“No. Absolutely not. No way. Are you out of your mind?”
Sam doesn’t seem enthusiastic about the idea of Monica being a surrogate for us.
I brought it up in the best possible way. I cooked him his favorite dinner—pan-fried chicken with a side of creamed spinach. He seemed shocked by the food, considering the state I was in last night. But I could tell he was chalking it up to my enthusiasm over our future adoption prospects and I didn’t correct him. Then I waited until he had cleaned his plate and was nursing a full belly to bring up Monica’s proposal.
“You’re not even going to think about it?” I say.
Sam pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you asked me if I wanted to jump off a bridge and I said no, would you ask me if I needed to think about it?”
“Stop being melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic? I’m the only one being sane.”
Despite my initial reservations, I’ve been warming to Monica’s idea over the last ten or so hours. The more I think about it, the more I realize this is the answer to our prayers.
“You’ve met Monica,” I say. “She’s really great. I can’t imagine a better person to donate eggs.”
He squints at me. “Which one was Monica? The blond with freckles?” “No, she has dark hair and dark eyes. She… uh, she actually looks a
little like me.”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t remember if I met her. It doesn’t matter though. It’s a terrible idea.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“One!” Sam bursts out, his ears turning red. Despite everything, I can’t help but think Sam looks sexy when he’s angry. No wonder his students are always calling here. “I’ll give you five good reasons.”
“Fine. Give me five reasons.”
“One.” He holds up a finger—not the middle one, thankfully. “Won’t it be awkward to work with the woman carrying your baby?”
“She said she’d quit once she’s showing.”
He ignores me. “Two—paying for graduate school isn’t exactly cheap.” “Cheaper than an adoption. And we can afford it.”
“You can afford it.” “We can afford it.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment further. “Three,” he goes on, “what if she changes her mind?”
“This wouldn’t be a standard adoption contract,” I point out. “I mean, she’d be using your sperm so you’d have a legal claim to the baby.”
The red in his ears invades his neck. “Yeah, that’s another thing. I’m not so crazy about the idea of using my sperm.”
“It’s not like you’d have to have sex with her…” “Oh, wouldn’t I?”
“Look,” I say, “isn’t this what you wanted? To have a biological child?”
He drops his eyes. “I wanted a biological child with you, Abby. This is… it’s weird. I don’t want to do it.”
“Well, you can’t have a biological child with me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Because I’m defective.”
“Stop it. You’re not defective.”
“I am.” I blink back tears. “So if you want a biological child, this is the only way it’s going to happen.”
“Jesus.” Sam rakes a hand through his hair until it stands up. “This is a bad idea. We were going to adopt. Let’s just stick with the plan.”
“I can’t take any more disappointments, Sam.” The tears are spilling over now, rolling down my cheeks. “Monica… she’s a great girl. She won’t disappoint us—I know it.”
He’s still shaking his head. “Abby…”
“We could have our baby in a year. It’ll never be less than that with the agency.”
This is the first thing I’ve said that’s swayed Sam. He’s thinking again about being an “old dad.” Even though he was thirty when we started, he’s now only a few short years shy of forty. He’s going to be an “old dad,” like it or not. The question is how old?
“I don’t know, Abby,” he sighs. He picks up our plates from the table to bring them to the dishwasher. He does that every night without being asked.
“I still think it’s a bad idea.”
“Will you at least meet Monica?” I plead with him. “Hear her out?” He hesitates. And at that moment, I know I’ve got him.
