold it against her.

  When Peter returned, I allowed him to take his place next to his wife.

  Instead of returning to the waiting room, I paced the hallway.

  Finally, Rachel stopped screaming.

  Did the baby come?

  Then the screaming started again, louder, sharper.

  The pain became too much for me to bear, so I went back to the waiting room. I could still hear her, but the sounds were muffled.

  Peter and I continued to take turns to be with Rachel for six more hours. Rachel was in so much pain that I wished I had a remote control with a button that could fast forward time.

  Two more hours later, Peter told me she was fully dilated, and the baby would arrive any second. But he had to go to the bathroom again.

  Back at Rachel’s side, I wished he would hurry. I didn’t want him to miss the most important moment.

  “Peter,” Rachel whispered, her voice weak. “Where?”

  “He’ll be here soon,” I said. “He’s in the bathroom.”

  “You need to push again, love,” the midwife urged. “Give it everything you’ve got.”

  She tried, then dropped back onto the cushions.

  “Again,” the woman said. “I can see your baby. If you also want to see her, you need to push again.”

  “I am,” Rachel snapped, her eyes bloodshot, her face red.

  She bared her teeth and got ready to push again, her shoulders lifting from the bed. Then they dropped back down.

  “I can’t,” she cried.

  “You can,” I said. “You can do this, Rachel. You’re almost there.”

  Please, Peter, hurry, I thought. Come and see your child come into the world.

  The nurses and midwife kept begging her to keep going. She tried hard, but the baby still didn’t come.

  Finally, she dropped back onto the pillows again and started to seize.

  Her eyes bulged out of her face, her teeth chattered, a thick vein popped out of her forehead.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happening to my sister?”

  “You have to leave,” one of the nurses ordered.

  Within seconds, the room was packed with medical personnel, and I was ushered out.

  In the hallway, I bumped into Peter, who was running back to Rachel’s room.

  “Why are you not with her?” he asked, then his eyes lit up. “Is the baby here?”

  I slumped against the wall. “Peter, something’s
wrong.”

  “What do you mean something’s wrong?” He rushed to Rachel’s birthing room, but he was also told to stay out.

  “What the hell happened, Grace?” He talked to me, but his eyes were still fixed on the door.

  “I don’t know. She started shaking. She couldn’t… She can’t push anymore.”

  His hands in his hair, he sank to the floor.

  It felt like hours before someone came out to speak to us.

  “I’m so sorry,” the doctor said. “We did everything we could.”

  “The baby didn’t make it?” I whispered, my throat thick with tears.

  “How’s my wife?” Peter asked, hands clasped in front of his body.

  “Neither of them made it. I’m sorry.”

  The day my sister was supposed to give birth to her miracle baby girl, she had a stroke. It killed them both.

  If I had done it for her, if I had agreed to carry her child, maybe she would still be alive.

  The stroke didn’t kill her. I did.

  Seventeen

  Present

  The pair of teal yoga leggings and matching top Marcia bought me are easy to spot among the darker shades in the drawer.

  Waiting on the baby and doing nothing much else is starting to get to me.

  When I spoke to Sydney two days ago, she proposed I join an activity for pregnant women. At first, I brushed off the suggestion, but later it made sense. Being surrounded by people who are going through the same thing and getting the opportunity to ask questions doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

  When I mentioned it to Marcia, she suggested prenatal yoga. Anything that requires exerting my body doesn’t sound appealing, but my choices are limited in Wellice. Before I could give an answer, she signed me up.

  Although she does her best to respect my boundaries, sometimes she forgets and does things without my permission.

  The idea of being around new people does get me excited.

  Since the nightmare that brought Travis to my room, I haven’t been trusting myself to do much outside the guesthouse, afraid I would go into labor any minute.

  Dr. Miller came by the morning after and assured us the baby was fine. He didn’t expect it to arrive before the due date, but I’m still cautious. Each morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is touch my stomach, expecting to find it deflated.

  A week ago, Clayton invited me to dinner again, but I declined. I haven’t seen him since the day I joined them for breakfast at his house, but he calls almost every day to check up on me.

  After yoga, I might pay him a surprise visit at the café. We could have lunch together.

  I get dressed quickly and eat a bowl of fruit for breakfast. It’s 11:00 a.m. when I step out the door.

  “You should really start letting me drive you,” Marcia says when I’m about to get into my car.

  “That’s not necessary. I’m not sick, just pregnant.”

  “But you’re getting so big, Grace. I want you and the baby to be safe.”

  “You worry too much.” I chuckle. “I’m a really good driver, pregnant or not. The baby and I will be fine.” One of my fears is going into labor while in traffic, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “All right then. I have a photo shoot to get to, anyway. Be careful.”

  I give her a smile and get into the car, adjusting the seat to make space for my growing belly.

  When I arrive at the studio, I grab my purse and water bottle and waddle to the door. I turn the handle, but it doesn’t move. I glance at my watch, then at the laminated piece of paper on the door.

  The session is supposed to start in five minutes. How in the world do these people stay in business?

  After ten minutes of waiting, I call the yoga instructor, but I only get voice mail. Shaking my head, I return to my car. I’ll wait another twenty minutes, and if no one shows up, I’m gone.

