by Lianne Simon
Movement in my peripheral vision turns out to be Dani. Right. Like I need you to bug me right now.
She hugs me and pats my back. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Dani used to hold me whenever I hurt and Dad wasn’t around. Wouldn’t Mom? Well, yeah, but I kept getting mad at her. “Life sucks. Okay?” I’d push her away, but my hands hurt too much. So I rest my head on her shoulder and cry instead.
When my hiccups stop, I back away from the girl. “Gotta get hold of Tommy.” I run back into the house and find Mom. “I’m sorry for calling you a liar.”
She pulls me close and kisses me on the forehead. “I know you didn’t mean it, honey.”
Yeah I did. But I meant the apology too. “One of Tommy’s friends wants to buy the stuff in the shed—Dad’s motorcycle parts and all.”
Mom studies my face for a long while before nodding. “All right, but I have no idea where your father keeps—where he left the key.”
You too, huh? Wish I could fix things for you, Mom. I squeeze her hand. “Doesn’t matter. Tommy can cut off the lock.”
One eyebrow drifts up her forehead, but she nods agreement.
I walk into my room, grab my phone, and send Tommy a message.
>> Melanie—Alan wants bike parts?
The boy never lets go of his phone, so I plop down on my bed and wait.
<< Tommy—your dad’s stuff?
>> Melanie—yeah
<< Tommy—u sure?
>> Melanie—yeah
<< Tommy—bike 2?
Keeping my father’s old motorcycle isn’t gonna bring him back.
>> Melanie—yeah. tues am?
A minute passes. He might be in traffic on South Dixie Highway.
<< Tommy—k c ya
So that’s it, Dad. I toss the phone aside, then kick off my sneakers, curl up on my bed, and dream of a boy who promised to love me always.
Sunbeams fade to moonlight and shadows to dark emptiness. Somewhere in the house Dani’s lilting voice raises a question.
Mom’s soft reply follows a moment later.
Footsteps pad across the living room and up the hallway. The door creaks open a slit. “Are you all right?” The girl walks right in, flips on the light, and plops down on the bed beside me.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” Violet eyes overflow with tender concern.
Hold me. After five long years, I refuse to ask anything of the girl.
Yet she reads my desire. As she always did. Dani pulls her dress over her head and drapes it across a chair. After slipping on a nightgown, she runs to the bathroom for a minute. When Dani gets back, she turns out the light, lies on the bed beside me, and works her arms around my waist. For a moment, the girl presses her face into my hair. Hot breath tickles my ear. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend.”
A broken promise stands between us, but her warm hands against my arms sooth my anguish. Back when Mom had cancer, Dad came home from Afghanistan, but he still had to work long hours. Beatrice went to stay with my Aunt Margaret. And me with the Welles family. Dani was all I had back then. She held me and listened to my pain. She told me things would be okay.
In the darkness I seek the girl’s eyes again. “Dad’s gone, and now Mom’s sending me away to finish school.”
Violet eyes shine like pale moonlight. “You didn’t graduate from high school?”
“No. They expelled me for fighting. I got a year to make up.”
“Prep school isn’t so bad. You’ll be all right.” Her assurance fades as my eyes challenge her. “You’re welcome to stay with my parents,” she says. “I’ll be in college, but home most weekends. Mum would love to home-school you.”
Yeah, make a proper lady outta me. Like that’ll happen.
I pull myself closer and nuzzle into her shoulder. Dad’s never coming back, but that doesn’t keep me from entertaining an impossible dream.
Chapter 4
Danièle
Work day. Melanie scrounges through a pile of clothes she dumped on her bed and hands me a paint-stained T-shirt. “Mine. Should fit you okay.” Next, she picks out a ratty pair of jeans. “Mom’s. You’ll have to try them on. Mine might fit you better.” Last of all, she hands me some old gardening gloves.
Most of the next several days we spend scrubbing the house, sorting through the family’s possessions, and generally preparing for an agent to show the property. With my hair in a loose ponytail, and grime my only makeup, a grin takes up permanent residence on my face. The daily phone calls from Ethan assure me of his love.
