A Proper Young Lady

by Lianne Simon

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You understand what you did wrong?”

  “I rolled a stop sign.”

  She taps her dash-cam. “Your friend was operating a motor vehicle without a license.”

  Outside, beyond the officer, Dani stands beside Tommy’s motorcycle. Hollow eyes stare back at me. My hand creeps up to the locket at my throat. I’ve gotten the girl in trouble again. “Are you gonna bust her?”

  “She could face six months in jail and a $500 fine. Take her home and see she doesn’t drive again.”

  “We can leave now?”

  “Don’t ever try to deceive a police officer. You hear me, young lady?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re free to go.”

  Chapter 8

  Danièle

  I’m dead. Mum’s bound to find out. I set Melanie’s helmet on her dresser and lie on the bed. My phone rings even as I hook it to the charger.

  Randy? How’d you find out so soon? I thumb the accept button.

  “Hi, Uncle Randolph.”

  “You at Melanie’s place?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes with your surrogacy agreement.”

  “Do you—” No point in finishing my question—he’s already gone.

  In a panic, I throw off my T-shirt and jeans, and grab a dress from the closet. My hair will have to do—no time to brush it out if I want to apply makeup. Seconds before I finish dressing, Randy’s black BMW pulls into the driveway, and he steps out of the car.

  I thump on the bathroom door. “My uncle’s here. He’s got our contract.”

  “Woot! I’ll be right out.”

  Randy sits at the kitchen table and drums his fingers until Melanie finishes dressing. As soon as she settles into the chair across from me, he faces her. “I represent Danièle in this matter. You should have your family’s attorney review the document before you sign anything.”

  She nods, but her eyes say it’ll never happen.

  My uncle pulls a manila folder from his briefcase and lays it open on the table. “I’ve drawn up a Preplanned Adoption Agreement for you and Melanie.”

  “Not Ethan?”

  “No. If the engagement fails to result in a marriage, he has no rights under this contract.” Randy plans for any eventuality, but at times he borders on paranoid.

  My uncle sets a copy of the document in front of each of us. “Keep in mind that Virginia won’t recognize a surrogacy contract between two single women.”

  “But Ethan and I will be married before the child’s born.”

  My uncle’s eyes brook no disagreement. “I practice law here in Miami. You and Melanie will return to Florida a month before her due date and we’ll see this properly finished.”

  Melanie glances at me and shrugs.

  I nod acquiescence. “Yes, sir.”

  He points to the first paragraph. “Florida law requires the adoption be reviewed and approved by the court. We’ll take care of that when you get back.”

  “State law dictates that the mother be allowed to rescind the agreement any time prior to forty-eight hours after the birth of the child. Melanie, when you sign be sure to initial next to each of these next paragraphs.”

  Melanie retrieves a pen from her tote and signs her MRF on the paper.

  Randy eyes her as though she’s an unruly child. “If Danièle terminates the agreement early, the baby becomes your responsibility.”

  Melanie shoots me a look of confidence and trust. “She won’t, but my sister would be happy to have another kid.”

  My uncle stares at her a moment before continuing. “The trust will pay all reasonable medical and living expenses. Danièle agrees to take custody of the child regardless of any disability.”

  He pulls another sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “Dr. Pierson requires that each person involved in the surrogacy provide her with access to their medical records and complete a lifestyle questionnaire. Here are your copies. I’ll overnight Ethan’s. Dr. Pierson will contact him regarding his sperm donation.”

  “There are a few more details you can read later. They’re mostly included to meet the requirements of the law. Any questions?”

  Melanie shakes her head. I doubt she understands all the legal jargon. I certainly don’t. But I trust Randy, and Melanie trusts me.

  Might as well take my lumps now. I pull the citation from my purse and slide it across the table. “A rather polite Miami-Dade police officer gave me this.”

  After a casual scan, he passes the form back to me. “I thought we agreed the motorbike off limits.”

