And then her eyes start to water. She swipes at them quickly, before the tears can fall, but she’s definitely on the verge of crying. Except why is she crying?

“Can we get a recording of this?” Monica asks.

She wants a recording of this? What the hell?

“Well, you can record it with your phone,” Dr. Wong says.

And she does. She gets out her cell phone and records the sound of the heartbeat for much longer than I feel is necessary. Like, a minute. A minute doesn’t sound very long, but after ten seconds, it’s a bit repetitive, isn’t it?

It makes me think of when she first got the positive pregnancy test, and how she wanted to save the pee stick. I wonder if she still has that stick. She wouldn’t really have saved it, would she?

“Are you planning to do the First Trimester Screen?” Dr. Wong asks, after the recording is (finally) finished. “That’s a blood test to look for signs of chromosomal abnormalities and an ultrasound to look at nuchal translucency, which is the fluid beneath the skin behind the baby’s neck. It’s pretty accurate in screening for birth defects. We could do it in a few weeks.”

“Oh.” Monica laughs. “Well, I’m only twenty-three. I’m sure the baby is fine. It’s not like we’re using Abby’s eggs.”

Gee, thanks.

“The risk is lower,” the doctor admits, “but not nil. I’d recommend the test. Plus you get to have an ultrasound, so you can see your baby.”

Monica’s eyes widen. At first, I think she’s going to ask me what I think, but instead, she blurts out, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

She should have asked me. I’m going to be the mother of this child. But I suppose she’s the one carrying the baby. Anyway, I’m not going to make a big thing of it. I do want her to get the screening test, so there’s no need to intervene. She’s doing exactly what I want her to do.

So why do I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach?

Chapter 13

“So how is that woman doing?”

My mother stubbornly refuses to remember Monica’s name. She only refers to her as “that woman.” Needless to say, she’s not entirely on board with using Monica as a surrogate. I believe her words were: Abby, have you completely lost every bit of your common sense? Or something along those lines.

“She’s doing great!” I say into the phone with enthusiasm I hope doesn’t sound forced. “The pregnancy is going really well. And everything is going according to plan.”

“The plan being a beautiful young woman is pregnant with your husband’s child.”

“Yes,” I say through my teeth. “That plan.”

“Mmm.”