The Surrogate Mother

by Freida McFadden

  The meeting is salvaged, but I don’t feel good about any of it. Cofield was supposed to love my presentation. Instead, somehow Monica stole the spotlight with my slogan. When the meeting ends, the people from Cuddles are chatting her up like she’s the one in charge. Meanwhile, Denise grabs me by the arm so hard, it feels like she might yank it out of the socket.

  “What was that, Abigail?” she hisses in my ear so the Cuddles people can’t hear us. “You almost blew it. Are you on drugs or something?”

  “It was an honest mistake,” I mumble.

  Her ice-blue eyes meet mine. “People get fired over honest mistakes.”

  “It all worked out okay.”

  “Yes, thanks to your assistant.” Denise shakes her head. “I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, Abigail. Perhaps something in your personal life.” That’s an understatement. “But you need to turn it around. Fast.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  Denise gives me one last ice-cold look, then turns on her heel to speak with Cofield, a bright smile now transforming her face. I can’t remember the last time Denise has smiled like that at me. She’s right that I’m the one who screwed up today, but it’s not like she’s making things any easier.

  Monica goes to the back of the room to clear away the coffee and I join her. If things keep going the way they are now, soon my only responsibility will be bringing coffee to these meetings.

  No. That’s not true. I’d be fired first.

  “I hope I wasn’t out of place speaking up just now,” Monica says as she wipes a coffee stain off the table.

  “Of course not.” I force a smile. “You saved the meeting.”

  She smiles back. “You think so?”

  “Sure,” I tell her, even though it kills me to say it.

  “Monica!” Denise calls to her. She’s standing by Cofield and the other men from Cuddles. “Come here and join us for a moment!”

  “Uh…” Monica glances at the leaky coffee pot and the cups scattered everywhere. “Let me just get this cleaned up.”

  “Nonsense,” Denise says. “Abigail will clean up. We’d like to speak with you.”

  I watch in disbelief as my assistant goes to speak with the executives while I tidy up the coffee. I feel sick. I’d been grateful to Monica for rescuing me during the meeting, but now I wish she’d just left me to flounder.

  Chapter 19

  I can’t sleep.

  I tried reading. I downloaded three separate books onto my Kindle, but none of them held my attention. I peed twice. I watched a few videos on YouTube, but I heard screen time is bad for sleep so I shut it off.

  And that’s when I got out of bed and started pacing.

  Unsurprisingly, this pulls Sam from sleep. He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He turns on the lamp by the bed and stares at me in disbelief. “Abby, it’s two in the morning.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that.”

  There was a stressful time I had at work four years ago, which coincided perfectly with the peak of our infertility issues. I had a lot of trouble sleeping then too. I’d routinely be up at two in the morning, pacing our bedroom.

  I have to give it to Sam—he was great about it. He used to get up with me, and the two of us would sit in the kitchen together, talking and drinking warm milk. That’s how I knew he’d be a great dad to a newborn. He didn’t mind getting up in the middle of the night to make me milk. And somehow, that made it even worse. Because I wanted a child not just for me, but also for him.

  “I screwed up a meeting today at work,” I say, as I perch down at the edge of the bed. “A really important meeting. I put up the wrong images. It was a disaster.”

  “Oh.” Sam rubs his eyes again. “So… what? Are you unemployed now?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll make it right again. You always do.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  He shrugs. “Well, we’re going to have a baby soon. You can stay home if you want.”

  “You know I don’t want to do that! I’ve worked really hard to get where I am!” I put my hands on my hips. “Anyway, you don’t earn enough money on your own. We’d have to start going through my savings.”

  “I earn enough for us to get by.”

  “Not really.”

  He gives me a look. Sam rarely seems resentful of the fact that I earn twice as much as he does or that we had to use my trust fund to put down money on our condo. But sometimes I get the feeling it bothers him more than he lets on.

  In any case, this isn’t making me feel any better. I pace across our small bedroom, my heart pounding in my chest. Why can’t I shut down my thoughts? What’s wrong with me?

  “Don’t you have those sleeping pills?” Sam says. “From when you were having trouble sleeping before?”

  “Maybe…” I think they’re still in the medicine cabinet. “But they’re four years old. They’ve probably expired.”

  He yawns. “Maybe tomorrow you should call your doctor to get another prescription.”

  “I don’t want to rely on pills to sleep.”

  “Yeah, you just want to spend the night pacing the apartment.”

  He has a point. “Okay, I’ll call my doctor tomorrow.”

  Sam rubs his eyes again. He looks so sexy right now, his dark hair disheveled, the stubble on his chin—also, he sleeps shirtless. So there’s that.

  I can think of one thing that might relax me…

  “Hey.” I climb back onto the bed, but this time onto Sam’s side. “You feel like fooling around…?”

  “Uh…”

  I frown at him. Is the answer not yes?

  He looks a little uncomfortable. “I mean, yes, of course I do. But… well, I’ve got an eight a.m. lecture tomorrow and…”

  Oh my God, is Sam blowing me off? He’s never blown me off! Not in all our years of dating and marriage has he ever refused a request for sex. Never. It’s made me feel guilty in the past because there have been times he’s wanted it and I turned him down because of (ironically) an early meeting. But Sam always says yes. Even when he had an early lecture, he was always willing to trade sleep for sex. Always.

