The Surrogate, page 3
She thought I was jealous of her. Seriously? I didn’t give a crap about education. Waste of cash. She wanted to finish. Wanted a “career.” I felt bad when her dad died, and she needed funds. But being a surrogate? Having a baby for money? That was creepy as hell. I didn’t trust the lawyer and his wife who wanted her to do this. His sperm? No, thanks.
But they offered her fifty grand. Jesus Christ. That was more than I made in a year. Cally thought I was “threatened” by that. Bullshit. She claimed it wasn’t just about the huge fee. I didn’t believe her. We argued about that. Cally said this was something she could do that I couldn’t. Like she was better than me. That really pissed me off, and I lost it. I’d been hanging out at her place. I might have thrown some shit. She told me to go and never come back. So I grabbed my stuff and left.
We didn’t talk again. I honestly didn’t think she’d go through with it. I thought it was worse than a bad idea. She didn’t care what I thought, though. She was gonna do what she was gonna do. And I had to take care of myself. My uncle offered me construction work out of state. Good pay. So I went to Missouri for the summer. She stayed in Minnesota.
Months went by and we lost touch.
And then, out of the blue, she asked for the ride. I’d been back a couple of months when she called. She left a message with my roommate, who gave me a look when he passed it on. He thought I should stay away. Ignore it. I might have said some things to him about her in the past. He thought she was jerking me around. Using me. My roommate was a good guy; he was trying to look out for me.
I called her back. She said she liked hearing my voice. I said what’s up. She said she was in the hospital. “Why? Are you sick?” I said. I was surprised to hear that. I worried about her even though we weren’t together. I didn’t want her to be sick.
“No, I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t tell me she’d had a goddamn kid. She just said she wanted to go but the doctors wouldn’t let her.
“Why won’t they let you?” I asked. It didn’t make sense. “Maybe you’re sicker than you think. Are you sure?”
She said she was definitely okay, and the doctors were just being pussies. She said she really needed to get the hell out of there.
Fine, I said. I’d pick her up.
She said to park behind the main building and flash my lights before I got out of the truck. Then come get her. She asked if I could take her out of town and stay with her for a few nights. I thought, Here we go again. She’s gonna try to get back together. My roommate had called it. But I wasn’t sure. Something in her voice. She said she had a lot going on. Needed time to “process.” She sounded nervous. She sounded desperate. So I went and got her. Hell, I had the time. My uncle didn’t need me again until February for a job down in Florida. So what the hell.
And I gotta say. That night with her in my truck, on the highway. It was like old times. Except that she had that sperm lawyer’s kid, and she was breastfeeding it the whole way. Every time I glanced over, they’d either be sleeping or she’d be sticking her boob in the baby’s face.
“Don’t watch me,” she’d say.
“I’m not,” I’d say. “I’m fucking driving.” But I caught a peek at her tits, and they were huge.
Cally must have been thirsty, because she emptied my water bottle. Plus another one she found on the floor. I told her I didn’t know how old it was. She said she didn’t care.
After we passed Rush City, she wanted to make a pit stop. In the middle of nowhere.
“Do you see anyplace to stop?” I said, pointing outside to the dark.
“No, but when you see a gas station, please?”
I said nothing.
Eventually, there was an exit and a mini-mart. I drove up to the front door and dropped her off. After she hopped out, I lit up a cigarette.
“Want one?” I said to the kid.
Six
Ruth
1997
I’d kept Hal’s business card on my bedroom dresser, caressing it from time to time, as if the embossed letters were his lips or a Ouija board, telling me it was okay. Finally, I summoned the right rationale: my story was done and needed a companion piece.
“Hal Olson, please,” I said to the male voice who answered on the second ring.
“Speaking,” he said, and I felt a twinge in my breasts.
“Oh hi, this is Ruth Martin, we met at the—”
“Hello, Ruth,” he said, cutting me off with his sexy confidence.
“Oh. You remember me?” I tucked my chin to my chest, and the back of my neck tingled.
“I sure do.”
“Um, okay. Good . . .” I got up from my desk and closed the door to my office. Didn’t want Kristin hearing this, or any of the other newspaper employees nosing around in my personal life. I wanted this man all to myself.
“I’m glad you called,” he said, and I believed him.
“You are?” I hated how flirty I sounded. “Okay, um, good, um . . .” I heard myself breathing into the receiver.
“Hmm-mmm. I was hoping you’d call,” Hal said in a smooth voice as warm as roasted chestnuts.
“Oh, okay, um,” I said, regaining my composure. “Have I caught you at a good time?”
“Yes, this is a very good time,” he said. “How’ve you been, Ruth?”
“I’m great, I’m great.” I sat in my chair and swiveled side to side. I was enjoying this.
“Have you finished your article about your professor?” he said. It was kind of him to remember Professor Judith.
“Oh, um, yes, and that’s why I’m calling.” I grabbed a pen and a tablet of paper and pressed my shoulder to my ear, squeezing the phone in place.
“It is?” he said, sounding surprised. Was he challenging me?
“Yes, I thought I could explore a piece about, you know, successful attorneys doing pro bono work in these challenging economic times,” I said, drawing doodles on the paper.