Tuesday morning, as I’m carrying out a box of trash, a couple of young men rattle up the driveway in a decrepit Ford pickup. Melanie introduces the driver as Tommy. Tall and beanpole thin, he’s a cross between a backwoods farm boy and a college-educated nerd. The hug he gives Melanie lingers. A hand wanders up her back. “You sure you wanna sell the stuff?” he says.
Melanie’s jaw muscles tighten. She steps back, easing out of his embrace. After a sharp nod, she glances at me. My cheeks warm as I turn my attention to the other man.
Tommy’s friend Alan might be in his late thirties. “Well, kid, let’s take a look at what you got,” he says. Despite being a bit sloppy, and having beard stubble, he proves as businesslike as my uncle Randy.
Tommy hefts a pair of bolt cutters longer than his arm. He snips the lock off, as though it’s soft plastic, sets the tool aside, and waves her forward. “After you, kid.”
It takes us an hour to sort through and load everything, but less than a minute for Melanie and Alan to agree on a price. All she keeps are a few cafe racing trophies, a box of photos, and an old set of motorcycle racing leathers—pants and a long-sleeved jacket.
As the truck drives off, my phone chirps again.
<< Ethan—call me
I say a short prayer for his sanity and press connect. “Are you there?”
“Hey, babe. Finances are a done deal. You got a surrogate lined up yet?”
I roll my eyes and glance at Melanie. “Is someone with red hair and green eyes satisfactory?”
“Is she pretty?”
My gaze wanders back to Melanie and lingers. She carries an extra fifteen pounds. Her wavy hair—always unruly—snakes about her shoulders. A touch of facial asymmetry curls her grin up a bit further on one side. Her true beauty—and what makes her pleasant company—is her empathy. Compassion learned through pain shines from her emerald eyes and whispers in her laughter. Who better to be the biological mother of our children? “Yes. She is. Should I ask her?” Almost—almost I regret that her mother will never allow it.
“Yeah. I want to get moving on this right away.”
What? “Weren’t we planning to have our wedding next summer?”
“I’ve got this job nailed down—just as soon as I have my degree. I figure we get married the first of March. That gives us three months to find a house and get settled in with the kid before I graduate and start working.”
Nine months before April means embryo implantation in July. Does an IVF cycle take a month? We need to start now. Today. A smile—sure proof of my insanity—creeps across my lips. “I’ll let you know what she says.”
“One more thing, babe. Your father says you want to face your medical stuff on your own. I won’t push my way in where you don’t want me, but I can take time off and would love to be with you when you wake up from surgery. Whatever you need, babe, I’ll do for you.”
“Thanks, love. I’ll be fine. It’s enough to hear your voice every day. And know you love me.”
“So long as you’re sure. My heart will be there. You know I love you.”
After Ethan bids me goodbye, I dial my mother’s number. “Mum?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Enjoying your holiday?”
“Ethan wants us to have a child right away.”
“Wonderful! I’m certain you’ll make a brilliant mother.”
“No, Mum. He asked me to arrange a surrogacy now so the baby a
rrives right after our honeymoon.”
“That sounds a bit unusual, but—”
“He’s looney.” So am I for wanting a baby before we get married.
“Why of course. Men aren’t the most rational of God’s creatures.”
“Daddy’s sane.”
“Theodore’s a brilliant husband and father, but he’s as mad as the rest.”
“How do I talk Ethan out of it?”
“Sweetheart, if the young man’s to be your husband, you must accept his idiosyncrasies. Give wise counsel, but support him when he doesn’t heed your advice.”
“With an infant, I won’t have time for college.”
“Perhaps Melanie will agree to stay on as nanny after the child’s born.”
The phone slips from my fingers and lands face down in the grass. Now’s when someone tells me this is all a joke, and everyone laughs at my expense.
Melanie glances at me and grins.
I pick up my cell and stare at it for a moment before putting the phone to my ear again. “Mum, are you orchestrating this?”
