EMBER
It had been a couple of weeks since Amara told me I had been selected to become a surrogate.
She sent over forms for me to review, sign, and send back, and that was the last time I heard from her.
All this time I had to think about it, which had me going back and forth with thoughts about backing out.
But each day when I stepped into the shelter with Rhema, it was a reminder that I couldn’t give up.
I was on a mission. I had to make this unselfish sacrifice to obtain a better life for us. It was something I had to do.
Even though I hadn’t heard anything from Amara since my last appointment, I followed her instructions and ensured I avoided alcohol, followed a balanced diet, and kept up with my prenatal vitamin regimen.
Whenever the time came, I wanted to make sure I was healthy and prepared to carry a child for the parents who had chosen me.
I repeatedly read the documents Amara sent me.
Some nights I imagined what the husband and wife who I would be carrying for was like.
Were they caring? Loving? Would the baby make their lives feel complete?
This was none of my business, nor things I should’ve been thinking about, but I couldn’t help myself.
Especially knowing that they would be using my egg and the father’s sperm to create this baby.
Could I hand their child over, knowing he or she had my blood running through their little body?
There was another question that constantly popped up in my mind.
How did the wife feel knowing another woman was carrying her husband’s baby?
A baby who wouldn’t share any of her DNA.
That had to be a tough thing to think about and accept, but then again, they were willing to pay top dollar for this service. So, she must’ve been all for it, right?
My problem was having too much time on my hands to think.
It was a waiting game, and I couldn’t wait to be able to get Rhema out of this situation.
I couldn’t help thinking that I’d failed her once again, and it tore me up.
Holding my tears in had become the norm until I was alone in the shower.
That’s when every emotion and tear I had bottled up was released.
Every day, Rhema seemed to be unhappier than the day before.
I tried picking up cheap arts and crafts supplies from the thrift store that I found for her and books I thought she would be interested in.
It helped keep her distracted sometimes, but it wasn’t enough to make her forget where we currently resided.
“Mama, I need to go to the restroom,” Rhema said, looking up from a Lego set she was building.
“Okay, hold on. We’ll go in a second.” I submitted the job application I was working on and logged off the computer.
We moved around this place together. Where she went, I went. I never let Rhema out of my sight. Although it was a shelter to help women and children, I couldn’t be too trusting. There were still shady people surrounding us; therefore, I was always cautious.
Rhema handled her business in the restroom and returned next to me. When we got back to the area where we slept, a woman was in our section, touching my shit.
“What are you doing?” I grilled her as I positioned Rhema behind me.
“Exactly what it looks like. If you cared that much about your property, you wouldn’t have left it out in the open.”
No, this bitch didn’t.
“I’m going to give you one second to walk away.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenged.
I felt my body heating up, and my hands began to slightly shake.
I quickly glanced over my shoulder. “Rhema, baby. Cover your ears and look the other way.”
Her hands shot up to her ears, and I looked back at the woman who still had her hands inside my bag of fragrances. I moved closer to where the lady was on her knees near the bed.
Through gritted teeth, I said, “If you don’t, I’m going to show you why you should never touch shit that don’t belong to you.”
She looked up at me, remained in the same position, and now her fingers were wrapped around one of my perfume bottles. “Girl, ple—”
Before the pale faced woman could get the full word out, I snatched her hair and dug my finger into her fake bun. Once I had a good grip, I snatched her head back, and her neck cracked.
“Ouch! Let go of my hair!” She finally released my property and was reaching for my wrist.
She was about half my size, but I slid her around the floor like she was as light as a feather.
My eyes darted toward Rhema, who was still turned, facing the opposite way with her hands tucked inside her jean shorts.
By the time I turned back around, the woman was getting up off the floor and speeding toward me.
I fixed my stance, prepared for whatever she was coming with. As soon as she got closer, I didn’t wait for her to touch me; I sucker punched her first. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth.
“Bitch, you must wanna die today!” she shouted with a bloody mouth.
Protecting Rhema and myself was my only concern, but I couldn’t say I didn’t feel bad.
I was a grown woman fighting. I was no fighter, but this woman left me no choice.
The last time I fought was in middle school, and it was for this same reason, someone trying to take something that belonged to me.
