Chapter one #2
She straightens her shoulders, giving me the impression of a terrified girl trying to be strong.
My resolve to go through with this falters.
She’s so young—is it right for us to ask this of her?
But if we don’t, someone else will. And I want my baby.
“Why surrogacy, why this agency, and why us?”
She cocks her head to one side, surveying my face.
Damon fidgets, uneasy with her mannerisms, I think.
He’s protective, very protective. No one is allowed to say a word against me, especially when it comes to our inability to have a family.
The last time we were at a family gathering and the subject of children came up, he marched me out of the room before the tears could fall.
“In all honesty,” she says, “I’m floundering. I have no money and most likely will lose my home. My studies are going well, but I need a secure place to stay while I complete my degree. This is something I can do that won’t invade my time too much.
It will reduce my living costs and let me chase my career.”
She pauses for a moment. “Everyone in this room knows we’re out with the realms of the law here. Normally, it’s a requirement for surrogates to have maintained a healthy pregnancy. This agency places more importance on reproductive health and keeping your mouth shut,
so it was a good opportunity to improve my circumstances. Also, knowing how much the introduction fee you’re paying is, I figure you must really want this baby and will provide them with a good life.”
I gawk at her and she laughs. “I don’t want children of my own. My family are gone, and I have no support. My reasons are selfish, but I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“Not at all,” I respond. “I appreciate your honesty.”
The meeting continues and we discuss the sensitive topics of how the arrangement will work.
It is agreed she will move in with us for a two-week trial before we decide to move forward with the surrogacy.
However, as the introduction is part of the fee due to the agency, Damon hands over the five-thousand-pound cash payment safely counted in a padded brown envelope.
The balance of twenty thousand pounds will be due on the initial round of treatment.
We all stand, ready to say goodbye. Grace and Emma shake our hands, then we walk out the door further forward in the process of getting our child.
***
It’s a bright winter’s morning at the end of January.
The sun streams in our window as Damon and I sit up in bed drinking cups of tea.
It’s his routine on the days he’s home: he goes downstairs first, makes two drinks, then brings them back to our bedroom.
We chat, relax, and make love until we feel like getting on with our day.
Today is not so peaceful. Emma has come to the end of her two-week stay with us, and we need to decide whether to move forward with the process. She has asserted she is happy to.
“Bubbles,” he says, “if you want to go ahead with this surrogacy now is the time to say. If not, we can end it here and look at building our lives without a child.”
My heart strains. One part of me is warring with the other, questioning whether I can watch another woman birth my child. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. If we don’t try, I’ll always wonder what if.
“Yes,” I answer him. “I want to try.” He wraps me in his arms as the tears come, the loss and hope contradicting each other with their rawness. His lips drop to my ear and he kisses me softly.
“I love you, always. This time next year we will be sitting here holding our baby. You are such a strong woman, never forget it. I am so proud of you.”
***
It was decided that we would try a round of embryo implantation first via the same agency, although the process offered high costs and a low chance of positive results. When the test showed negative, Emma apologized.
“Don’t ever say sorry,” I told her. “This isn’t a guaranteed thing. We’ll have to speak to the clinic about another cycle.”
Having her in my home hasn’t been as awkward as I thought it might be.
She’s at the library a lot of the time and spends the rest of her day studying in her room. She is completely career focused.
“Implantation isn’t the only option,” she says. “It’s my egg we are using. There’s always the natural route.”
That had been another blow. My eggs were now considered infertile or beyond use; they recommended using a donor. Emma had stepped up again.
“You want to sleep with my husband,” I snap, and she bursts out laughing.
“No, we can use a syringe. An artificial insemination kit.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I blink at her in confusion.
“Damon can do his thing and we put it in a syringe, then transfer the sperm into me.”
Her voice is level, calm, and completely at ease with the suggestion.
My heart rate skyrockets at the thought.
“It means we can try multiple times a month at the optimal time, and more importantly.”
She pauses, focusing on me. “If one month it doesn’t happen, we can try the next easily.”
“It does make sense,” I stutter, unsure. “But I’ll need to speak to Damon.”
“Of course,” she replies with a smile. “I’ll send you some instructional videos I found online.”
She takes both my hands in hers. “I want to make this happen for you, Connie. My studies have improved amazingly since I moved in. You have helped me without even realizing it. If I can do this for you, I will.”
***
Emma’s optimal time to become pregnant rolls around. Damon holds his plastic beaker and wanders off to the toilet to do his duty. He returns ten minutes later with the contents, passing them to us. We’re standing at the kitchen counter, syringe poised.