“You could have just called me instead of making me come all the way down here, wasting my time,” I gripe.
“It’s against company policy to discuss pertinent information over the phone,” she comments.
“Of course it is,” I snark rolling my eyes. “Well, thanks for nothing.”
I march out her office without a goodbye. I was completely livid. I’m sure if this was a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of my ears right about now. Not paying attention to where I’m going, I run right into a brick wall and let out a loud ‘omph’. Damn, what are they spraying these walls with because fuck it smells good? With my eyes closed, I take a deep whiff and bask in the scent.
“Did you just sniff me?” A deep voice asks and I snap my eyes open, where my gaze clashes to a shocking pair of grays looking down at me.
“Um, no, I mean yes, sorry,” I mumble as I try to kick start my brain. Like my car, it wasn’t working right.
“Right this way,” the pleasant lady that met with the couple says, waving McHottie’s perfect, blonde wife forward. When she notices me, she smiles not at all pissed at how close I am standing to her husband. In fact, I would go as far to say she looked pleased.
“Why hello, dear, are you lost?” The ‘nicer than I got’ worker asks.
“No, I was just leaving,” I reply stepping away from the man before I do something stupid and sniff him again.
On hurried steps, I bolt back through the waiting area and into the elevator. Only then do I finally breathe. Fuck, what am I going to do? I was counting on this job. Turning my wrist, I check my watch. It’s already after four. By the time I get back to Jersey, Billy will have all my shit out on the curb. Maybe a blowjob will buy me some more time or I can pretend to be his girlfriend until I get a job. By the time I get to the parking garage, I’ve hatched this great plan to seduce Billy which improves my mood a bit.
I easily find my car in the parking garage. It’s such an eyesore amongst this sea of expensive automobiles. A couple of these vehicles I’ve only seen in magazines. There are some common middle class cars, but not many. And then you have my piece of shit, old rust bucket of a beater. A once grey now sorta greyish brown ‘95 Toyota. Yep, this is how I roll. Classy, huh? The car used to belong to my mama, but she gave it to me right before she checked herself into Sandy Hills. Apparently, her depression over my father leaving her ass just got too much for her to handle. I was eighteen and just barely graduated from high school. When it was clear I could no longer rely on my mama, I drove off to Jersey to try to make a go out of life. I wanted to gain new experiences and see something other than my mother’s sleepy southern small town. Now here I am, four years later, broke and struggling, but at least I’m free from the taint of being Maggie Cooper’s daughter.
Apparently, when Mama met my dad, it was a big thing in her little town. The big city boy falling for the small town gal. Sounds like a Hallmark movie, doesn’t it? Turns out, Mama was hooked by the classic bad boy fever. Before she graduated high school, she got knocked up and her Hallmark movie turned into a cliche, and she became one of those sixteen and pregnant chicks you see on MTV. Before I turned five, Daddy took off for bigger and better things, forgetting he had a kid to look after. After that, Mama sunk into a deep depression. The neighbors tried to help as best as they could but Mama was in deep. She started doing less and less until I was practically raising myself. As soon as I turned eighteen, she committed herself. I left shortly after that, never looking back. Mama has never been much of a mother and caring daughter isn’t one of my titles.
Once in the car, I turn the key, but it doesn’t start. Just a click and a loud rattle before it sputters out. I turn it again and get the same result. “Fuck. No, Beater, don’t do this shit to me right now. Do you know how much of a shitty day I’m having?” Bowing my head in defeat, I clonk my head on the wheel a couple of times before I let out a loud scream. Fuck me, I hate my life.
2
Grayson
I sit here calmly as Ms. Taylor rattles off the pros and cons of IVF and surrogacy. Turning to my wife, I watch as she analyzes everything the woman is telling us. I chose this facility for a reason. Despite the high price tag and elite clients, this place is one of the best. From our last insane conversation two weeks ago, I’m hoping this lady can change her mind. I almost lost hope when it looked like Nichole was going to proposition that girl in the elevator. She looked wild and young. She was probably some college student here to interview for an intern position, but good luck with that with the way she was dressed. Short dress, bright red fuck me pumps, and a man’s leather jacket. She was more suited for the club than an interview. But even with how young she looked, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find her attractive. She was the complete opposite of Nichole. Hair so dark it had hints of blue cut in an edgy style, big green eyes that sparkled like emeralds, piercings, tattoos, and that body. Let’s just say she had a couple of great assets on her. Sure I found her interesting, but I’m loyal to my wife. I always have been, ever since we met in law school.
We both graduated top of our class from Harvard where we landed jobs in distinguished law firms. She is a defense attorney and I am a prosecutor. A year later, we got married. Two years after that, I made partner and only months later, Nicole was diagnosed with cervical cancer. She spent a year fighting, going through numerous surgeries and chemo and radiation treatments before she finally beat it. She kicked cancer’s ass just like she used to do in the courtroom. I’m so proud of her and love her more than anything in this world. That is the only reason why I’m sitting here right now. Sure, she wants a baby. We both do. It was in our ten year plan. Cancer threw a wrench in that plan, but it doesn’t mean we have to go about having a kid in such an extreme way. It’s only been a couple of months of her being cancer free. We still have time to think about this. Just when I think Ms. Taylor is making some leeway, Nichole goes in for the argument and all my hopes fly out the window.
“All that sounds very promising, but with my situation, I don’t think I want to put my body through any more extreme medical procedures.”
“Yes, dear, I understand that. I’ve read over your medical file thoroughly and I have to tell you, your chances of conceiving on IVF alone is pretty low. Even if we use chemical enhancers, you still might not get pregnant, but by using a surrogate, you’ll have a better guaranteed chance of having a healthy child. All our applicants are well vetted and you have complete access to their file while you choose. The process itself is noninvasive for your husband. The samples he provides will be inserted into the surrogate of your choice, and if it takes, nine months later you’ll have a beautiful child of your own.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, that if part. What happens if it doesn’t take? Will you use chemical enhancers on the surrogate?” Nichole asks.
“It doesn’t happen often, but if your chosen surrogate doesn’t become pregnant within a certain amount of time, we do use other measures or you can always pick another surrogate.”
“That’s not a route I’m willing to take. I know all about what ‘chemicals’,” she says in quotations, “can do to the body. You’ve read my file. You know what I’ve been through, how much chemo I’ve had in my system. I’ve been through the side effects and had to suffer through medical procedures that, although saved my life, were horrible to endure. I would never pay someone to have unnatural procedures done to their body.”