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“Oh…no…Uncle Calder set it up under a Google number, so it forwards the calls and texts to me, but no one actually has my real number.”
“That was Calder’s idea?” My dad looks taken aback. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Max,” Cozy snaps from the kitchen. “Be nice to your brother.”
“I’m exhausted by all my brothers these days. They’ve been pouty babies ever since she told them about Ireland.”
I wince at the memory of my three uncles all staring back at me with devastated looks when I told them I got into the college I applied to in Dublin six months ago. The idea came to me after we went on that class trip for band, and I’m still pinching myself that it’s really happening.
Yes, I’ll miss my family, but they can be a little smothering sometimes. I feel like such a dick being ungrateful for a wholesome, supportive family that drops everything if I need them…but damn, my life has been too perfect. I need this adventure. And Grandpa always said we aren’t here for a long time, we’re here for a good time. This is my time!
And I’m kicking it off early with some Baby Momma Drama.
My dad’s voice snaps me back to reality. “And when this plan of yours doesn’t work…”
“When?” I begin to argue, but he holds his finger up.
“I want you to look me in the eyes and say…” He smiles gleefully, nay…evilly. He looks like a Disney villain as he leans close and adds, “Daddy, you were right. You’re always right. I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
Heavy, dramatic sigh.
This really has to work.
Because I am not admitting my dad was right on this.
Not. Happening.
SurrogatesInterviewed:12
“Welcome, Mr. Fletcher.” A woman in a pink lab coat points at a set of pale pink armchairs across from her desk as she lowers herself into her seat.
I fall into the plush fabric, my denim-clad legs practically under my chin as I shift uncomfortably. This chair is worse than those stupid Adirondack chairs that Calder built. No man over six feet enjoys sitting inches from the fucking ground. They were a waste of his time, but he was just getting into his custom furniture. His style has improved a lot since then.
I glance out the high-rise windows overlooking downtown Denver and wonder for the twentieth time why such a giant building has such tiny-ass seats.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Eva, the director of the agency, and I’ll be conducting this appointment today. As you know, Reagan is out on maternity leave now. Triplets, can you imagine?” Eva looks at me with wide, hungry eyes. The women in this place are always a little too…eager.
Regardless, I appreciate the update on Reagan. I’m not sure if the babies are even hers or if she was a surrogate for someone. All I know is that every time I’ve come into this agency over the past few months, I’ve had to physically stop myself from offering her my arm.The woman looked like she could tip over from the size of her swollen belly. I’m honestly a little relieved to hear that she’s on maternity leave and doing okay. The female body is a fucking wonder.
Eva squirms in her seat, nervously ruffling through the papers in my file. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hands tremble slightly. I tend to have this effect on people just meeting me. And it’s not just because I’m six foot four, tattooed, bearded, and all the typical things that make people feel on edge.
It’s the silence.
The lack of chitchat.
It’s my willful refusal to fill dead space with meaningless conversation because nothing irritates me more than fucking small talk. The less I say, the less they say, and the quicker we can get shit done, and I can heave myself out of this stupid doll-sized chair and get back to the construction site I left my brothers at in Boulder.
Eva offers me a weak smile as she scans a document in front of her. “I see you’ve conducted quite a number of these interviews.”
I wince as I flash through the countless women I’ve met here in the past six months. “Is twelve considered a lot?”
“It’s twice the average.” Her lips purse together before she adds, “May I ask what the issues were with those you interviewed?”
I pause for a moment before answering. The truth is, I’m a gut person, just like my dad was, and my instincts rarely fail me. I knew pretty much at first sight that none of the women I interviewed were a good match. None were even close. Three of them basically stared at me like I was a piece of meat they wanted to devour. And the others all had husbands and kids already. And while I know that shows proof that they’re good at making babies, it never sat right with me to think of my child hanging out, in utero, with another family.
Another man.
God, I’m fucked up.