  Fifteen minutes later, I spot another pregnant woman making her way toward the studio, a water bottle in her hand. She’s average height, with curly brown hair that’s only a few shades darker than her skin. When she comes to a halt in front of the door, I get out of the car to join her.

  “Hi,” she says, stretching out her slender hand. “You must be my newest student. I’m Andrea.”

  “Hi, Andrea.” I shake her hand. “I’m Grace. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m sorry to be a little late,” she says, digging into her purse.

  A little. That’s an understatement, but I let it go. I don’t have the energy.

  When we enter the yoga studio, she tells me a story of how she used to be a dancer, but when she got pregnant, she started doing yoga at home. She liked it so much she wondered if there were other people out there who might enjoy it.

  “So, I turned my dance studio into a yoga studio instead.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about her not being a professional yoga instructor. Then again, I’m not here for the physical benefits that yoga promises. I just want to be around other pregnant women, to ask them my burning questions and see if they share the same fears that keep me awake at night.

  “Where are the others?” I ask as Andrea makes her way around the room, opening windows and laying out mats.

  “They’ll get here when they get here. I don’t stress about time. Pregnant women already have a lot going on.”

  “True,” I say, taking in my surroundings. There are mirrors on almost every wall and a sparkling chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling. There’s not really much else in the space which I like.

  “This is a nice place,” I say.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Andrea stops what she’s doing to observe me. “How far along are you?”

  “Eight weeks to go, but it feels like ten,” I say with a laugh.

  “You can say that again. I’m five months pregnant and sometimes I wonder how I’m going to make it to nine.”

  “Have you been in this town for long?” I ask.

  “Not really. I’m not originally from Wellice. I came here on vacation and met my husband. I’m originally from Philadelphia. I was a professional ballerina, but I gave it all up for love.”

  I’m thinking about how to respond when two ladies enter the studio. Ten minutes later, three more women arrive.

  Andrea rubs her hands together. “Everyone’s here. Shall we get started?”

  We all nod in unison.

  I’m not able to focus on anything she’s showing us. The other ladies are distracting me with furtive looks in my direction. They know who I am. Everyone here probably does, and they obviously don’t approve of what I’m doing. I came here hoping to bond with them, but my instinct tells me it’s better to keep my distance.

  The moves are hard and last too long. I’m the only one using the wall for balance in order to do the warrior pose. Sweat drips into my eyes and my body begs me to stop torturing it, but I refuse to be the first person to quit.

  Instead of focusing on what I’m doing, my eyes keep going to the clock on the wall behind Andrea.

  The class seems to go on forever before she claps her hands. “Well done, ladies. That’s it for today. See you next Wednesday.”

  I wipe the sweat from my brow and murmur, “Thank God.”

  I pick up my bottle and take a slug of water, and the other ladies reach into their bags. They place containers of cut-up vegetables and other healthy snacks on a long glass table against one wall.

  “Would you like to join us?” Andrea asks. I shake my head. I’m hungry, but I can’t eat their food when I brought nothing.

  “I didn’t know—”

  “That’s all right,” she says, nudging me toward the table. “We usually use this time to get to know each other better. The food isn’t what’s important.”

  On our way to the table, I catch a whisper floating in the air. One single word. One name.

  Thorpe.

  I want to leave before the gossip continues, but Andrea is so kind to me. I don’t mind getting to know
her.

  She picks up one of the Tupperware containers filled with carrot sticks and celery. “Have some.”

  “Thanks.” I reach for a carrot.

  “I hope you enjoyed the class,” she says.

  “I did.” I bite on the sweet carrot. “It was… interesting.”

  If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I won’t be returning.

  “Don’t mind what other people say,” she says, leaning in. “Not many people understand what you’re doing.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “I struggled to conceive,” she goes on to say. “We tried everything, and even considered adoption. But shortly before we started the process, we got our little surprise. Twins.”

  “You’re pregnant with twins?” It’s hard to notice. On her slim figure, her stomach looks like a small ball.

  “No, this is our third child. We have twin boys, three years old. This time, it will be a girl. How about yours?” she asks, then catches herself. “I mean, do you know what the Thorpes are expecting?”

  “They don’t want to know. They want it to be a surprise.” I pause. “Don’t worry about making me uncomfortable. I’m starting to get used to it. Speaking of pregnancy, do you get nightmares?”

  “You mean the scary dreams that feel so real they freak you out?”

  “Exactly those.” I laugh. “I’ve been having so many of them.”

  “That’s no surprise. Pregnant women are known to have vivid dreams.”

  “So it’s normal?”

  “It is. Don’t worry about it. Pregnancy comes with a lot of struggles, but it’s a beautiful thing. My husband pays me so much more attention when I’m pregnant. Maybe I’ll want more kids after this.” She touches my arm. “Grace, I hope you will come again next week.”

  “I’m not quite sure whether I’ll be available next Wednesday, but I’ll try.” I want to leave it at that, but she’s been so kind to me. She deserves honesty. “Andrea, the truth is, I don’t think I will come. I don’t feel like I’m welcome here.”

  “Like I said, it’s not often that you see someone doing what you’re doing. I don’t think you should take it personally.” She shrugs. “What matters is that you’re doing something amazing. I’m so happy for Marcia. She really wants a child of her own.”