Taylor“I popped the popcorn to nibble on while watching the first movie. I moved to the ice-cream after seven, when I couldn’t reach you by text,” I explain. Jackson apologizes, stating, “There was a crisis at the store. I stayed until everything improved, instead of heading home to call and email the store every few minutes.”His white shirt is filthy. I see finger trails from rubbing his dirty hands on the rib area. I assume the blue ovals are detergent or liquid soap. He has a torn left knee in his black slacks. His dress shoes are dusty and scuffed. Whatever it was, it must have been a very messy crisis.“you should go change while I prepare you some dinner,” I encourage.“I can fix my own sandwich,” he states. “I have nothing else to do,” I inform.He drags himself up the stairs as I remain in the kitchen. While butter melts on the griddle, I assemble a ham and cheese sandwich. When the butter hisses, I place the bread in the pan. I quickly grab a fork to assist with flipping t
TaylorJackson and I search for words to say.What?Why?How?What now?Are the only words I can come up with. Jackson stands from his chair, wrapping his wife in an embrace. I feel as I am trespassing witnessing this tender moment. “So, we find another way,” I suggest. “We make a new plan. We’re not giving up - this is just a speed bump.” I fight the urge to pace and the urge to hit or throw something. I cannot let her give up. “Ken,” I carefully address her. “Do you have anything in your notebook for this scenario?”I witness my words registering on Kennedy’s face. She pulls away from Jackson, her hands darting for her baby planning notebook. Jackson mouths ‘thank you’ over her shoulder.Kennedy frantically flips page after page, seeking the exact list. She turns more than ten pages in her notebook before finding the information she wants. “Ah-ha!” She shouts, tossing the open notebook in the center of the table. ‘Egg Donor’ heads the page in large bold writing.“I’ll do it!” I excl
TaylorAn hour later, I’m on social media in my room.Kennedy as she lurks just outside my bedroom door.“Hey,” I greet.“Can I come in?” She asks. “Of course,” I reply.She joins me at the head of the bed, sitting with our backs against the headboard. “What are you doing?” she asks, peeking at my screen.I show her my Pinterest Boards and new pins I just discovered. As I explain, I find her too distracted to truly see the addiction that is Pinterest. “Spill the beans,” I tell her.“I have yet another favor to ask of you,” she nearly whispers.I search Kennedy’s face for any clues. She’s not sad or mad, stressed maybe.She continues, “I hate to even ask. You already agreed to be our surrogate and egg donor. I fear we’re taking advantage of you.”I place my left arm across her shoulders to pull her in a for a side-hug. “I’m here for you. You are my best friend. You know I would do anything for you.” I close my MacBook, placing it beside me on a pillow. I release Kennedy and turn to f
Taylor2:30 p.m.“Dr. Wilson will see you now,” the middle-aged, red-haired receptionist interrupts my perusal of a random waiting room magazine. Abandoning the tattered tabloid, I rise to enter the interior office of Dr. Wilson, Kennedy’s beloved therapist.I remind myself to keep an open mind. I need to work through my issues with men, and I need to discuss issues with the surrogacy that I can’t share with Kennedy or Jackson. Nervously, I will myself to place one foot in front of the other.I find Dr. Wilson seated behind an imposing, dark-wooden desk. She rises, adjusts her pencil skirt, and walks towards me, extending her right hand.“Taylor,” she greets with a firm handshake. “I’m Dr. Wilson.” She motions for me to take a seat. “You can call me Greta.”I believe she is already testing me. There are three chairs in the seating area to choose from. One, I think, is hers, sits next to a round table with a lamp. Another bright red, over-stuffed chair takes up space directly across fro
Taylor After my therapy appointment, I decide not to attempt cooking dinner myself. I drive to Jackson’s store to purchase a rotisserie chicken and some prepared sides from the kitchen. The cook laughs when I ask for detailed instructions on keeping it warm until dinner. I type his instructions on my Notes App on my iPhone. I don’t want to screw this dinner up.Kennedy arrives home first at five-fifteen. I explain my dinner plans while she changes into shorts. We decide to take a walk while we await Jackson’s arrival. As we stroll around the block, our conversation steers clear of our counseling sessions. Jackson pulls into the garage before we make it to the driveway. I’m surprised he is home before six. Kennedy isn’t. They must have discussed being home at a decent time tonight.Kennedy assists pulling food from the warm oven while Jackson changes into casual clothes. Upon his return, the table is set, and drinks are ready. The room is too quiet as we eat. The tender chicken melts i
TaylorAs I disrobe, I remind myself I’m giving my friends the gift of a baby, so I can endure this necessary ugly gown. I overlap the front two flaps before I assume my seat on the crisp white paper. Some woman needs to invent a cheap but softer covering for the exam tables. Do I know any women in engineering or science?Waiting in a patient room is the worst. I’m sure my blood pressure is rising with every passing minute. As my feet dangle, I nervously kick them forward and back. This causes the annoying paper to crinkle. I can’t take it. I hop down, slowly pacing the three steps back and forth from the door to the exam table. I choose to sit myself in the lone chair near the table. I pull my legs up yoga-style with me in the chair, so my feet won’t fall asleep while dangling. If only I were tall enough to reach the floor, my life would be simpler. I take a few deep breaths to recenter myself. I am a young, healthy woman. All will be okay. I will get pregnant. Jackson and Kennedy wi