  Why isn’t he interested anymore? Does it have anything to do with the text messages he’s still getting regularly on his phone?

  “Okay, fine,” I say as I roll off him. “Whatever.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby.”

  Now he’s apologizing to me for blowing me off. If anything could make me feel worse, it’s that.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say.

  “Tomorrow night,” he promises.

  “Yep.”

  He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head and shuts off the light. He rolls over, trying to get back to sleep, and after a few minutes, the sound of his soft snoring fills the room.

  Sam’s phone is plugged in and resting on the windowsill. I know his password by heart. It would be very easy to go over there and check his text messages. See what he and Monica have been discussing so enthusiastically these last several weeks. But that would be a major betrayal of his trust.

  I couldn’t do that.

  Or could I?

  Sam isn’t interested in sex with his wife. Isn’t that a sign of another woman in his life? I’ve certainly got probable cause here.

  But I can’t do that to Sam. I trust him. He wouldn’t cheat on me. He wouldn’t.

  I’m still staring at his cell phone when I eventually drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 20

  Monica’s got an OB/GYN appointment today and I’m going to this one. Somehow she’s managed to schedule every single appointment at times I couldn’t manage. But this one is first thing in the morning, and Sam and I are driving there together, just to make sure I don’t mysteriously have the time wrong.

  “I’m glad you could make it today,” Sam comments as he drives uptown to Dr. Wong’s office. “It sucks the last
two appointments didn’t work with your schedule.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Too bad Monica doesn’t have access to my calendar. Oh, wait.”

  He gives me a sideways glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m saying it’s a bit of a coincidence, that’s all.”

  He comes to a stop at a red light. “Are you saying you think Monica is purposely scheduling her appointments at times you can’t make?”

  “No.” But I’m heavily implying it. “It’s great that you could make all the appointments though.”

  “Well, my schedule is a little more flexible than yours.”

  It’s true, although I have a feeling she checks with him before she schedules anything. For some reason, Monica wants Sam at those appointments. He even drove her to the last appointment, and at work she couldn’t stop gushing about the amazing job he did parking his car in some tiny little spot. He must have eaten that up.

  “What is she always texting you about, anyway?” I ask him.

  He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Mostly math stuff.”

  “Math?”

  “Yeah.” He nods vigorously. “You know, Monica really knows her stuff—she’s got a brain for it. I know she’s set on going back to school for graphic art, but I’m trying to talk her into a math degree. She could do it.”

  “And what does she say about it?”

  “She’s thinking about it.” A guy cuts Sam off and he curses under his breath, but doesn’t honk. “She wants to apply to our program, but I thought that might be awkward because… well, you know.”

  “Gee, you think?”

  Sam lets out a sigh. “Look, let’s not talk about Monica anymore. Okay?”

  “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know.” He grins at me. “How about baby names? We don’t have much time left to decide.”

  I can’t help but return his smile. “I’m not going to cave on Adam.”

  “What’s wrong with Adam? It’s a great name. Biblical.”

  “Adam Adler? It’s a little too much alliteration. Sounds like the civilian identity of a Marvel superhero.”

  “What about Jacob?”

  “No. I dated a guy named Jake.”

  “So?”

  “So it would be weird!”

  “Fine.” Sam rolls his eyes. “What about Richard?”

  “I also dated a guy named Richard.”

  “Matthew?”

  “I also dated a Matthew.”

  He snorts. “Maybe we need to look to more international names to find one that you haven’t already dated.”

  “Okay, but keep in mind, I spent a semester abroad in Italy.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to know.”

  It’s sort of odd in a way how Sam and I haven’t discussed our prior relationships much. I know he’s had girlfriends before me—it would be weird if he hadn’t since we didn’t start dating until we were in our mid-twenties. If I ever asked him about it, he’d say something vague about it being in the past, then ask me why I wanted to know so badly. Or he’d make some comment about them, like, “The relationship wasn’t a big deal.” It irked me because I worried someday he’d be talking to a future girlfriend about me, and say, “Abby wasn’t a big deal.”

  Of course, then when we got engaged, I recognized our relationship was a big deal to him, so I put that particular worry out of my head. But I was still curious about his previous girlfriends. Maybe because I couldn’t imagine any girl breaking up with a great guy like Sam, but at the same time, it’s hard to him imagine him dumping anyone. I can’t picture him having a conversation like that.

  We arrive at Dr. Wong’s office with enough time for Sam to find parking and then walk over together. I can’t help but notice that while we walk to the doctor’s office, he doesn’t hold my hand like he usually does. But I suppose this isn’t really a hand-holding type of atmosphere.

  When we get into the waiting room, Monica is already there. She stands up when she sees us, and my jaw falls open. She usually makes an effort to hide her baby bulge when she’s at work, but now she’s wearing a blue maternity shirt with a string that ties just below her large boobs, and… God, she looks so pregnant. I shouldn’t be surprised because she’s nearly seven months along, but wow, she’s big. There’s no question of there being a baby in there.