“I’m glad you think of me as successful.”
This flirting was thrilling and disarming all at once. I wanted to keep him on the phone just to listen to that deep voice. His voice in my ear, so close to my brain, so close to the thoughts I’d kept of him, his eyes, his smile and his broad shoulders, the images I’d kept replaying, my own private movie, wondering what it would be like to have his arms around me, his peppermint breath near my cheek, his lips close enough to kiss.
“I’d say so, I mean, you’re a partner at a big law firm and—”
“Would you meet me for dinner tonight?” He cut me off again, taking charge. Every instinct I had wanted to say yes to him.
“Uh . . . I don’t know,” I said.
“Or tomorrow night, if that’s better.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, I mean . . .” I looked at my closed office door, wondering what everyone would say about me dating a married man. We were a tight team, mostly women, and we were small enough to know what everyone else was up to. To do our job well, we had to be in touch frequently and help each other; our work was entirely collaborative. There wouldn’t be a way for me to keep this from them for long.
“Why not?” he said.
I wanted Hal to tell me he wasn’t really married. Maybe he’d gotten divorced since the awards dinner. “Because dinner with you sounds like, you know, it sounds like—”
“—sounds like what? A date?” he said.
“Yeah, sort of,” I said, but I wasn’t ready to admit that. Or to admit that’s what I wanted.
“You’re aware that, technically, I’m married.” His words landed with a thud.
“Yes, I am aware of that,” I said, trying not to let my disappointment show. “That’s why I wanted to clarify—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m sure, as a journalist, you’ll understand that things aren’t always as they seem.”
“Well, yes, but,” I said. I didn’t really want to hear his shtick.
“Have dinner with me, please. I’d like to explain,” he said. “Or, we can focus on the inherent injustice in our system of unequal access to legal advocacy.”
I could feel him smiling on the other end of the line. “Well, that last part sounds like an intriguing hook. I’m always in for a good story,” I said, wanting to see that smile in person.
We made plans to meet the following night. I didn’t want to sound too anxious, and I wanted to think about it. Maybe I’d change my mind? Also, I needed time to research issues related to access to justice. Think about what to wear. Wash my hair.
I could hardly wait.
When I arrived at the Winston steak house, I felt like splurging, so I drove up to the valet. I thought about all the other times I’d eaten at this particular restaurant. When you live in a place long enough, you attach experiences to landmarks and then string other memories on top of those, forming an unexpected necklace. And it’s hard not to revisit those past selves when you swing by again. At the Winston, I’d had a job interview lunch, a girls’ night out during grad school, and a miserable blind date. Tonight would be either a good interview or a good date. But hopefully a good date.
I opened the door and Hal was already sitting at the bar on a red leather stool, as cool as Pierce Brosnan, watching for me. His smile pushed dimples into his cheeks, and I’m sure I blushed. He looked so sexy in a crisp suit and tie, and I could smell his cologne as he took the coat off my shoulders. His skin glowed in the dim lights reflected in the giant mirror behind the bar, and I wanted to touch his hair.
“You look nice,” he said.
“So do you.” I glanced past the bar toward the dining tables, with formal white linens and real candles.
“Would you like a cabernet? Or something else?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, and it was as if he already knew me, knew what I wanted.
Hal nodded to the bartender. I knew I was in good hands. And this was definitely a Good Date.
Seven
Cally
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2002
Evening
Being a surrogate had been a good job for me; it paid a lot and didn’t require a college degree. To be honest, it made me feel important, that I could do this big thing: grow a baby for a couple who couldn’t have their own. Being pregnant was easy for me. My body was healthy and all my parts were working, and that was something special I had. At the doctor appointments, all the attention was on me. People helped me up onto the table, always asked how I was, and praised me for doing a good job. The nurse weighed me, and I was proud of how the baby was growing. The doctor listened to the strong heartbeat, and I smiled because I could take credit for that.
As my belly got bigger, though, I started to worry about how much it would hurt to give birth. But there was no turning back; this thing had to come out. I didn’t have a mom or grandma or sisters to ask for advice, but millions of other women had done it, so why couldn’t I? Plus Ruth had taken me to all the Lamaze classes, and everyone said it would be fine.
When I went into labor, I didn’t have time to worry. Ruth got me to the hospital and they hooked me up. Things moved fast and it was kind of a blur. I do remember the pain, though. It hurt a LOT. No other way to describe it. Just insane amounts of pain and confusion. Tired, with nowhere to go except forward. There was a crowd around my legs, cheering me on. So many people in the room, the doctor and three or four nurses, all wearing blue paper hats, plus Hal and Ruth, and all of them were focused on my privates, holding my feet and legs, telling me to push. Finally, the doctor said I was almost done, one more push. When the baby came out, all the attention shifted from me to her. I heard her cry and she was gone. The doctors and nurses huddled over the baby, passing her around to wipe her off and check her. No one really cared about me after that point. They were all focused on the baby. I sank into my pillow to rest.
