The Choices We Make. Karma Brown
glancing at the next picture she pulled up. “And this is Johnny, also last Christmas.” Johnny sat in front of a fully decorated Christmas tree. He wore glasses and smiled, though he showed no teeth.
“They’re very handsome,” I said. “And really look like you.”
Lyla looked at the photos, still smiling. “I get that a lot.”
My stomach dropped, thinking again that no one would ever say that about my child—if I could even find a way to have a child. I pushed the sadness away and focused on my coffee and brioche, which had just arrived.
Lyla went on to say she and Jason had just celebrated their ten-year anniversary, and had moved from Texas to San Francisco a year ago to move in with his mother, who was ill. Jason was working as a security guard but wanted to become a police officer, and while Lyla had worked as a medical receptionist in Texas, she was taking care of Jason’s mom and the boys now. I commented how tough it must have been to make the move, and she shrugged, saying that she wasn’t close to her own family and Jason’s mom was like a mother to her.
“So why are you looking into surrogacy?” Lyla asked.
I was suddenly uncomfortable—as much as I knew this was the conversation we needed to be having, I didn’t want to be having it.
“Oh, well, wow. Where do I start?” I laughed, but it came out sounding forced, and Lyla gave me a sympathetic smile. “We’ve been trying for six years, which when you say it out loud seems like way too long, doesn’t it?” I shook my head and took a deep breath, hoping it might relieve the tension sitting in a band across my chest. It didn’t. “I’ve been pregnant three times but miscarried very early on. And other than that, no luck. We’ve been working with a fertility specialist for about four years now.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. That must be real difficult for you and Ben.”
“Thanks, yeah, it hasn’t been...easy. But I’m lucky. He’s amazingly supportive.” Except he has no idea I’m here talking with you, and I’m not sure what that says about me. About us.
“Are ya’ll married?” Lyla’s tone was casual, but the way she looked at me suggested otherwise.
“Yes! Didn’t I mention that? Seven years.”
“Oh, good,” she said, stirring her latte and sucking some of the green-tinged foam off the spoon. “Sorry if that sounds strange, but that’s real important to me and Jason.”
“Of course, I understand completely.”
“Do you and Ben belong to a church?”
I had been dreading this, knowing it was important to Lyla, and wasn’t sure how to answer. I went with the truth.
“No, we don’t.” I took a bite of my brioche and left it up to her to decide what to do with that.
“That’s okay,” Lyla said, forking her cinnamon cake and popping the piece into her mouth. I waited while she chewed and swallowed. “I just need to let you know I won’t do any genetic testing with the baby or anything like that and I’m pro-life.” She said this casually, as if we were discussing a new restaurant opening or the weekend weather forecast.
I sat there with my mouth open for a moment, surprised at how quickly we were at this stage of the conversation. “Of course,” I said again, swallowing hard. I hadn’t thought any of this through, and it was becoming clear I had not been ready to hit Send on that email.
“Do you have any questions for me?” she asked, pressing the back of her fork into the sugary crumbs that dotted her plate. She licked her fork and looked at me expectantly, her face open and friendly.
Yes, Lyla, I have no fewer than a million questions for you. Like, why are you doing this? How does this whole thing work? Do we pay you in one lump sum or monthly? Will we get to come to all the ultrasounds and be at the delivery? Will you agree to take a multivitamin every day and never drink a sip of alcohol? Will you talk to the baby while it grows, tell it about us?
“A few,” I said, trying to decide the best way to ask her the questions that overtook my mind, certain I couldn’t find a diplomatic way to ask the most important question: How will you place this baby into my arms, knowing it is part of you? “But how about another piece of cake first?”
KATE
David and I were sitting in the gym’s parents’ lounge—really a well-used room with plastic orange chairs and fluorescent lights that made the purple walls practically glow—watching the girls at their weekly gymnastics class and drinking bad coffee from the café next door. Every time I sat watching one of their classes I felt grateful for my mom, who had endured years of thrice-weekly dance classes and competition weekends throughout my childhood and teenage years, never complaining about uncomfortable plastic chairs or bad coffee or the time it took away from her having her own hobbies.
I took a sip from my white plastic take-out cup and grimaced. “Next time, why don’t we make coffee at home and bring it?” I silently thanked my mom again. “Oh, almost forgot. I’m meeting Hannah for a drink tomorrow night. That okay?”
“Sure. How is she doing?”
I paused. Long enough for David to swivel in his chair and look at me.
“She’s okay.”
“And?” he asked.
“And nothing.” I gave Josie a thumbs-up after her unassisted cartwheel and smiled big.
“Kate, what’s up? I know that look.”
“What look?” I asked, but then sighed and took a deep breath. “Fine. She was planning to meet with a surrogate.”
“A surrogate? Where?”
“Here. In town.”
David let out a low whistle. “I didn’t realize they were at that stage of things.”
“Well, they aren’t exactly at that stage of things.” I shrugged, then looked back at the girls. “It’s been six years and they’ve basically tried everything. I don’t blame her, but I’m worried for her.”
“What do you mean by they aren’t at that stage of things?”
I kept my eyes trained on the girls, even though they were doing nothing but waiting for their turns on the balance beam. “She didn’t tell Ben about the surrogate meeting.”
“What? Really? So, she was just going to go by herself? Without Ben?” David’s eyebrows rose along with his voice.
“I told her I’d go with her, but she said she was going to cancel anyway.”
“Katie...”
“What? I couldn’t very well let her go alone. She’s...she’s definitely off-kilter right now.”
David sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do not get in the middle of this, Kate. She needs to talk with Ben, period. You can’t go meet a surrogate with her. This isn’t like getting dragged to boot camp for moral support or something. This is no small thing, and it’s between them.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Do you?”
I looked back at the girls, trying to mellow the irritation threatening to take over. “It doesn’t matter, because I talked her out of it.”
“I hope so. I would lose it if you did something like that without telling me.”
We sat in silence for a moment. “How would it even work?” David asked. “They don’t have embryos, right?”
“This surrogate would use her own eggs.”
“So the baby would be Ben’s and this other