  Sam’s baby.

  Monica’s face lights up at the sight of us. As we get closer, she rushes over and throws her arms around Sam’s shoulders. If my jaw weren’t already hanging open, that would have done it. I had no idea Sam and Monica had a hugging type of relationship. Sam especially is not much of a hugger. He’s very affectionate with me, but he’s ranted before about how he dislikes random displays of affection from friends or relatives. The only person I want to hug or kiss is my wife. And maybe my mother.

  And Monica, apparently. Because he is definitely not pushing her away.

  Monica waves at me—I don’t warrant a hug. I can’t stop staring at her midsection. I can’t get over how big she is. Whatever she’s been doing to hide it at work is admirable, but it’s clearly not going to work for much longer.

  Sam seems equally mesmerized by her stomach. He keeps looking at it and finally feels compelled to comment, “The baby’s getting big.”

  She nods eagerly. “And active! He’s been kicking up a storm today.”

  He smiles. “Oh yeah? That must be something.”

  “It is.” She returns his smile. “Here, feel.”

  And then she picks up his hand and places it firmly on the bulge of her abdomen. To his credit, Sam looks embarrassed, but he doesn’t pull away from her. He allows her to hold his hand on her belly. After a few moments, his eyes widen. “Oh, wow! That’s incredible!”

  “Isn’t it?” she laughs. “It’s like he’s always keeping me company.”

  Monica removes her hand, but Sam doesn’t move his. He’s still got his palm pressed to her midsection, feeling the baby shift. He’s got a silly grin on his face. “Abby,” he says, “you’ve got to feel this!”

  I don’t want to touch Monica any more than she wants me to touch her. Fortunately, we’re saved by a nurse calling out Monica’s name.

  The three of us are heading to the back, but the nurse stops us. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “but we only allow one other person in the room during pregnancy checks. It’s just a rule we have.”

  What kind of stupid rule is that? Monica’s eyes immediately go to Sam, and it’s obvious who her preference is. But Sam quickly says, “Abby, you should go. I was already at the last two appointments.”

  Monica’s lips set into a straight line. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” He smiles crookedly. “I’ll just wait out here. I got to feel the baby, so that’s the best part.”

  Monica doesn’t speak to me at all on the way to the examining room, clearly pissed at me for being here when Sam is not. She makes a point of walking several steps ahead of me, so she doesn’t even have to look at me. And when we get to the examining room, she regards me coolly and says, “Would you mind stepping out so I can change?”

  “Sure,” I say, not mentioning the fact that she was fine with me being there when she changed during the first visit.

  I step outside the room, but it’s clear she’s not going to call me back inside until the doctor arrives. Which is fine because the last thing I want is to be standing awkwardly in that room with her.

  Dr. Wong comes walking down the hall, her white coat hanging loose on her shoulders. She sees me standing outside the room, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh!” she manages.

  “Hello.” I give her a half-hearted wave. “I’m Abby. I don’t know if you remember me from the first visit…”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Her smile is strained. “Sorry, I just… somehow I didn’t realize you were still involved.”

  I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well.” Her cheeks color. �
��Monica’s husband has been here for the last couple of visits, so I thought…”

  “Monica’s… husband?”

  Dr. Wong nods. “Yes. He’s maybe in his thirties, brown hair, glasses, fairly, um,… attractive.”

  “Sam?”

  She snaps her fingers. “Yes, that’s right! Sam.”

  “No, Sam is my husband,” I correct her.

  “Oh!” She laughs. “Well, I suppose that makes more sense, doesn’t it? I could have sworn they said he was her husband though.”

  I want to tell Dr. Wong she’s got it wrong, but I can’t quite get the words out. All of a sudden, I get this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can imagine Monica telling the doctor that Sam is her husband—that seems consistent with her recent behavior. But Sam would never have gone along with it. If the doctor had asked him, he would have told her that he wasn’t Monica’s husband. He would have corrected her.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Chapter 21

  When Monica comes into my office this morning with my coffee, there’s no denying it anymore—she is really visibly pregnant. People at work are going to start noticing very soon, if they haven’t already.

  It’s not surprising. She’s now seven months along. It’s amazing she’s managed to hide it this long, even with her creative fashion choices. I heard some snarky secretaries in the ladies room whispering about how Monica needs to “cut back on the chocolate.” I’ve heard still others joking about who the father might be. The gig is definitely up.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her carefully.

  She rests her hand gently on her belly. “A little tired, but generally pretty good.”

  “That’s great.” I chew on my lip, considering my next words carefully. “Do you, um… want to have a seat?”

  Monica gives me a funny look, but she settles into the seat across from me. I get up and close the door so we can have some privacy.

  “Listen,” I say to her as I settle down into my leather chair. “I’m sure you realize that it’s becoming very obvious that you’re pregnant.”

  “I guess so,” she says.

  She bows down her head. I notice for the first time that even though Monica has jet black hair like I do, her roots are pale. One of the selling points when she suggested being a surrogate for me was our similar appearances, but now I’m not sure any more she’s a natural brunette. Does Monica dye her hair black?