Then, Erin interrupted my colossally-inappropriate fantasy, handing me a bundle of cards her second-graders made for me. I mentally bitch-slapped myself before opening the cards. I carefully read each one to keep my mind off the doctor shoving a syringe up through my vagina and into my uterus to deposit Griffin’s sperm that had been quickly ‘washed’—was it dirty?—before introducing it to the sole egg that hopefully was making its microscopic way down my fallopian tube. We had decided against fertility treatments for me, for which I was grateful. I couldn’t even imagine the possibility of carrying multiples. Thank God, they agreed.
I look over at Erin, who smiles at me nervously as we wait to be called back to see the first picture of her baby. She jumps every time the nurse comes through the door only to call a name that is not mine. See—if this is what wanting a kid does to you, I don’t want any part of it.
Erin has been incredible. She’s been pampering me with twice-monthly mani/pedis. And shortly after the stick I peed on turned blue, she took me and my very-pregnant sister, Baylor, for a spa day. I kind of get the idea that money isn’t an object for them. She’s only a school teacher, so he must be a really good photographer.
Erin wasn’t even upset the first go-around when my test was negative. She came to my apartment a few days before my period was due. She brought five pregnancy tests with her along with a bottle of sparkling cider and a bottle of champagne. Of course, I thought the champagne was going to be for her if the test was positive. Not so.
When the test was negative, she simply put the sparkling cider in my kitchen cabinet and gathered up the sticks, depositing them into the trash while she said, “It rarely happens the first time, anyway.” There were no tears of sorrow. No pouting around. No cussing—not that she would ever do that anyway.
Then I watched in wonder when she carefully opened the expensive bottle of Brut, pouring us each a glass. “Why are we drinking champagne when there is nothing to celebrate?” I asked.
“First off, you haven’t had a drink in what, two months?” She handed me a glass as I nodded. “You deserve this. We are celebrating. We’re celebrating you and this incredible thing you’re doing for us. And also how truly happy I am to have a new friend in my life.”
“Okay.” I raised my glass to her in a toast. “To new friends.”
The smile on her face brightened her intense blue eyes. “To new friends,” she repeated, clinking our glasses together.
I savored the taste of the first alcohol I’d had in months, but at the same time I realized that I didn’t really miss it all that much. They say it takes twenty-one days to break a habit. And it’s true, it was hard those first few weeks. But Erin kept sending me encouraging texts. She would show up at the restaurant after school sometimes, just to say hello. She was entwining herself in my life without being overbearing. I got the idea she didn’t have many friends. I couldn’t understand why because she’s about the nicest person I know. So, it only seemed natural to invite her along when the girls and I got together. Baylor, Mindy, Jenna and I have treated her like our long-lost sister ever since.
The next month, she showed up with five more tests and a new bottle of champagne—one that we never opened. The top on the cider was popped and we toasted her baby right before she called Griffin to tell him the news. She was so excited she nearly fainted. I swear she would have hit the floor if I hadn’t caught her and helped her to the couch, fetching a cold compress to put on her head. She was positively over the moon. Me—I sat stunned wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into and if it was too late to bail.
“I’m not too late, am I?” Griffin says, walking through the door to the doctor’s office, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look directly at his crotch. I can’t help it. I don’t do it intentionally. But ever since I thought about him masturbating in the next room, I can’t help but stare at his anatomy every time I see him.
“No, we haven’t been called back yet.” Erin leans over to kiss him.
“Oh, well, I was just going to sit out here and wait for you guys anyway.” He settles into the seat next to Erin.
“What? That’s fucking crazy.” I wince at my choice of words. “Sorry.” Breaking my cursing habit has proven even harder than quitting drinking and men. “This is your kid. Both of you need to be there.”
Erin grabs my hand as her eyes mist up.
“Ms. Mitchell?” the nurse calls out. The three of us share a look of excitement, or maybe panic, as we head into the back.
The ultrasound tech has me undress from the waist down and get on a table like I’m having a pelvic exam. She drapes a blanket over my lower half and then invites Erin and Griffin into the room. They take a seat on the opposite side from the tech and the monitor.
The tech picks up a long wand thingy that’s not even as thick as my vibrator. It looks like it has a condom on it. She squirts on some lube and I giggle, raising my eyebrow at it. She says, “Relax, this won’t hurt a bit.”
I glance over at Erin who is nervously bouncing in her chair, and Griffin who looks embarrassed as the tech glides the wand inside me.
“We should be able to determine your exact due date and we may even get to see your baby’s heartbeat,” the tech says, smiling at me.
“Not my baby. Their baby.” I gesture to Erin and Griffin. “I’m just the incubator.”
“Awww, you’re a surrogate? That’s awesome,” she says.
“It is awesome,” Erin agrees. “Totally and completely awesome.” She smiles at me.
The wand moves around inside me as the tech taps on the keyboard. She stops moving. “There.” She points at the monitor. “The little thing that looks like a kidney bean, that’s your baby,” she says, looking over at Erin.
