Page 19 of Nine Month Contract
Wyatt looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t we use a fertility clinic with a donor egg? That’s usually the way these things go.”
“Is that what you want?”
He blinks back at me in confusion. “I’m not sure what I want matters.”
Beige-flag answer.
“Well, I can tell you from my research that if we do IVF and a donor egg, it will involve way more work on my part. We’re talking multiple trips per week to the clinic, daily intramuscular shots, bajingo suppositories—”
“What’s a bajingo?”
“My vagina, obviously,” I answer emphatically. “Not to mention oral medications, supplements, ultrasounds. Good God, the expense of that alone will be insane, especially because my health insurance does not cover fertility treatments. And most fertility clinics are booked out for months. So really, I think the farm way is best.”
“The farm way?” Wyatt looks like I’m speaking a foreign language. God, he’s cute when he’s flustered.
“You know…inseminate me like a cow.” I make a squeezing motion with my fingers. “Turkey baster style. You can buy the kits on Amazon. Or if you have like a children’s medicine syringe, that could work too. Like for kids’ Tylenol? Lots of ladies getting knocked up that way. Just pull the semen up into the syringe and shoot it up my bajingo. We would make sure it’s sanitary, of course.”
“Jesus.” Wyatt runs a hand through his hair and looks wildly uncomfortable. You’d think interviewing twelve women for this job would have made him less precious about all this by now.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t know you well enough to sleep with you. And I think it would feel kind of awkward afterward, don’t you? Especially if I’m going to live up here.”
“I wasn’t suggesting…” He stumbles over his words, and I have to admit, I love watching him squirm.
“You’re going to jizz in a cup either way, so I really prefer to tryit the traditional surrogate way, if you don’t mind. And if you’re worried about me feeling too connected to the baby because of the genetic link…don’t. I met with a counselor while I was researching becoming a surrogate, and I know what it takes emotionally. And the way I see it, I’m just wasting my eggs every month as it is. Why not donate one to you? Hopefully just one. God…I really hope I don’t get pregnant with more than one?” I gasp and hitch my voice as I state in a mock tone, “Triplets for the mountain men! You and your brothers can all take one!”
“Can we slow down?” Wyatt’s Adam’s apple slides down his throat as he struggles to process everything. He stares out at the pasture with a panic-stricken look, and I get a sense that I’ve gone too far again.
My voice is softer when I reply, “We can go as slow as you want, but I have two weeks left before I’m homeless, so the sooner we decide, the better.”
Wyatt’s nostrils flare as he drums his fist on the fence for a moment, clearly having a full-blown conversation with himself for the second time. He nods firmly and looks at me with wide, electric-blue eyes. “Let’s get the contract part negotiated first, make sure we agree on all the terms, and then we’ll go from there. Work for you?”
The corner of my mouth tips up victoriously, but I try to remain calm and professional. “You’re the boss, Mr. Mountain Man.”
He eyes me flatly. “And maybe we can negotiate a new nickname.”
SurrogatesHired:1
IrritatingBrothers:3
“No fucking way.”
“No fucking way!”
“No fucking way.”
All three of my brothers repeat the same three stupid words as they stand on my front porch way too early for a Saturday morning, gaping at me like three circus monkeys.I’m beginning to hate Saturday mornings.
“You signed a contract with a surrogate?” Max asks, and his stern tone echoes in off the foothills. He hits me with those concerned-dad eyes that he usually reserves for Everly and Ethan.
I let the screen door slam behind me as I lean on my log cabin and button up the flannel I tossed on before coming outside. My three brothers are staggered on my front porch in various positions of angst, looking at odds with the peaceful mountain view behind them.
Calder is hunched over the log railing, shirtless and obviously hungover. Luke’s sitting at the bottom of my steps, looking like he wants no part of whatever meeting Max must have called after I sent out a group text an hour ago informing my bros of the news. AndMax…good old Max…he looks so much like our dad it hurts to look at him sometimes.
I shrug, refusing to answer a question Max already knows the answer to, so he marches up the steps toward me, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Wyatt…you’ve done some crazy shit,” he says, shaking his head and gesturing all around him. “I mean…buying this mountain property that you can’t even drive out of in the middle of Colorado winters, for one…”
“That rarely happens,” Calder drawls, running his hand over his inked arms as the brisk morning air bites at his bare skin.
Max huffs, clearly not accepting that answer. “Letting these two morons build up here so the three of you can live out in some crazy hillbilly-mountain-man cult is crazy shit number two…”