  “A friend of Melanie’s taught me to ride his.”

  “Were you involved in an accident? Speeding? What?”

  “No. We rolled a stop sign.”

  “We?” My uncle blinks—an indication of dismay for his poker face. “Please tell me you weren’t carrying a passenger.”

  “Melanie and I spent the afternoon at Matheson Hammock Park. I drove us from there up to the Biltmore. The officer stopped us just north of the University of Miami.”

  “All right. As soon as you return to Virginia, sign up for a state-sanctioned rider training program. Call me when you have your motorcycle license.”

  “Will I need to appear in court down here?”

  “No. I’ll represent you.” He slides his chair back and stands. “Anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I’ll leave you two to discuss the agreement.”

  I follow my uncle to his car and hug him goodbye. His BMW vanishes into the distant haze of evening while I stand on the front lawn and collect my thoughts.

  Melanie pops out of the door and runs to me. “There’s a notary on Ponce. Let’s go sign this thing now.”

  “You sure? The contract’s a complex document. You should have your attorney look at it.”

  “Nah. I trust you, and I want your baby.”

  From my earliest years, Mum and Daddy and Dr. Pierson explained my medical condition—sometimes overwhelming my young mind.

  I’m a girl with XY chromosomes, and testes in my abdomen. My vaginal canal’s too short and my clitoris too big, but I’m still female. Even with sperm, right?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  Signing proves surprisingly straightforward—show our IDs, sign our names, and wait for the notary to sign and stamp the documents.

  By the time we’re through, Melanie’s bouncing up and down.

  Me? I pace the front yard until I’ve worked up the courage to call my fiancé.

  “Ethan?”

  “Hey, what a pleasant surprise. Everything all right?”

  “Yes. Brilliant. They’re sending you some forms to complete for the surrogacy, and Dr. Pierson will let you know how to donate sperm.”

  “Outstanding. Wish I was there to celebrate with you.”

  “I do miss you so. I’m sorry I can’t have your babies myself.”

  A moment passes in deadly silence. “Not your fault, babe.”

  “I know. But still.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I love you the way you are. Okay, babe? No more of this, now.”

  “All right. I love you, too.” I drop my phone into my bag, step inside, and close the door against approaching night.

  Melanie runs to hug me. I pull her head against my shoulder and press my face into her curls. “You’re the best friend a girl ever had. What would I do without you?”

  Melanie

  The entire week flashes by, disturbed only by lingering doubts about Ethan. What do I know about the boy? Dani wouldn’t marry a creep, would she?

  This is for you, girl. Not your beau. Not anybody else. Okay, except me, so maybe my life won’t suck anymore.

  A nurse comes in and draws blood. Another goes over all the stupid paperwork I did in the waiting room. She repeats half of the same questions the psychologist just asked. No wonder Dani gets all nervous around these people.
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  After my pelvic, I hop off the table and start getting dressed. No sweat, huh?

  The nurse practitioner waves her hands. “You still have your ultrasound.” She leads me down the hallway to another room—another examining table. I lie down and force myself to relax.

  Ten minutes later, the technician arrives. “If you’ll put your feet into the stirrups and slide toward me, we’ll get started.

  My heart thumps in my throat, but I do as she asks.

  The lady tears open a small packet. Tommy showed me one like it the last time he tried to talk me into having sex with him. She unrolls the condom onto a long rod and squirts clear jelly along the side.

  Whoa! That’s what you mean by transvaginal ultrasound? My free hand clutches the side of the table. Muscles in my legs and back tense.

  The procedure doesn’t hurt, but it never ends. Like some Chinese water torture, the discomfort wraps around my head and squeezes till the tears flow.

  The ultrasound technician hands me a clean towel. “Once you’re dressed, open the door, and I’ll take you to see to a nurse about your injections.”

  Yeah. Shots. Wonderful. I hop down off the examining table and wipe away the remaining goo from between my legs. I take my time getting dressed again.

