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