“Stop!” One of the women who worked at the shelter ran toward us with her arms flailing in the air.
“Ain’t no stopping. This tramp busted my lip!” the thief yelled with blood still dripping from her bottom lip.
“If you want to get kicked out of this shelter, keep it up,” the worker threatened. Her stern expression showed that she meant every word.
I stood quietly, keeping my eyes on the woman, just in case she caught me off guard and tried to attack me.
“I don’t give a shit! Kick me out! This place is trashy as fuck anyway!”
“That’s it.” The worker grabbed the walkie from her back pocket and alerted the guards. “I need security in the room ASAP.”
Suddenly, the thief charged toward me, and before long, we were tumbling to the ground, throwing blows at each other.
“Momma!” I heard Rhema’s sweet voice through the commotion.
My baby.
The woman was doing a bunch of scratching and pulling on my hair.
“Let her go right now, Tabitha,” a male’s voice boomed.
“No!” the woman who I now knew as Tabitha, roared.
Next thing I knew, we were forcefully pulled apart. My chest heaved up and down rapidly as I struggled to catch my breath. Two big security guards stood as a barrier between us, making sure we didn’t get past them.
I was done.
In the middle of them trying to find out what led to us fighting, I walked away.
I grabbed Rhema’s hand, tossed some smaller items into my bigger bags, grabbed our suitcases, and rushed down the corridor.
In that moment, I was happy I found an affordable storage unit to keep our larger possessions.
The few things I decided to keep with us made it easier to move around for times like these.
As I walked out the door, Tabitha was still loud, calling me out of my name and complaining about her busted lip. She was lucky I didn’t do more.
I stood in front of the building more confused than I’d ever been.
Homeless.
Broken-hearted.
Broke.
Embarrassed.
Grabbing Rhema’s hand tighter, I guided her down the street with one destination in mind. The last place I’d sworn I’d ever go if push came to shove was now the only place I could think of going.
Rhema and I stood in front of the house I was raised in. Many memories flashed in my mind, and many emotions stirred in my heart as I gazed at the home I hadn’t visited since the day my parents kicked me out. Tears threatened to spill as I tried to keep myself together.
“Where are we, Momma?” Rhema looked from me to the house.
I didn’t know how to answer that question because a part of me wanted to protect her, just in case we weren’t welcome here.
The other part wanted to be open and honest with her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
How could I tell her that her grandparents didn’t want anything to do with me or her?
“Momma is here to handle something, sweet girl. Wait here for me, okay?”
“Alright.”
I rubbed my hand over her ponytail and then walked toward the porch, noticing that all the lights inside the home were on. And in the driveway, the same old car my mother had when I was a teenager caught my attention as well.
I rang the doorbell and waited.
“Who is at my door so late?”
My breathing paused when I heard my mother’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Move, Phyllis, I got it. Go back to bed,” I heard a male voice say.
Who is that?
The door opened, and a short, well-built older man stood there eyeing me.
“Yes? How can I help you?”
A glimpse of the band on his ring finger caught my attention, and the wedding photo of him and my mother on the wall behind him confirmed he was my mom’s husband. I wondered how long they’d been married.
“Uh, yes. I’m Ember… Ember Heart. I’m Phyllis’s daughter.”
The man looked confused. “Daughter? I don’t know what type of game you’re playing, but you need to leave now.”
“Sir, I’m not playing any games. My mother is Phyllis Heart, and her granddaughter is behind me.” I turned around and pointed at Rhema, who was leaning on my car, tracing the cracks in the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe.
He glanced over my shoulder at Rhema.
“Heart? Ain’t that her first husband?” he muttered, more so to himself.
“Yes, and my father.”
His expression went slack. “Can’t be. Phyllis never had children.”
I squished my eyebrows together. “Is that what she told you?” I slipped my hand inside my purse and dug around for my wallet. When I found it, I pulled out the faded photo of my mom, dad, and me when I was about nine years old.
I held the photo in front of his face. He turned on the porch light and took the picture out of my hand, studying it.
“Well, I’ll be…” he grumbled. “This woman is a gahdamn lie. Phyllis!” he called, still looking at the photograph.
“Yes?”