  Dani and a nurse are waiting in a room down the hallway. After giving me an injection pen and a college-level course on sticking myself with the thing, the nurse sends Dani and me to Dr. Pierson’s office.

  The doctor does her grandmother impression again—all smiles and soft words. “Congratulations, young ladies. The ultrasound found nothing remarkable.”

  “I’m fine? So, what’s the next step?”

  “If all goes well, we’ll retrieve your eggs on the day of Danièle’s surgeries. By then we should have prepared the donor sperm for IVF. Five days after we fertilize the eggs, we’ll implant an embryo into your womb.”

  Dani places a hand on mine. I grin back at her.

  Yeah, girl. I keep my promises.

  Chapter 9

  Danièle

  Each day Melanie’s cheerfulness brightens, even as I grow more apprehensive about my surgery. Nine shots, four ultrasounds, and four blood draws—nothing dampens her mood. She bounces up and down, eager to be on her way, while I dawdle with makeup and hair.

  We sign in at the waiting area a few minutes early, but like every other doctor’s office on the planet, appointments run late. Eventually, the nurse comes for Melanie, for her final transvaginal ultrasound.

  I pick up the fashion magazine she was studying. All I’ve seen Melanie wear are blue jeans, T-shirts, and a few old blouses. None of her clothes will meet my mother’s standards. Will Melanie be insulted when Mum insists on a new wardrobe?

  A few minutes later, the receptionist asks me to see Dr. Pierson in her office. When I arrive, the doctor opens a folder and pushes several sheets of paper across her desk. “These are releases for your procedures on Monday.”

  I skim the medical and legal jargon on the forms. Would even Randy understand the implications? He’d remind me that a contract is an agreement to not trust someone. In that case, why would I sign anything I don’t understand? But I do and pass the forms back across the desk.

  All but one. I hold in my hands the death warrant for my clitoris—the focal point of the medical establishment’s obsession with intersex. Do I give in to a lifetime of pressure to conform?

  I like my body the way it is. Ethan insists he’ll accept me. Who else has any say in the matter? “I’ve decided against the clitoral surgery.” Tearing the release into two strips brings a smile to my face.

  Dr. Pierson retrieves some additional papers from the folder, but sets them on the desk in front of her. “Your uncle provided me with a copy of the Preplanned Adoption Agreement. I assume you understand and agree to its provisions. Do I need to explain anything?”

  “No. I’m satisfied with the terms.” Not that I understand them.

  The doctor rises from her seat and closes the door. “I first met your mother—and Melanie’s—when they were in grade school and I was a resident at Childrens Hospital. I consider them both good friends.”

  Weariness shadows her features as she resumes her seat. “Laura insists this surrogacy will be good for her daughter. I still have serious reservations.”

  “Melanie will have permanent visitation rights.”

  “Yes, but that may mean she never lets go of the child.”

  Why should she have to? “I’ll speak with her about it, but no promises.”

  Dr. Pierson’s gentle frown emphasizes her concern. “All right.”

  After a moment, she leafs through the papers on her desk. “How long have you known Ethan?”

  “About a year.”

  “Has he been taking steroids?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “There are no viable sperm in his semen, and nothing in his medical history to indicate why.”

  My heart breaks for Ethan. How many times have I heard of someone melting down after they discover they’re intersex? Ethan’s not, of course; I’m certain of that. But even temporary infertility hits people hard. “I need to call him.”

  Dr. Pierson nods, so I step into the hallway and pull out my cell. I bring up my fiancé’s number, but hesitate before connecting. This isn’t something you tell a person over the phone.

  A joyful eagerness flows from Ethan’s voice whenever he speaks of us having children. His children. Will he accept a baby that’s not his? I drop my phone into my purse and wander down the hallway to the waiting area.

  Melanie sits in a chair, studying the same magazine as before. When she looks up, her eyes meet mine. A tender smile follows.