Erin grabs Griffin’s hand and my hand at the same time. I see the little pulsating heart on the monitor and I’m genuinely happy. Happy for Erin because she’s getting the kid she always wanted. Happy for me because I don’t have any innate maternal feelings towards the kidney bean on the screen.
I realize I’m no longer watching the monitor. I’m watching the emotions flow across Erin’s face. She takes in a breath. Tears well up in her eyes. She’s completely speechless. Her jaw drops as she absorbs the very first picture of her baby.
Her baby . . . their baby. I never once thought of it as mine. I simply see it as making a donation. It may be growing in my body, but that doesn’t make it any less theirs. I’m simply keeping it for them for the time being.
I look at Griffin to see him doing the very same thing—looking at Erin. It’s obvious to me that he’s doing this for her. Not that he doesn’t like kids. He’s played with Maddox a few times when Baylor had all of us out to her house. I can tell he’ll make a great dad. It’s just that I can see being a mom is Erin’s life dream. And although it may not be Griffin’s, he is not about to deny her that.
The tech tells us all about the baby—size, weight, due date. She prints out a picture and Erin stares at it while the tech cleans me up.
She hands the picture over to Griffin and leans over the table to pull me into a hug. “I love you, Skylar Mitchell,” she sobs. “Do you know how much I love you? Do you even understand what an incredible gift you are giving us?”
Tears prickle my eyes. I almost feel selfish. This is what I wanted the entire time. To feel good about doing something meaningful. Yet, I don’t feel deserving of all the praise she is laying on me. It seems so simple, this thing I’m doing for them. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Without another thought, I blurt out, “I’d be happy to help give little Bean a sibling if you ever wanted it to have one.”
Erin buries her head in my chest, still crushing me with her overbearing embrace. “You are the most incredible person to ever walk the earth. Do you know that?”
My humbled eyes find Griffin, who is laughing at Erin’s smothering hug. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Bean?” he asks.
I simply nod and try to ignore the electr
icity that shoots through me when he puts a gracious hand on my arm.
~ ~ ~
“You are my best friend,” Erin randomly blurts out at the late lunch she’s treating me to. “It’s okay, I know you have lots of other friends and I know you think I’m saying it because you’re doing this wonderful thing for me. But you’d be wrong. I think you are a fun, kind, generous person who I’m honored to know. Maybe I’m not supposed to come out and say it. Maybe that makes it not as genuine. But I don’t have many friends.” She gestures to her body. “This tends to intimidate women so I don’t make friends easily. But I don’t seem to intimidate you at all. And I wanted you to know, that even though I’m not your best friend; you are mine.”
I give her a sad smile and look down at my salad. “I’ve thought about this. A lot, in fact. And Erin, you have to admit it could be really awkward once the baby comes. I would completely understand if you didn’t want to hang around me afterwards. I mean, if I were you, I wouldn’t want me lurking around, making the little bean wonder who I am and all.”
She reaches over to grab my hand. “Are you kidding? You’re Auntie Skylar,” she says. “I’ve never for one minute thought I would rip the baby from your arms and never see you again. That’s not who I am. It’s not who Griffin is. I come from a big family, Skylar. I know more than anyone that it takes a village to raise a child.
“Griffin and I have already discussed this. As soon as the baby is old enough, he or she will know what a wonderful thing you did. I would never keep it a secret. We have nothing to hide and I want you to be a part of our family. I meant it earlier when I said I love you.”
“How can you not have friends, Erin? You are quite possibly the nicest, most genuine person I’ve ever met,” I say. “And you do intimidate me, by the way. You’re gorgeous. Most women would kill for your hair. You have really great boobs. You’re super sweet. And your husband is hot as hell. What’s not to be jealous of?”
She laughs. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m the one who’s jealous. You lead this carefree life. You’ve always been healthy. You can have a baby which is something I can never do. And you don’t even realize how beautiful you are. Especially now. It’s true what they say about pregnant women glowing, you know.”
She takes a drink of her iced tea as I study her, trying to see myself from her perspective. Then she asks, “So you think my husband is hot, huh?” She giggles.
“Well, duh. I do have eyes,” I say. “Does it bother you that women lust after him. Uh, I mean, not me, but other women?” I’m a terrible liar.
She tries to hold in her grin. “No. Not really,” she says. “I know what I have. If he didn’t stray on me when I was bald and sickly, I’m pretty sure he won’t do it now.”
“He’s a good man to have stuck by you.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she says. “We weren’t even in love when he took it upon himself to take care of me. We had only been dating a month when I got the diagnosis my senior year in high school. I started chemo and radiation right away. I lost my hair. I looked incredibly gaunt. I was sick almost every day for months. Most of my friends were scared away by the ‘cancer girl.’ But not Griffin. I guess it’s because he had been through it all before.”
“Before?” I ask in horror. “He had another girlfriend with cancer?”
“No. It was his mom,” she says. “She died of breast cancer when he was fifteen. His dad turned to alcohol, leaving Griffin to care for his mom. I was actually kind of surprised when he said he wouldn’t leave me, knowing that it could end so badly. But he always seemed to know exactly what I needed, right when I needed it.
