1
Ivy
James comes tearing into the kitchen, stopping just in time to avoid ramming into his mother, who is sliding the meatloaf into the oven. His younger brother, Liam, does not possess the ability to stop his little legs on time. He runs smack into his mother, almost knocking her down.
“Jeff!” my sister Molly shouts, “shouldn’t the boys be taking their bath?”
“In a minute,” my brother-in-law shouts from the TV room.
Molly lets out a stream of curses while bodily evicting the boys from the kitchen toward the stairs.
“I swear, that man,” she mutters under her breath as she returns to the kitchen.
I stare at the annoyance on my sister’s face, once a hundred percent identical to mine. The stress of marriage and children has added lines to her face that were not there before.
She and Jeff met when they were both in college, and they were the most in-love couple I’d ever seen. They had reinforced my belief in meeting the perfect person, your soul mate. Except that in the last couple of years, they behaved as though they merely tolerated each other. Gone were the long lingering looks and the secret jokes that only the two of them understood.
“Come on, boys, let’s go take that bath,” my brother-in-law says from the other room, sounding tired, even though it’s only six in the evening.
Blissful silence descends on the kitchen and adjoining living room.
“We’d enjoy more of this peace if Jeff kept to the schedule we set up,” Molly says as she stacks the dishes in the sink.
I stare at her back and remember when she could gush about how hot, sexy, and fun Jeff was. It’s difficult to believe that she’s the same person. It saddens me to see them like this.
“Do you love each other anymore?” I ask her softly.
She goes still and then turns around to face me. She wears a look of such sadness it pulls at my heartstrings. “I don’t know.”
“Why not separate then?” I ask her. We’ve never had this conversation, but I’ve always wanted to ask her. It seems obvious to me. If you’re not happy with someone, then move on and go separate ways. It’s better than making each other miserable.
Her eyes widen in surprise. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Separate? We have kids.”
A shudder goes through me. I imagine myself in my sister’s shoes for a few seconds, married to a man I no longer loved but forced to remain with him because of the children.
“Anyway, enough about me,” Molly says and comes to sit next to me. A soft look relaxes her features. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness yet?”
“Does it kick in immediately? It’s only been three weeks.” The fertility clinic has confirmed that I’m definitely pregnant, but I don’t feel any more pregnant than I did a month ago.
“I was sick as a dog both times,” Molly says. “I hope your luck holds out and you have a stress-free pregnancy.”
“I’m counting on it being stress-free so that I can write.” I wink at Molly, and then I remember why I wanted to see her.
“You’re sweet to do this for Susan and Mike,” she says. “If you hadn’t offered, I would have.”
“Really?” That surprises me, considering how much Molly complained during each of her pregnancies.
To think that she would have offered to carry a baby for her best friend.
She nods. “It’s only for nine months, and she and Mike have been so miserable. Losing all those pregnancies couldn’t have been easy. I’d have done it for Susan.”
I swallow the guilt that rises up my throat. I wish I were as sweet and kind as my sister. I wish my reasons for agreeing to carry Susan and Mike’s baby were a little nobler. The only reason I agreed to be a surrogate mom to the Clarks was that it was the one and only way of finally reaching for my dreams. More than anything, I want to succeed as a writer.
With the stipend they will pay me for my living expenses while I carry their baby, I’ll finish my book while my agent queries publishers. It had sounded so easy and uncomplicated when the Clarks and I reached our agreement.
Except, it had been anything but easy since then. Complication after complication had arisen. First, it turned out that Susan’s eggs were not viable. The next option had been to use my eggs, which would mean that the baby was half mine. I refused to think of it that way and had instead focused on the fact that I was helping a couple have the baby they so desperately wanted. Molly had tried to dissuade me, telling me that with the baby being half mine, it would be difficult to give it away when they were born. But a baby is the last thing on my mind. In fact, I think the Clarks are the good luck charm that I needed.
I push away thoughts of the past few weeks and concentrate on the present. A fresh wave of excitement courses through me as I clasp my hands together. “I have some news. Awesome news.”
“Oh, go on. I could use some good news,” Molly says, getting into the swing of things.
“Jane sold my book!” I shout the news. Even saying it aloud does not make it seem real. Jane is my agent, and since I signed up with her a few months ago, she’s become a friend. I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long that now it feels unreal. I’ve played it out in my head for years. My agent calling me and excitedly telling me that she had sold my book.
A year later, I am holding the book in my hands with my name written across the cover. Ivy Martin. I am now one step closer to reality.
“Congratulations,” Molly cries and then goes still. “Wait. There’s something I don’t understand. How can she sell a book that you have not written yet?”
I giggle at her confused expression. “I’ve written three chapters, and they are enough to get a publisher to sign me up. They want me to write three books in total.”
Molly stares at me in amazement, as if I’ve just discovered anti-aging, making me giggle again.
“What?” I say.
“You’re awesome, sis! Have I told you that lately?”
“Thank you, but I haven’t finished the book yet, and they are only going to pay me a small advance until I finish the first book.”