TaylorAt that moment, Kennedy enters from the garage. Observing our embrace, she reads the situation as a bad outcome from my appointment. She leans against the closed door with tears filling her eyes.Jackson escorts me toward his wife. “Bad day at the Y?” He asks the crying Kennedy.She cannot speak, so she only shakes her head left to right.“Then why are you in tears?” I inquire.Kennedy explains the scene she witnessed upon entering. Her mind worried all day about my appointment.“Okay, you two,” I extend my index finger at both of them. “I’m going to have too many appointments for you to react this way each time.” I pull down plates and fetch silverware as I continue. “Fix a plate and I will give you all the details from my appointment.” I promise.“You can spare me some of the details,” Jackson states as if I would discuss my pelvic and breast exam with him at the dinner table.We settle in our usual table spots. I allow a few bites before I share my results. I start with the b
Taylor“What the...” I bolt upright, awakened from sleep by The Imperial March from Star Wars. Nervously, I scan the room. I’m in my room at Kennedy’s. My new blackout curtains keep the room perfectly cool and dark. Why is my cell phone alarm set for...I pick up my iPhone to see it is six a.m. “Too early,” I growl to the walls of my new home. As I replace my phone on the bedside table to retreat into slumber, I notice a print out.Oh yeah, today I start logging my temperature. I sat my alarm for six, so I could take it daily before Jackson wakes up for work. This way, when I’m ovulating, I can text him and he will still be at work on time. Barring any stage fright on his part at the collecting of his super-swimming sperm. I place the thermometer under my tongue. My eyes cross as I try to watch the digital readout climb. Instead of enduring the eyestrain, I focus on the ceiling while concentrating on the reason for this 6:00 a.m. interruption to my peaceful sleep. Becoming a surrogate
TaylorMy mind scrambles for words.Ready?Ready for what?Our first kiss was everything I fantasized about this past year and then some.Is he ready to sleep together?I’m not sure I am ready for that tonight.Our kiss proves our electric passion for each other. I stand in front of him, as he’s seated on his bed; I move between his knees.“I’m ready to explore us too, but I want to go slow.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly very dry. “I need to go slow. We have too much on the line to jump into this.”Jackson nods his understanding.To show my desire for him, I place feather-light kisses on his jaw. He places his hands on each side of my face, guiding my lips to his. This kiss is hotter than the first. Our hands explore arms, shoulders, ribs, hips, and chests.I lift my legs to straddle his lap, aligning my pelvis with his. The heat from his cock exquisitely flows to my core. His hands on my hips grind me into him, and I moan. I continue the pressure as he moves his mouth to my jaw, then
Two Years LaterTaylor“What time is it?” I ask the room.“Twenty minutes after the last time you asked,” Martha teases.“We have five minutes,” Elizabeth announces to everyone. “Taylor, might I have a moment?” She inquires, escorting me onto the balcony for a modicum of privacy. I thought my nerves had reached a pinnacle; a private chat with Elizabeth escalates them even higher. Gerald and Elizabeth arrived with us three days ago to assist with the preparations and the twins. We shopped, dined, and even swam.What will she discuss now, with less than five minutes until we start?Why didn’t she talk to me before now?“You look beautiful, dear,” Elizabeth says. “For many years now, Gerald and I have thought of you as our daughter. Today, you make that official.” She dabs a tissue to the corner of each eye, not wanting her tears to ruin her makeup. “You brought our son back into our lives, you gave us two precious grandchildren, and today you give us the happiness and future we always d
Taylor “Taylor!” Jackson summons loudly from upstairs the next evening.I recap my water bottle before attempting the epic struggle that is rising from the sofa post-cesarean. I peek at the sleeping twins before I slowly and painfully ascend the fourteen stairs from the living room to the second floor. Jackson wouldn’t require me to trudge upstairs if it wasn’t important. I pass the bathroom doorway as it is dark inside. The master bedroom door is open, but no lights are on. I notice light entering the hallway from the nursery. I place my hand on the door frame for support.Jackson sits on his knees at the open nursery closet door. I see no spurting blood, signaling a need to yell at me.“What’s so important I had to climb the stairs?” I immediately regret my icy tone.Jackson turns, rising to face me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think. I just found the bag and reacted. Are you okay? Want to sit in the rocker? I should have brought it down to you.”I regret my words even more now seeing t