“After my surgery, I thought he might leave me because I wouldn’t be able to have kids. But that’s when he said he loved me—in the hospital right after I woke up from my hysterectomy. He said he loved me and that he’d always take care of me.”
“That’s awful,” I say. “Not about him staying with you, but about his mom.”
“Yeah, it was hard for him trying to be the adult of the family when he was so young. His dad eventually went into rehab a few years after his mom died, but it damaged their relationship beyond repair.” A grin tugs at her lips. “That’s when he became a photographer, you know. When his mom was dying. He wanted to have pictures to remember her by, so he took thousands of her those last few months.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me, Griffin is going to Africa next week for a National Geographic photo shoot. Can you believe it?”
“Holy shit, really?” I say.
She bursts out laughing at my blunder. Then suddenly she grabs her temples, wincing in pain.
“Are you okay?” I put my hand on hers. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t speak. She takes a few long, deep breaths, like a woman in labor. She moans, closing her eyes and I see beads of sweat emerge, dotting her upper lip.
“Erin, are you okay?” I ask again, not entirely sure she’s even hearing me.
She finally nods her head slightly, rubbing at her temples. “Yeah, I think I have a migraine coming on. I used to get them when I went through . . . through . . . uh—” She stares at me blankly.
“Menopause?” I ask, completing her sentence that she couldn’t finish due to the pain.
“Yeah. Menopause,” she says.
I wave the waitress over and ask for the check.
“Come on.” I quickly leave some money on the table. “I need to get my best friend home.”
chapter four
Erin texted me saying I needed to be home at 10:00 a.m. for a delivery. Not a problem. I’ve been barfing up a goddamn lung every morning for the past few weeks, so I don’t leave the apartment until almost noon. And although I haven’t seen much of Erin since our lunch together, she sends me sweet care packages of crackers, ginger ale, green apples, and everything else that’s supposed to help with morning sickness.
I’m beginning to wonder if she’s having second thoughts about our friendship. Maybe she said all those things about best friends and ‘Auntie Skylar’ when she was still riding the high from the ultrasound. She could have gone home and thought about it and now she’s pulling away from me so it won’t be so bad when she dumps me like a hot potato the second Bean is born.
The doorbell rings just as I’m finishing up brushing my teeth after my latest vomit session. Good timing, it’ll be almost an hour before I throw up again. It’s the same every day. Three barfs with an hour in between each. On the bright side, I’ve only gained one pound in ten weeks.
I look through the peephole in the front door to see a dark head of messy-yet-perfectly-sculpted hair.
Griffin Pearce.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hands go up to my hair, pulling it loose from the confines of my ponytail. I look down to see what I’m wearing, making sure it’s not spattered with vomit. While giving a million thanks that I just brushed my teeth, I slowly open the door vowing not to look at his crotch.
“Hi, Skylar,” he says in that deeply smooth voice of his.
Does he mean for his voice to drip with sex or does it do it all on its own?
“Uh, hey.” I peek my head out and look down the hall for Erin.
He’s alone. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious. Alone with the man whose crotch I’m trying to avoid looking at is not a particularly good position to be in. I don’t know where to look. I try looking at his eyes, but those steel-gray eyes that burned into me the first time I saw him are not going to make my guilt-ridden fantasies of him disappear. I give him a quick smile and then move aside so he can come in.
He walks past me into my apartment, leaving a trail of his scent lingering as I shut the door behind him, struggling not to inhale sharply through my nose.
It occurs to me that this is the first time we’ve ever been together without Erin. We’ve socialized on many occasions. We’ve been out to dinner. We’ve gone to barbeques at Baylor’s. Erin’s family had me out to their house in White Plains. They even came to Sunda
y brunch with my family a couple of times. But Griffin and I have never been alone. Until now.
In my apartment.
With a bed.
My belly churns and I wonder if I’m going to throw up again or if it’s nervous flutters.
I recall Erin’s declaration that Griffin would never cheat on her. Which is good, because I’d never do that to her. Never. I’m well aware that I’ve probably ruined enough marriages in my lifetime. I’m not about to ruin theirs. And I know he won’t put me in that position, but I’m just sayin’—if he did, I wouldn’t go there.
No matter how much I’d love to run my fingers through that inky-black hair.
No matter how much that spicy-rugged smell of his permeates through me.
No matter how much I long for that stubble of his to rub between my thighs.
Stop it, Skylar.
“Is it here yet?” he asks, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.
“Is what here yet? Erin said there was going to be a delivery, but she didn’t say what. I thought it would be another one of her morning-sickness care packages.”
He gives me a look of concern. “She told me you were pretty sick. Sorry about that.”
“It’s not that bad. A few hours every morning and then I’m pretty much good to go for the rest of the day. I usually work at the restaurant from one until ten, so it’s not that big a deal.”
“Good,” he says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“So, the package?” I ask, trying to distract my wayward thoughts from all the things I can think of that he could do to make me feel better. I blame it on my pregnancy hormones.
“Oh, right. We got you a bike,” he says. “We know you like to ride, but it can be dangerous around the city with all the traffic, especially when you start to get bigger. So we got you a stationary one that you can ride right here in your apartment.”
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