  Canceling the surrogacy would crush her. I’d rather lose Ethan than hurt you again. I turn around and walk back toward Dr. Pierson’s office.

  Ethan insists that my intersex doesn’t matter to him. He might well accept my fathering a child. Especially if Melanie’s already pregnant.

  Yet something desperate whispers a warning—a woman fathering a child—the very idea goes against nature.

  Why haven’t I the same right to parenthood as anyone else? Simply because my body doesn’t fit our culture’s binary idea of sex? My desire for a child—a child with Melanie—swells, pushing away any lingering uncertainty. The risk no longer matters.

  Ethan will have to know.

  Heart pounding, I make my way back to Dr. Pierson’s office and take my seat again. “Let’s proceed with the surrogacy using my—my gonadal biopsies.” So much for the proper young lady bit. “I’d like to wait for the appropriate time to tell Ethan and Melanie—not that I’m sure when that will be.”

  Fear and the hint of remorse drift through my conscience. How will I ever tell them?

  “Very well. I’m obligated to notify Ethan of his azoospermia, but the contract makes paternity entirely your decision. I would remind you that AIS is X-linked recessive.”

  Yes. If we have a female child, she’ll get my affected X chromosome, making her a carrier for PAIS. “We’ll love our baby regardless. What’s next?”

  “Surgery on Monday as planned. We’ll take biopsies and see what we find.”

  Someone knocks on the door. Melanie pokes her head into the office. “The nurse said to come here.” She takes her usual seat.

  Dr. Pierson brings up a series of ultrasound images on her monitor. When she turns our way again, a grandmother’s kindness shines from her face. “Everything looks fine. Drop by tomorrow evening for your trigger shot.”

  With a squeal, Melanie jumps up out of her chair.

  Yes. Worth every last penny.

  Finished for the day, Melanie and I burst outside. Melanie grabs my hand and rushes toward the station. A moment after we board the train, an afternoon shower breaks over us.

  Melanie grins at me as though rain brings true happiness. “We should celebrate.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I haven’t been to Dad
eland in forever.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Perhaps I can talk you into some new clothes.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Bright sunshine and puddles greet us outside the Dadeland North Metrorail Station. We stroll hand-in-hand down the path, across the street, and under the covered walkways to the mall.

  I slow as we approach the entrance. Sweet memories of childhood bring a glow to my face.

  How many times did Mum bring me here when I was a little girl? I was so certain then of who I was.

  Melanie drags me straight to the food court. As usual, we talked most of the night and missed breakfast. I gorge on a burger, onion rings, and a chocolate shake. Most unladylike.

  Melanie sucks the grease from her fingertips. “You up for a movie?”

  “Sure. Can we find you a purse before we go?”

  Melanie’s eyes flick to her tote and back to me. “Oh. Yeah. Guess I should buy one, huh?”

  “Won’t hurt to look.” Unless I intervene, what Mum will see when Melanie arrives is a wild-haired waif. That impression might discolor their relationship for months.

  Melanie rifles through fifty purses before settling on an inexpensive faux leather bag. Adequate, but not fashionable.

  I take a deep breath and blow it out through my lips. “Mind if we check another shop before you purchase one?”

  Back in the waiting area, Melanie ran her fingertips over the photo of a shoulder bag in a fashion magazine ad. The store lies near the end of the mall.

  I grab Melanie’s hand and lead her to the entrance. She stops there and shakes her head. “I can’t afford anything in this place.”

  Mum and Daddy ignore prices on any item less expensive than an automobile. I was taught to weigh the value of my time against whatever I might save by an extended search. “Trust me?”

  “Well, yeah.” She nods, but her eyes hold doubt.

  I find the purse from the ad—an embroidered forest green suede with oversized buckles and a wide leather strap. Mongolian lamb trim adds a warm and feminine touch. Mum would approve.