Page 13 of My Girlfriend is Not the Father

Drew pushed up the sleeves of his lightweight Henley. ‘You’re such a liar. You know Jenny Reed took it, but you were crushing on her and couldn’t see past the lies.’

‘I was six!’ Lucy elbowed him in the arm. ‘And when Drew and Mason started dating junior year, Mason became a close second bestie.’

Drew lifted a finger. ‘But I’m still number one.’

‘Yes, Drew. You are the one and only forever.’ Lucy groaned. ‘I have my half-heart best friend tattoo with your name to prove it.’

Dr Nelson’s eyebrow flicked, and she scribbled. ‘Do you really have matching tattoos?’

‘Sorry, don’t write that down. I’m kidding.’ Lucy waved her hands. ‘For his twenty-fifth birthday, I got a temporary one as a prank and told him it was real.’

‘We did go the next year and actually got tattoos.’ Drew lifted his jeans to show a Gemini zodiac sign on his ankle. ‘But not matching.’

The doctor glanced at Mason. ‘Did you get one as well?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Mason chuckled. ‘Nope, I leave the shenanigans up to these two.’

The visual of perfectly sanitised, manicured, and polite Mason getting his body inked by a burly bear with a nose full of piercings almost made Lucy crack up. She snapped her stretch watch band against her wrist to keep her composure.

If Lucy thought they had already gotten personal this past hour, she had no idea how much deeper they were about to dive. The doc bombarded her with so many questions, she felt like the little metal ball in an arcade pinball machine.

‘If you’re in a horrible car accident, do the fathers have permission to keep you alive until the gestation date?’ (yikes, um … yep)

‘If the fathers decide they don’t want the child anymore, do you still waive rights to adopt?’ (of course)

‘Are you okay being interviewed by media?’ (sure)

‘If the fathers divorce, do you waive your rights to testify in a custody hearing?’ (definitely)

‘Do you agree to sign a form stating you will withhold from having sex with a biological male?’ (um, duh)

‘If you have a vaginal birth, can the husbands watch the baby eject, or do you request they stay at your shoulder?’ (The money shot? Hmmm. Need to think about this one.)

Lucy glanced at both men. Drew was twisting his wedding band, and Mason was a statue. She stared a moment longer just to confirm Mason blinked.

Dr Nelson closed the binder and held it against her chest. ‘Do you have any concerns about being a gestational carrier for Drew and Mason?’

Lucy’s chest filled with warmth. She had so many questions about life, didn’t always know the direction she would take, or what her future would hold. And even though admittedly, there was still a part of her terrified of having a freaking baby, she’d never doubted that Drew and Mason would be amazing fathers. ‘None whatsoever.’

Dr Nelson nodded and her gaze passed over the men. ‘Gentlemen? Any concerns about Lucy being a gestational carrier for you?’

‘No.’ Drew’s and Mason’s voices rang in unison.

‘Okay.’ Dr Nelson stood and rolled the chair under the desk. ‘I’ll write up my assessment, review your MMPI, and send the findings to the fertility clinic. I’ll also include the confirmation from today that all final medical decisions, as to what happens with Lucy’s body, including termination, are her sole decision. You’ll need to file that paperwork with your lawyer prior to implantation.’

Lucy thanked Dr Nelson for her time and followed the men to the elevator in silence. Their faces looked as emotionally fried as she felt.

When Lucy and Drew had casually floated the idea of surrogacy ten plus years ago, she could never have predicted the amount of effort that would go into the journey. She was so focused on the medical part of it – how she would get pregnant. For the last two years, when they dived into more serious discussions and research, she had no clue the amount of talking she’d have to do. Honestly, it was all exhausting. After she gave birth, she was going to take a weeklong vacation to a bunker in the forest. Alone.

The car ride home was quieter than usual. After Drew and Mason dropped her off, she waved while they backed out of the driveway, then jiggled her key into the door.

Chucky hoisted himself up with his arthritic legs and trotted over to her, his tail wildly wagging. ‘Hi, baby! Were you a good boy?’ After showering him with belly rubs and ear scratches, she made a sandwich and plopped on the couch. Chucky nestled himself next to her.

She grabbed her phone for her obligatory five-minute check-in with her dad. When she was younger and he was working shifts at the post office, he took his break precisely at the time when the school bus dropped her off, and he’d call her on the house phone. If she didn’t answer by the second ring, there’d be extra chores for her that evening. He’d ask her the same three things: how was school, did you eat, do you have homework. When she moved out after high school, she called him once a night and always asked him three random questions.

He picked up on the second ring.

‘Did you order the extra sheets for the guest bed, did you take your blood pressure medication, and did you see that the Vikings are going to suck in the fall?’