Page 34 of Nine Month Contract
“I think in the back of my mind, I always wanted to be a father. When my brother Max had Ethan, everyone talked about how much he looked like me. It’s probably vain or narcissistic, but it made me feel proud in some weird way. And once my dad died, I started to think about my own legacy and how I don’t want this mountain to end with me. Deep down, I’m still trying to make him proud…even in my own nontraditional way.”
A smile lights up Trista’s face, and my eyes zero in on her upper lip as it curls. A flash of wondering what it’d be like to kiss her right there invades my thoughts, and I feel my mind going to a place it should definitely not be going.
“Well, I should have brought you a cake or something to celebrate your big sale,” she says brightly, snapping me out of my fantasizing.
My brows lift. “Cake? Is this a children’s birthday party?”
“I don’t know. Do they serve cake at those?” she asks, and nothing in her expression tells me she’s joking.
I frown curiously. “Have you never had a birthday party?”
“None worth mentioning,” she replies dismissively and heads over to the windows to stare out at the view.
The change in her energy is as obvious as the twenty-foot fireplace in the middle of my home. Our interactions this past week have been brief and mostly all business, which felt imperative to my sanity. I mean, shit, all she’s done today is ask me about my dad, yet one little smile from her and my dirty thoughts have come tumbling back into my mind. But this goes well beyond my attraction. I want to know this part of her, even if she doesn’t want me to.
“Why didn’t you have any good birthday parties?” I ask, watching her shoulders rise slightly.
“My parents were just really flakey.” She sighs. “They were either always working or trying to find jobs or caught up in their own personal stuff. They were messy. Birthdays and holidays were the last thing on their minds. And you kind of need money to have birthday parties.”
Guilt darkens my vision as I process the struggle Trista just described because it’s completely foreign to me. My family didn’t have a ton of money, but we wanted for nothing, and my parents never missed an important event in my life. Even with four active sons, they would divide and conquer so one of them was always at our hockey games, school concerts, birthdays. Everything. I hate that Trista didn’t have that. Maybe that’s why she seems to think she needs to work all those hours at the rescue facility. Maybe I need to pay her more to let her feel like she doesn’t have to stretch herself so thin.
“Is your upbringing the reason you work so many hours at your job?” I can’t help but ask.
Trista cocks her head, her eyes blinking curiously at me. “Why do you ask?”
I wince and grip the back of my neck, knowing I’m probably crossing a line here but unable to not feel protective over her. “I just noticed you’re getting back kind of late most nights, considering how early you leave in the morning. I hope your boss isn’t taking advantage of your work ethic.”
“Who, Earl?” She scoffs and waves me off. “He’s an ass, but he’s not the one keeping me out late.”
“Who is?” I brace myself as I consider that it might be a social thing keeping her out. Maybe she’s about to tell me about an ex-boyfriend that she’s recently reconnected with. I swear to God, if another man’s vehicle starts parking outside of the barn on a regular basis, I’ll need to board up my windows to survive this.
“My vet friend, Avery,” she replies cheerily. “The one who takes care of Reggie. I assist on some of the large-animal house calls inrural areas. It’s a good learning opportunity that will give me great experience with all types of animals for when I start my own rescue center.”
“Oh,” I reply with a forced smile as I try to mask the relief that washes over me when she confirms that she’s not off with some guy every day. She’s just helping animals with her girlfriend.
She’s an ambitious workaholic, and I’m pathetic.
With one last lingering look, I shake my head and take my cup down the hall into my bathroom, feeling somehow worse than I did the first night I did this fucking act. The more I know of Trista, the more she gets under my skin. But tonight is our last sundown session. Then it’s probably best to get some space until we find out if we’ve accomplished our goal…or if we have to do this song and dance again.
God help me.
Inseminations:5
“Crap,” I shriek and chuck the fourth negative pregnancy test into the trash can with the others as a heavy weight settles in my stomach. “Crap, crap, crap.”
I flip my two middle fingers off at them, feeling like a child as I pace inside the small bathroom in my new barn apartment. I’ve been here two weeks, and I’m nowhere near unpacked, but it’s already starting to feel like home, and I don’t want to leave. Which meansI need to get knocked up.
I grip my soft belly with two hands, trying to manifest that stress ball inside me into life. This is what I’m here for. This is my big idea that’s supposed to help get me ahead. If I can’t get pregnant, then I’m not just going to be out of a job, but I’m going to be out of a place to live. And apartment shopping with a potbellied pig is not easy. Plus, I’ll be back trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.
Quitting the shelter is probably the first thing. The pay sucks, and there’s no chance of making more because we operate mostly on donations and volunteers. The problem is, I love the work and am lucky to be one of very few paid staff members. But ten years of my life there and still only making thirty-five grand annually doesn’t help me make any big life moves. That’s why this surrogacy thing appealed to meso much. It’s an incredible opportunity to continue to do what I love but in my own way.
But I can’t “be the cow” if I don’t get pregnant first. With a heavy breath, I stare at myself in the vanity mirror.
“I look tired,” I say out loud, my eyes sliding over the various beauty marks on my face. I used to hate them as a child, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to like them. They make me stand out in a world that likes to forget about me.
My dad had these too, and I briefly wonder if I get pregnant, could the baby inherit them? Would Wyatt like that? I mean, he did pick me to do this, so he must not think I’m completely horrid-looking.
I’d been mildly happy when he seemed concerned about my long hours the other week. It was nice to have someone other than Reginald care. Do I burn the candle at both ends? Quite likely. But I’ve never been one to be idle.And you’ve never been one to be vain either, so stop gawking at yourself in the mirror.
