The thought of it brings tears to my eyes. Yes, Sam and I almost had a baby before, but Janelle lived across the country and I never got to go to any appointments with her. I never got to experience anything like this.

Monica has been really wonderful, honestly. That night we drove her home was a little weird, but since then, she’s been so sweet. She updates me every day on how she’s feeling, she helped me brainstorm about baby names (all of which Sam promptly vetoed… what’s so wrong with Worthington?), and she offered to let me come to this appointment. I never would have asked, but I was thrilled by her offer. It’s your baby, Abby. You should be there.

I can’t believe I was being so petty about her sitting in the front seat in our car. Who cares about that? Maybe she was feeling nauseated and needed to be in front. That was probably it.

“By the way,” I say to Monica, “Sam and I want to have you over for dinner next week. Are you free on Wednesday evening?”

“I am.” She brightens. “That would be great. Thanks!”

“It’s our pleasure. You’re our hero, after all.”

She rests a hand gingerly on her abdomen. “Too bad Sam couldn’t make it to the appointment today.”

Okay, full disclosure: Monica invited me and Sam to the appointment today. And I told her I’d ask him if he wanted to come, but I didn’t end up doing it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to come. It would have been really awkward with both Sam and me here. This is just easier.

“Maybe he’ll come to the next appointment,” she says.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely.

Or not.

Dr. Selena Wong came highly recommended, although it’s not like Monica needs a high risk OB/GYN like I would have if I had ever managed to get knocked up. But I still feel reassured when Dr. Wong enters the room with her broad smile and intelligent eyes. There’s an air about her that makes me trust her instantly.

“Hello.” She holds a hand out for Monica to shake. “I’m Dr. Wong. You must be Monica Johnson.”

Monica nods and takes the doctor’s hand.

Dr. Wong then turns to me. “And you’re… Monica’s mother?”

Oh God. She did not just say that to me. Monica’s mother? Really? Yes, I’m thirteen years older than she is, but I’m not old enough to… well, I suppose technically I could be her mother. It’s not like we’re one year apart in age. But since people in this country don’t generally have babies at thirteen years old, this is highly insulting.

“Abby is going to adopt the baby,” Monica explains, because I’m too flustered to speak. “I’m serving as her surrogate for the pregnancy.”