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Honestly, after three days of this, I’m exhausted. Apparently, Uncle Calder’s ad is attracting the wrong kind of ladies, which is weird because based on my spreadsheet, I had some very promising prospects. I’ve never had a spreadsheet fail me before. Never. Spreadsheets are my thing. My dopamine high. When I put together a spreadsheet and see everything laid out all pretty and perfect…it’s better than sex.
Then again…I’ve only had sex once, and it was…no bueno. Let’s just say that I don’t blame Uncle Wyatt for wanting to become a father in a nontraditional way. It’s scary out there! This is like online dating, but my ulterior motives make this ten times more difficult.
And the sheer panic I feel over having to tell my father…my arrogant, know-it-all, bossy father, who popped his head in on a number of the interviews just to nod and smile gleefully, knowing that he was just days away from me telling him he was right.
It’s too much.
And the pain of telling my uncle Wyatt that I failed him when he has literally given me so much…ugh, this sucks! I can’t go to Ireland at the end of summer without finding my uncle true love.
At the very least, I need to find him a baby momma.
I pull open my phone and begin googling other options for finding a surrogate. There are definitely some websites out there dedicated to helping people connect for this sort of thing, but the problem is, I don’t just want a surrogate. I want a single surrogate. A single surrogate who’s pleasing to the naked eye and open to love from a grouchy mountain man with a pet goat named Millie and not a lot of girlfriend experience but clearly wants a life beyond mountain views and goat manure.
No offense to my girl Millie.
But this surrogate needs to see that he’s more than his calloused, quiet exterior. He has a big heart with plenty of room to grow, especially if he’s willing to become a single dad! That’s obviously a man desperate to have his home filled with noise. The good kind of noise. The noise of a happy family.
“Ugh, these stupid ads are everywhere,” I scoff to myself in the front seat of my truck when, yet again, that same Denver surrogacy agency ad pops up on my Instagram feed.
It’s the agency my uncle goes to almost every month, searching for his baby momma. He said he felt like a bull in a Barbie house there, and thus far, they haven’t been able to find him a match. They clearly don’t know what they’re doing.
I bet this agency has stopped offering him decent candidates to interview. He’s such a good man, even if he’s a little gruff on the outside. I’m sure they see him as an introverted loner, not a man ready to become a dad. If only Uncle Wyatt was a woman, because then—
My eyes lift to the windshield as an idea comes to mind. A sneaky smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. “Maybe it’s time for a little drive to downtown Denver.”
SurrogacyAgencyVisits:1
“Nobody’s gonna know…they’re gonna know…” That trending TikTok sound echoes in my head as I slide my shades on and pull my hood up over my hair. I do my best to blend in while I scurry through a crosswalk around a group of corporate workers on a busy street in downtown Denver.
I come to a stop in front of the glossy high-rise building that my GPS led me to. This is where my uncle was when they informed him they could no longer help him. That he was “unmatchable.”
Assholes.
How dare they dim that hope in my uncle’s eyes. This place is crushing his spirit.
I’m going to burn it to the ground.
Okay, maybe that’s a slight overreaction. I’ve probably been hanging out with my uncles too much.
But seriously, this place is supposed to help people grow families, and somehow my uncle is the exception? What the fuck is wrong with these people?
Yet…here I stand with a revised version of Calder’s baby momma ad ready to stick to their window and poach some of their surrogates. Craigslist was a bad choice, and I only have a couple more days left of my spring break. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
I amble up to the window, pressing my face against the glass to see what’s inside. There appears to be a security desk with a man in uniform talking to a couple of women. One is dressed in pink scrubs and the other in street clothes. Maybe a baby momma in the flesh! Beyond them is a large bank of elevators that I assume will take you up to the agency. Looks pretty fancy. Definitely not a place I could see Uncle Wyatt hanging out in.
The woman in street clothes flails her hands aggressively, her muffled voice rising in pitch as she storms toward the exit. My eyes fly wide, and I move to beeline past the door, but the ad gets stuck to my forehead. I struggle to peel the duct tape from my hairline when my body is jolted into another dimension as the door swings open right into my face.
A strange noise erupts from me as my nose and kneecap make friends with the glass. I bring my hands to my face to cup my nose in agony.
“Oh crap,” the woman exclaims, rushing over to me. “Are you okay?”
“Am I bleeding?” I cry, confident that blood gushes violently from my nose.
“Um…no,” the woman answers hesitantly.
I wait a beat and then ask, “How about now?” The sobs billowing up in my throat hurt really bad. Blood drips down my palms now, but I can’t bring myself to look.
“Still no blood,” she replies, her voice full of concern.