“No, love, but your father is. When Ethan approached him regarding finances for a surrogacy, he decided a baby might well be the perfect stimulus for your maternal instincts.”
“Mrs. Fairbairn would never—” You wouldn’t suggest Melanie as a nanny unless her mother had already approved of such an arrangement. My stomach muscles tighten, and the air grows thick around me while I wait for my mother to speak.
“Laura and I have already chatted. If Melanie agrees to act as surrogate, Randolph will draw up a contract, and your father will oversee the finances.”
I stare at Melanie and shake my head. We’re doomed. Both of us.
“Sweetheart?” Mum’s voice becomes tender again. “If you don’t wish to do this...”
“No, Mum. You know I want children.” And everyone else expects this of me.
Melanie
The M-Path train sways, a gentle back and forth motion a mother might use to soothe her baby. Kinda makes me wanna barf.
Dani’s been fidgeting for days—her thumbs never leave her phone. I sidle up beside her and block the screen with my hand. “What’s going on?”
“Hmm? Oh. Ethan wants to have children right away.”
“Does he know you can’t have kids?”
“Yes. I talked to him after we started dating.”
“So what’s the big deal? Adopt.”
We roll to a stop at the Santa Clara station. I take Dani’s hand and head for the exit. Ten minutes later, we arrive at the clinic.
Dr. Pierson has her own office, but we find the door locked, so we go to the waiting area and sign in. A few minutes later, a nurse shows us to an exam room and hands Dani a gown.
“Guess you know what to do with that,” I say.
Dani hops up on the table, glances at the business end, and shuts her eyes. Muscles grow tense.
Well, yeah. I don’t like stirrups much, either.
I climb up beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s only Dr. Pierson. She’s not gonna march in here with a bunch of stupid med students.”
She glances at me and nods, but doesn’t relax.
Dr. Pierson does bring a nurse with her.
I hop down off the table, but Dani grabs my arm, shakes her head, and makes puppy eyes at me. No way am I gonna watch, so I lean my back against the table and hold her hand.
Dr. Pierson beams at me like I’m her granddaughter or something before facing Dani. “Ordinarily, we don’t allow anyone other than staff present while we examine a patient. Melanie’s free to wait in my office if she likes.”
“She’ll be with me for all of my exams. I get really nervous about anyone poking around down there. I think you know why.”
Static hangs in the air between Dr. Pierson and Dani for a moment before the doctor nods acceptance.
What was that all about?
The girl yanks on my hand till I turn around. Pleading eyes skewer me before she slides her heels into the stirrups and scoots her tush toward the doctor.
Yeah, knees up, legs apart—every girl knows that drill.
Dr. Pierson holds up one of those stupid duckbill things my gynecologist is so fond of poking where no man has ever gone before. A tiny one, though. “I’m going to start with a pediatric speculum,” she says. Let me know if you experience any discomfort.”
Dani remains quiet the entire time, only nodding or shaking her head at the doctor’s questions. All the while she’s crushing my hand with hers.
“All finished.” Dr. Pierson snaps off her gloves and drops them into the medical waste. “Get dressed and come to my office. We’ll talk there.”
While Dani slips on her clothes, I stare out the window at the cars below. How will the girl make it through surgery if a routine pelvic is such an ordeal?
We stroll back down the hallway to Dr. Pierson’s office. Books, knitting, kids’ toys, plants—the doctor made a den out of the place. I plop down into an overstuffed leather armchair. Tension melts out of me. I grin when I spy a tray with three bottles of water and a bowl of chocolates and nuts.
Dr. Pierson closes the folder on her desk and leans back. “Danièle, I spoke with Dr. Nguyen about your surgeries. He’s old school regarding intersex, but he does excellent work.”
The girl’s face pales, like maybe she’s heard of the guy. So I reach over and put my hand on hers.
The doctor pauses for a moment, flipping though some papers on her desk. “Vaginal development in PAIS varies. Many patients can gain adequate depth using a set of dilators. In your case, however, I believe surgery is appropriate.”