Pressure mounts inside me. It feels odd to be paid for work not yet done. What if I can’t do it? What if I’ve sold an empty promise? I inhale deeply and scold myself to stop being silly. I’m a professional writer. I’ve written hundreds of pieces and writing a novel has been the one big ambition of my life. I have a chance to do it now, without any distractions. I’m going to go for it with everything I’ve got.
“I’m proud of you.” Molly drapes an arm around me and side hugs me. She draws back after a moment. “Does that mean that all this was for nothing?” She looks pointedly at my belly.
I had the same thought myself when Jane called to tell me the news, but I quickly readjusted my thinking. “No. I’m helping wonderful people get the baby they desperately want.”
“Yeah,” Molly says unenthusiastically.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Besides, the extra money will mean that I’ll have a nest egg.”
“You’re right,” she says, plastering a fake smile on her face. I know Molly like the back of my hand, and I know she’s trying her hardest not to show her real feelings.
It’s hard not to see my plan as a big fat waste of time. If I’d already gotten an advance from the publishing company, would I have agreed to surrogate for the Clarks? The answer makes me feel ashamed of myself.
***
I jolt awake to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I’d told Molly last night that nothing had changed since I became pregnant. Not quite true. Sleep has become sweeter and waking up has become harder. I’m grateful that I work from home. I can’t imagine feeling as sleepy and as tired as I feel and having to go into the office. Without opening my eyes, I reach for my cell phone and hit answer.
An official-sounding voice responds to my hello.
“Is this Ivy Martin?”
“Yes.” I sound as though I have frogs stuck in my throat.
“This is The Anderson fertility clinic,” the woman says. “You tested positive for pregnancy a week ago.”
Her words bring a memory into the forefront of my consciousness. I’d called the Clarks as soon as the pregnancy had been confirmed. I can still remember the utter silence that followed my news and then the shout of joy as Susan yelled to her husband.
It had brought tears to my eyes and made it all worthwhile, especially considering that I’d had a few moments of rethinking my decision.
“Yes, that’s me.” I stifle a yawn.
She clears her throat before continuing, “We have a slight problem, Miss Martin.”
My eyes pop open.
“What problem?” I’m already pregnant, so what problem could there possibly be?
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but a major mistake happened, and you were given the wrong sperm.”
I scramble to sit up in bed. “What? What the heck does that mean? Whose sperm?”
I want to throw up and scream at the same time. I’ve never heard of such a thing as being given the wrong sperm. Fear courses through me.
“I’m afraid the hospital policy forbids me from telling you the name of the sperm donor.”
“Oh really? The same hospital policy that has me carrying a strange man’s baby?” My voice drips with sarcasm.
Panic rises up my throat. I glance at my belly. Whose baby am I carrying?
“The hospital apologizes for the distress this has caused, and we’ll do everything in our power to make things right.” Her voice wavers a bit in the last few words.
“How will you do that?” I scream into the phone.
A knock comes on my bedroom door. “Ivy, are you okay?” My roommate and best friend, Peter asks.
I cover the mouthpiece. “No.”
The door bursts open, and Peter enters. He comes to the bed and sits on the edge. “What happened?”
I shove the phone at him.
“Hello,” he says.
As the reality of what has happened dawns on me, tears fall from my eyes and stream down my face. Peter takes my hand and squeezes it as he explains who he is to the woman on the phone. “I’m the one who came with her to the clinic,” he says and then goes quiet as he listens to the woman on the other end.
Peter tried to dissuade me from being a surrogate mom, but nothing he could have said would have made a difference. He didn’t understand my all-consuming ambition to succeed as a writer, and to be honest, it scared me sometimes. I wanted it so badly that I was willing to sacrifice anything for it.
Horror draws itself on his face, and his gaze drops to my belly. It’s soon replaced by anger.
“How can you make such a mistake?” he thunders into the phone. “This is someone’s life you’re talking about.”
A few moments later, he disconnects the phone without saying goodbye. He places it on my bedside table and climbs into my bed. He hugs me and murmurs comforting words. “Everything will work out just fine,” he says.
I raise my head to look at him. “How, Peter? Tell me how. I’m supposed to be pregnant with the Clarks’ baby, now I don’t even know whose child I’m carrying. What am I supposed to do with a baby?”
“The clinic is offering a termination,” he says softly.
An icy chill curls up my spine. Termination is not something that has crossed my mind, and the very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. “I can’t do that. I’m carrying a real baby.”
“But this is not the deal you signed with the Clarks, Ivy. They wanted a baby who was half theirs,” Peter says.
My defenses shoot up. “It’s not my fault, you know.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m just reminding you of the facts. I don’t want you to make a mistake here. If you keep the baby, you’ll have to raise it yourself.”
It’s too much to think about. The air in my bedroom has become stifled, and I throw the duvet back. “I need some fresh air.”
“I’ll be in the living room,” Peter says and leaves my bedroom.
I throw on a T-shirt and a pair of joggers. Peter offers to come on the walk with me, but I turn down the offer. I need time to think. To make my own decision.