Hal and Ruth were always there, somewhere in the background. I could feel their nervousness, the intrusion of them lurking, huddled against the wall. They’d seen my nakedness, they’d seen the thing come out of me, and who knows what else? The sounds I’d made, what I might have said or the look on my face. I didn’t know how to feel about any of it, honestly, but I ended up thinking both Who cares? and Why should they be here?
Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was routine.
The blue hats and rubber gloves finally wrapped up the pink-hat baby and handed her to Ruth, who held the tiny bundle like it was light as a feather and breakable as glass. I’d never seen Ruth cry before, never thought I would. She was crying and smiling and holding the baby that I’d grown for her.
Exhausted, I turned my head and slept. When I opened my eyes, I saw Hal studying me. Like he was worried. Was he happy, too? Tomorrow would be a full day at the hospital with the baby, and then the next day was the transfer ceremony. He’d reminded me of his rigorously planned drill so many times: after one full day of recovery, his pastor, Jim, and their social worker, Carol, would arrive at ten o’clock the next morning to say a blessing and honor me, the birth mother. Then we’d sign the final papers on parental rights. I’d have a chance for a final goodbye, and at one o’clock, the new parents would leave the hospital with the baby. I’d stay one more day for observation and recovery. This was generous, Hal liked to mention, because it was more than what ordinary birth moms got under their standard health insurance.
I watched Hal and Ruth in their new family circle. He had his arm around her as he leaned down and looked at the baby. Ruth loosened the blankets and touched her legs, pulled one out and touched the toes. She wrapped her back up and bounced her. She put the baby on her shoulder, then quickly took her down again as if she couldn’t decide or didn’t know which way was better. She and Hal both stared at her. They smiled and kissed each other, and I wondered if that was what it had been like for my parents when I was born. I wondered if it could’ve been like that for me and Digger if we’d stayed together. Or how he might react if he could see this baby. I wished he could see her. He’d gone to Missouri, but he must have returned by now. His construction work was supposed to end in October.
After a few minutes, Hal gestured to Ruth and said it was time to go, and she frowned. He took the baby from her and set the pink bundle down next to my face, between me and the metal bars on the bed. He touched my shoulder and said, “She’s beautiful.”
I nodded. The baby opened her eyes and seemed to be looking right at me. She looked so pathetic and weak, like a tiny puppy.
Ruth cleared her throat, and Hal looked up. “Gotta go,” he said to me. “Get some rest, and we’ll be back tomorrow.”
I looked at him and squinted. I couldn’t see his face well because the ceiling light was above him, making a halo. “Okay,” I said, and I put my hand on the baby. I didn’t know if she would fall off the edge or what.
Hal walked over to Ruth. She had been standing near the door, watching us. Her arms were crossed. She looked away, and they both slipped out the door.
Then it was just me and the baby, dark and quiet and alone. A while later, a nurse came in and closed the curtain around my bed. She picked up Nell and put her in the bassinet. “Try to sleep,” she said. “Press your call button if you need us.”
“Where will the baby be while I’m sleeping?”
“She’ll be right here in the bassinet or in the nursery,” said the nurse.
I’d already asked the nurses lots of questions, like how they kept track of the babies, because didn’t they all look alike? She explained our matching bracelets and the alarm system, and the DNA tests, but they rarely needed to use those.
“Don’t worry,” she said; maybe she saw something in my face. “We’ll take good care of her. And you.”
“Thanks,” I said, and closed my eyes.
Eight
Hal
NOVEMBER 2001
Morning
When drafting a contract of any nature, I always begin with a template. A template contains the standard boilerplate language, the generic yet necessary clauses that I don’t need to spend time drafting. No need to re-create the wheel, so to speak. The traditional surrogacy agreement (hereinafter, the TSA) was no exception.
Since I didn’t practice in the area of family law, which is where surrogacy law would reside, I consulted a family law treatise and form book. Once I had the form, I tailored the clauses to be specific to us, such as names and addresses, and also the topics that were important to Ruth. She had some particular proscriptions about Cally’s behavior during pregnancy (e.g., nutrition, safety), as well as concerns about the delivery itself and the naming of the child. That sort of thing.
My practice with getting documents signed is to bring the parties together in a room and walk through the details. In this sense, I’d usually be talking about real estate deals, but the document review and signing process is effective regardless of the topic. The result is that any sticky issues can be identified and any unclear provisions can be clarified immediately.
In our case, I called a meeting for Ruth and Cally and me to meet at my office, and we gathered in the large conference room with copies of the documents ready to go. I asked my assistant, Pat, to join us and take notes. I’d been working with Pat for over fifteen years, and she knew how I liked to document my files. So . . . we were all present. We had the paperwork in front of us. And, after the standard small talk, I began the review process.
Pointing to the first few paragraphs, I wanted the team to know how the contract was structured: the main agreement plus three attachments, which are incorporated by reference into the whole. I began with a statement confirming that Cally had been advised to seek her own lawyer on this matter, which had been her prerogative. Since she declined, I had her initial that part, for our own protection.
“Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer?” Ruth leaned closer to Cally and scrutinized her face for any clues of discomfort. Cally seemed fine to me.
“I’m fine,” said Cally. “My manager at the dog daycare helped me. Her sister was a paralegal, and she walked me through it.”