TaylorGroup Session at Dr. Wilson’s OfficeMonday, May 22 “Thank you for securing a sitter and meeting in my office today,” Dr. Wilson greets. “I’ve asked a colleague to join us today. This is Dr. Jacobs.”“Dr. Jacobs, please meet Jackson Hayes and Taylor Taft.” After shaking hands, we take our chairs.“Are you leaving your practice or passing us off?” I question.Why else would she have another professional sit in on our session?“Our topic of today’s session is delicate. I recently shared a situation with Dr. Jacobs. Through our discussion, we decided we should both be present today.” Dr. Wilson assumes her usual chair, pulls out a manila file folder, and begins. “As you are both aware, I met with the two of you and Kennedy individually throughout the surrogacy process. I did not share items from one session with the others, as privacy is vital in the therapy journey.” She smiles at both of us before continuing. “The two of you shared a similar issue with me in your sessions. I ha
TaylorThe doorbell wakes me from my nap. Who could it be on a Wednesday? I slowly rise from the sofa and glance at the sleeping twins in their nearby bassinets on my way to the front door. Through the peephole, I spy Dr. Wilson.Did I forget an appointment?“Hello,” I greet. “Taylor.” Dr. Wilson wraps me in a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry. I read about Kennedy’s passing in the paper. May I come in?”I’m frozen in place. Seeing Dr. Wilson away from her office catches me off guard. She is here to talk about Kennedy’s death.I’m not strong enough to work through this now with her.“Taylor,” Dr. Wilson prompts. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”“No!” I announce louder than needed. “Come in. I just woke up, so I am a little out of it,” I confess, excusing my actions.“Resting when the twins rest is important,” Dr. Wilson states. “How have you been feeling?” She seats herself on the end of the sofa nearest the still sleeping babies.“Overwhelmed, but I’m sure all new mothers experience
TaylorIt’s Sunday morning, Jackson’s second day back at work. Elizabeth and Gerald are still in town, thank goodness. I climb from bed a bit easier this morning, my pain lessens with each passing day. I peek into the living room to ensure Elizabeth and Gerald are with the twins before I slip into the restroom. I enjoy a few extra minutes to freshen up; then stride toward the kitchen in search of breakfast. My appetite grows every day. I’m told it’s because I need extra energy for nursing.“Good morning,” Gerald greets from the sofa as I walk by.I return his greeting, noting he holds both twins in his lap. I climb upon a kitchen stool.“How’d you sleep last night?” Elizabeth asks, sliding a plate of sausage and tater tots my way. As I rise, she pushes my shoulder down and fetches the ketchup for me.I am very glad they put everything on hold to help Jackson with the funeral arrangements and me with the twins, but eventually I need to do everything on my own. She pampers me too much; i
Taylor“Did you halt the mail delivery while you were in the hospital?” Gerald inquires.My eyes widen. We should have, but we did not.“I’ll walk Nya to the mailbox and back,” Elizabeth offers quickly. “You need to rest and Gerald, you need to sit still so the twins can nap,” she teases her husband.When they return, Elizabeth releases Nya from her leash. She immediately darts to Gerald’s feet. She stands on her hind legs to ensure the twins are safe in his care. Next, she whines at the side of the sofa, wanting me to lift her to my lap. This simple task requires planning on my part. One cannot simply bend over and pick up an eight-pound puppy two days after a C-section. As I cuddle and coo Nya on the sofa, Elizabeth uses kitchen scissors to open a small package. She asks me if she should look inside or wait for Jackson. My eyes remain on Nya as I give Elizabeth permission to open it.Sensing a change in her mood, Nya hops from the sofa to join her at the kitchen island. My eyes foll
TaylorI behave like a perfect patient, and the doctor releases me on Sunday afternoon. As we round the corner, Jackson’s home comes into view. A large sign with balloons attached graces the front lawn, welcoming Carter and Kennedy home.“No, no, no,” Jackson chants. “I told Madison not to tell the neighbors. I can’t handle a party. This is not a time to party.” It might be easy to let his words upset me. The twins are to be celebrated. They are tiny, precious, bundle of joys. However, I completely understand Jackson’s need for privacy. The passing of his wife at the same time his twins are born takes its toll. “I will thank everyone for coming and send them on their way,” I offer. “I’ll fake fatigue.” Not that it would be much of a stretch. I’m exhausted; the thought of relaxing on the sofa or in my bed is my only goal.As Jackson pulls the Mustang into the garage, Gerald and Elizabeth park behind it in the driveway. Jackson opens my door for me and extends his arm to assist me to s
TaylorEmotions somewhat in check, Jackson continues. “Taylor opened her door then yelled to wake me up. I got out and went to help Kennedy. Taylor’s water broke, so the EMTs drove the two of us here, while the fire department extricated Kennedy.” At his mother’s audible gasp, Jackson pauses, and Gerald reaches for his wife. “Taylor was in active labor when Kennedy arrived at the hospital. The babies were in distress, so she was prepped for a C-section. When Taylor went to recovery and the twins to the nursery, I signed forms for Kennedy to have surgery to stop her internal bleeding.” Jackson releases my hand and stands. “Taylor and the twins got settled here while Kennedy had a second surgery.”“It was a long emotional night,” I add, hoping to give Jackson some support in this emotionally tragic story.“This morning, Taylor decided she needed to go down. She paged nurses, insisting they wheel her down to see Kennedy. She didn’t take no for an answer.” Jackson’s Adam’s apple visibly bo