CHAPTER SIX
TRISTEN
The moving day went smoother than I expected.
Oakleigh arrived with surprisingly little, just a few suitcases and some boxes that the white glove movers handled with exaggerated care. I watched from the living room as they carried everything into the guest suite, feeling an odd mix of relief and apprehension settle in my chest.
This was really happening. Our surrogate was moving into our home.
"Is this okay?" Oakleigh asked, hovering in the doorway of the suite with her hands clasped in front of her. She was wearing a loose sundress that draped over the gentle curve of her belly, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "I feel like I'm invading your space."
"You're not invading anything," I said. "This is exactly what we agreed to."
"I know, but Aubree seemed... tense this morning."
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Aubree was making a show of organizing the pantry. She'd been quiet all morning, her smiles not quite reaching her eyes. I knew she was struggling with this arrangement, even though she'd never say it outright.
"She's just adjusting," I said. "We both are. It's a big change."
Oakleigh nodded, but the worry didn't leave her face. "Maybe I should have stayed at my apartment. I could have hired a nurse or something."
"The doctor specifically recommended this. You need support, not hired help." I stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to project calm reassurance. "We want you here, Oakleigh. Both of us."
Her blue eyes met mine, and something flickered there. Gratitude, maybe. Or something else I couldn't quite name.
"Thank you," she said softly. "You don't know how much this means to me."
I dropped my hand and stepped back, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in my office."
I retreated down the hallway, my heart beating slightly faster than it should have been.
The first week was an exercise in careful navigation.
Oakleigh was a considerate houseguest, almost painfully so. She cleaned up after herself meticulously, kept to her suite most of the time, and always asked before using anything in the common areas. But her presence still shifted the dynamics of the house in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Aubree became quieter. More watchful. I'd catch her studying Oakleigh when she thought no one was looking, her expression impossible to read.
I found myself playing mediator, trying to keep both women comfortable while pretending everything was normal. It was exhausting in a way I hadn't expected.
The late-night calls started during the second week.
The first one came at eleven thirty on a Tuesday. I was in bed with Aubree, both of us reading before sleep, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at the screen and saw Oakleigh's name.
"Who is it?" Aubree asked without looking up from her book.
"Work thing," I lied, the word coming out before I could think better of it. "I'll take it in my office."
I slipped out of bed and padded down the hall, answering just before it went to voicemail.
"Tristen?" Oakleigh's voice was small and scared. "I'm so sorry to call this late. I just... I felt something weird and I'm freaking out."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of weird? Are you bleeding?"
"No, nothing like that. It was like a flutter. In my stomach."
I exhaled slowly, relief washing through me. "That's the baby moving, Oakleigh. It's normal. It's actually a really good sign."
"Oh." A pause. "Oh, I feel so stupid now."
"Don't. First-time pregnancies are scary, especially after what happened. You can call me anytime something doesn't feel right."
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden. You're carrying our child. There's nothing more important than that."
I heard her exhale shakily on the other end of the line. "Thank you. I mean it. Aubree is so lucky to have you."
The compliment made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. "Try to get some sleep, okay? And if you feel anything else that worries you, just knock on our door. We're right down the hall."
"I will. Goodnight, Tristen."
"Goodnight."
I hung up and stood in my dark office for a moment, staring at my phone. The lie I'd told Aubree sat heavy in my mouth, sour and wrong. But telling her the truth would only make her worry more, would only add another brick to the wall I could feel building between us.
It was easier this way. Kinder, even.
I told myself that as I slipped back into bed beside my wife.
The calls became a pattern.
Not every night, but often enough that I started keeping my phone on vibrate under my pillow. Oakleigh would text first, usually something like are you awake? or sorry to bother you, and I'd slip out of bed to call her back from my office or the balcony.
The reasons varied. She couldn't sleep. She was worried about the next doctor's appointment. She'd read something online about pregnancy complications and worked herself into a panic. She missed her mom, who had passed away three years ago and would never meet her grandchild.
I listened to all of it. I reassured her, calmed her down, talked her through whatever spiral she'd gotten herself into. It felt like the right thing to do. She was alone and scared and carrying the most precious thing in my life. What kind of man would I be if I ignored her?
But I never told Aubree.
