Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“Oh, okay,” she said, embarrassed. “My hubby is over there. See him in the yellow-striped shirt?” She pointed at a tall skinny man with bushy brown hair. He stood in the corner sipping from a Styrofoam cup. “That’s Bob.”
“Hi, Bob,” I said, waving. He smiled and gave us the thumbs-up.
“So, is she your mom?” said Sarah. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be asking all these personal questions.”
“Ha, well, we’re pretty much letting it all hang out anyway,” I said, nodding to the posters on the wall showing women’s body parts and nude shots of birth with blood and vaginas on display. “No, that’s funny. She’s not my mom. She’s the intended mother of this baby I’m carrying.”
Sarah scrunched up her face.
“I’m a surrogate.”
“Ohhhhh,” said Sarah, looking back and forth between me and Ruth. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I said, rubbing my belly.
“Is that, like, what you do for a living?”
I didn’t know how to answer. First of all, that was a rude question. I hadn’t really known what to say about the money part of this. Before, people usually didn’t ask me such nosy questions, but my being pregnant somehow gave them permission. Sarah was sweet and seemed more clueless than mean. “This is my first time,” I said. “But I may do it again. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Must be tough on the body.” She made a face.
“It’s been pretty easy, actually.”
“Just wait,” she said, shaking her head. “After my first, I swore I wouldn’t do it again. But here we are!”
“Wow. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.” Sarah laughed. “We had our first pretty young. And you?”
“Almost twenty-one.”
“Oh, you’ll get your body right back.”
“I hope so,” I said. We’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor mat, so it felt good to stand. I pushed my elbows back and rotated my shoulders, stretching. Some of the women bounced gently on exercise balls. Sarah wore a pink scoop-neck T-shirt, as wide as a poncho, and tight black pants. I was sure they were maternity pants. I was wearing them, too. No one ever would have guessed that under our flowing shirts, the tops of our pants were these ridiculous expandable, wide stretchy waistbands. They were hideous, and I loved them.
“I should look into that,” said Sarah.
“Into what? Hiring a surrogate?”
“No, silly. Being one.”