Muscles in Dani’s face relax a little, like maybe she’s accepted her fate. “All right.”
Dr. Pierson glances at me before continuing. “There are a number of different techniques used to create or lengthen a vaginal canal. Dr. Nguyen prefers the Davydov procedure—a laparoscopic transposition of the peritoneal colpopoiesis.” She grins. “Would you like that in English?”
“Well, yeah,” I say.
Dr. Pierson looks at me in surprise.
I’m here too, you know.
The doctor opens a drawer, pulls out what looks like some huge needle with a knob on one end, and turns to Dani again. “This is a laparoscope. Dr. Nguyen—or one of his associates—will insert several of these into your abdomen through small incisions. Laparoscopic surgery is safe and minimally invasive.”
After replacing the gizmo, she opens a bottle of water. “The peritoneal membrane lines the abdominal cavity. Colpopoiesis is a fancy word for making a vagina. Dr. Nguyen will deepen your vaginal canal and use part of your peritoneum to line it. There’s a short video of the procedure online I’d like you to watch. All right?”
Dani’s eyes are about glazed by now, but she nods.
Dr. Pierson slides her chair back and stands. “We’ll get together again at the house next week to talk about the rest of your surgeries. You’re welcome to stay here at the clinic and watch the video. Any questions?”
She’s already given us way more information than I wanted. Is she trying to scare the crap out of Dani so she’ll cancel her surgery?
Well, yeah, I sure hope so. Sex doesn’t have to be vaginal intercourse, you know.
I grab the crazy girl’s hand and head for the door.
Danièle
On the train back, I gaze out the window and struggle to work up the courage to ask Melanie to carry Ethan’s baby. In the reflection, emerald eyes study me. A smirk creeps across Melanie’s lips. She leans against me and grabs my hand. “Okay. Out with it.”
While Mrs. Fairbairn underwent chemotherapy, Melanie stayed with us. Through the emotional turmoil of those months our hearts intertwined. She understands me better than anyone. Perhaps she still cares enough to agree. “Will you be a surrogate mother for me and Ethan? You know I can’t have a baby on my own.”
After a moment, pain overwhelms the surprise in her eyes. The barest hiss of a whisp
er reaches my ears. “I can’t.”
The train slows to a stop. Melanie pushes away and runs for the door as though the car is aflame.
I struggle through the crowd and rush to catch up. “Melanie, wait!” Tires screech as I bound down the stairs. Melanie! Oh, please, God, no!
Outside the station, people crowd the sidewalk. Cars honk. Waves of heat rise from the asphalt. Choppy breaths bring me not nearly enough oxygen. Muscles tremble from the adrenaline.
Melanie sits on the far side of the road, hands to her head. I stumble across the street and collapse on the grass next to her. “Are you all right?”
She gazes past me at the cars stopped on Ponce. “Yeah, well, they all missed. Does it matter?” Mournful eyes pierce my heart. “Look. I’m screwed up. Okay?”
Words refuse to organize into anything meaningful, so I put an arm around her shoulder and pull her close. What can I offer that might help her beyond my friendship? And a lame Cockney accent. “It’s the world what’s bloomin’ mental, luv. Not you.”
Well, at least that coaxed a smile out of you.
Happiness fades from her eyes, though. “Dad’s gone. Mom’s gonna live with my sister. Me pregnant’s the last thing she’d want.”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay with my parents than attend preparatory school?”
“Well, yeah.”
“If I get your mother’s blessing, will you consider surrogacy?”
She stares at me until suspicion replaces the pain. “Is this a set-up?”
I’ve broken promises, but never lied to her. “According to Mum, the decision’s yours.”
“For real?” Her warm smile burns away the morning’s dark clouds.
Chapter 5
Melanie
Imagination swirls around me and weaves the air into wild impossibilities—me at prep school, dressed in a cute white blouse and plaid skirt, books held against my chest—another me, the mother of a beautiful little girl, with Dani beside me.
Sweet. “I get to choose?” I’m not talking to Dani, but the girl plays bobble-head anyhow.