The lies came easier than I wanted to admit. Work calls. Couldn't sleep. Checking on a late email. Aubree accepted each excuse without question, and I told myself that her trust was a gift I was protecting, not betraying.
I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was just managing a complicated situation.
That's what I told myself.
"Tristen, can I ask your opinion on something?"
It was a Thursday afternoon, and Oakleigh had emerged from her suite to find me working at the kitchen island. She was holding her phone, her brow furrowed in that way I'd come to recognize as her anxious face.
"Of course. What's up?"
"The doctor's office called about scheduling the anatomy scan.
They gave me two options, and I don't know which one to pick.
" She showed me her phone screen, where she'd written down both dates.
"Aubree mentioned she has a work thing on the fifteenth, so I was thinking maybe the twenty-second? But that seems so far away."
"Let me check with Aubree about her schedule. She'll want to be there."
"I know, I just..." Oakleigh bit her lip. "She already has so much on her plate. I don't want to add to her stress by making her rearrange her whole calendar."
"She'd want to know."
"Would she, though?" Oakleigh's voice dropped lower, more hesitant. "I feel like every time I bring up the pregnancy, she gets this look. Like she's trying really hard to be happy but it's costing her something."
I didn't know what to say to that, because Oakleigh wasn't wrong.
Aubree had been struggling more than she let on.
I could see it in the tension she carried in her shoulders, the way her smiles never quite reached her eyes, the distance that had crept back into our bed despite that one beautiful afternoon.
"She's just processing," I said finally. "This is a lot for her too."
"I know. That's why I thought maybe you and I could handle the small stuff. The scheduling, the logistics. So she doesn't have to worry about every little detail."
It made sense when she said it like that. Aubree was stretched thin between work and the fertility trauma and now having a stranger living in her home. If I could shoulder some of the burden by dealing with Oakleigh's day-to-day concerns, wasn't that just being a good husband?
"Okay," I agreed. "Let's do the twenty-second. I'll make sure Aubree has it on her calendar."
Oakleigh's face broke into a relieved smile. "Thank you. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without you."
She reached out and squeezed my hand, just briefly, her fingers warm against mine. The touch lasted maybe two seconds, but I felt it linger on my skin long after she'd retreated back to her suite.
That night, my phone buzzed at one in the morning.
I slipped out of bed with practiced ease, careful not to wake Aubree, and took the call in the hallway outside the guest suite.
"I had a nightmare," Oakleigh whispered. "About losing the baby. It felt so real, Tristen. I woke up crying and I couldn't catch my breath."
"Hey, breathe with me. In for four, out for four."
I heard her following my instructions, her ragged gasps slowly evening out into something steadier.
"I'm sorry," she said eventually. "I know this is crazy. Calling you in the middle of the night over a stupid dream."
"It's not stupid. Your brain is processing a lot of stress right now."
"I just feel so alone sometimes. Even here, surrounded by people, I feel like no one really understands what I'm going through."
"I understand," I said, and I meant it. The fear of losing this baby was something I carried too, a constant weight in my chest. "I know exactly how scary this is."
"Can you... can you just talk to me for a while? About anything. I just need to hear another voice."
So I did. I sat on the floor of my own hallway in the dark and talked to Oakleigh about nothing important. My college years. The first time I met Aubree. Stupid stories about my younger brother that made her laugh quietly.
Forty-five minutes passed before she finally said she thought she could sleep.
"Goodnight, Oakleigh."
"Goodnight. And Tristen? Thank you. For everything. You're the only person who makes me feel like I'm not going crazy."
I hung up and sat there for a moment, my back against the wall, my phone warm in my palm. My legs had fallen asleep, pins and needles shooting through my calves when I finally stood.
Aubree was still asleep when I crept back into bed. She'd rolled onto my side while I was gone, her face pressed into my pillow like she was seeking me out even in unconsciousness.
The guilt hit me then, sharp and sudden, like a knife slipping between my ribs.
You're not doing anything wrong, I reminded myself. You're just helping her. Keeping the peace. Protecting everyone.
But as I lay there in the dark, listening to my wife's steady breathing and thinking about the woman down the hall who had just bared her soul to me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking a line I couldn't see clearly anymore.
The boundaries were blurring.
And I didn't know how to redraw them without making everything worse.