I went out to the nurses’ station and told everyone who’d listen, “I’m the intended mother. Cally Scott is the patient. She’s our surrogate. We have a birth plan.” I went down the hall to get a cup of water. I walked as gently as I could, as if my footsteps might disturb all the unborn babies and cause added pain to all the birthing women nearby. When I returned to Cally’s room, the door was open, and I peeked in. She was nowhere in sight. I felt my throat tighten as I tried to contemplate what this meant. Then I heard voices. In the bathroom. A flush and the door opened. Cally shuffled out, the nurse beside her. “There you are,” I said, relieved.

“Yeah. Can’t really go too far,” said Cally, waddling toward the bed, a strained look on her face. The nurse had two hands on Cally, guiding her. Cally was wearing a hospital gown and white tube socks.

“How’s it going?” I sat in the guest chair that wasn’t overloaded with my stuff.

The nurse smiled at me briefly, then helped Cally sit and swing her legs onto the bed. The nurse fussed with the sheets, pulling them up and covering Cally’s midsection. “It’s okay,” said Cally. “Kind of scary.”

“Are you having contractions?” I asked, wanting so much more information than I was getting.

“Yep,” she said.

“I’m just about to check her cervix,” said the nurse, picking up a pair of latex gloves and putting them on. “Can you come back in a few minutes?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” I said, getting the hint. “Cally, I’ll be right down the hall.”

“Okay,” said Cally. “Is Hal here?” She always seemed to be looking for him, asking about him, and I wondered if her reason was because, like her, he had the biological connection. He was the father of the child inside her.

“He’s coming from work,” I said. “He’ll be here soon.” Maybe saying it would make it true.

HAL

When I got to the hospital, it was late afternoon and, as I had predicted, Cally was still in labor. I stopped at the visitors’ desk and sensed, as I was filling out my name tag, that the receptionist was flirting with me.

“My wife’s already upstairs,” I said, putting an end to the receptionist’s little game.

“Good luck,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll take it,” I said, rapping on the desk as I left. This was a habit I’d picked up from my first supervising attorney, a man who would become a mentor of mine. Funny how we pick things up without always being aware.