Somewhere between my 25 th birthday and the note Jason
left near the front door, I hit rock bottom.
My birthday itself hadn’t
been that bad, really. Good friends and better wine. But hitting
the quarter life milestone was hard on me. I was forced to look at
all that I had accomplished since I had dropped out of college
following my freshman year. And the truth was that there wasn’t
much to look at. A few crappy part-time jobs. A checking account
always at risk of overdraft. A too small apartment that had twice
been hit with bed bugs. That was hard to take.
Jason’s note hit even
harder. April , it
read. I have to leave. And then nothing else. He had taken all his stuff when I was
at work and moved on after four years of dating. I didn’t hear from
him again. My texts went unanswered, my phone calls straight to
voicemail. He was a ghost.
So there I was, seemingly
an adult now, but with no degree, no real work experience and no
boyfriend, facing a one-bedroom apartment lease that I couldn’t
even begin to afford on my own, even if it was a roach-infested
hellhole. I was in trouble. Big trouble. I hadn’t been able to land
a full-time job for six months, which meant my credit cards were
close to their limit. That plus the rent would be the end of me. I
thought about going to my parents for a loan, but that seemed so
sad. I was 25. I needed to stand on my own. That meant finding some
dollars quickly. I was desperate.
That’s when I saw the
online ad that changed everything.
“SURROGATE WANTED,” it
started, in big bold letters. “Family seeks experienced surrogate
to carry child to term. Must be discreet. References required. Will
pay upwards of $50,000 for successful insemination and
delivery.”
That figure caught my eye.
Fifty thousand dollars. I had never made so much money in my life.
With that kind of cash, I’d be set. I could go back to school and
get my degree. Do things right this time.
But carrying another
couple’s child? That was something I had never considered. I hadn’t
even really ever thought of having children. It seemed like an
impossible dream with the kind of men I had ended up dating. None
of them were really father material.
But, as I sat and stared
at my laptop screen, I tried to convince myself I’d be good at it.
I had always had the kind of wide hips that made my grandma talk
about how I’d be able to deliver her a whole mess of grandchildren.
Truthfully, I had never really taken that kind of thing as a
compliment. I had spent most of my life trying to make my hips
smaller. But now, I thought, maybe my birthing hips could pay
off.
It seemed crazy. But the
note stuck with me, especially as time wore on and the due date for
next month’s rent got closer. Fifty thousand dollars. That would
change everything.
“Strip,” ordered the older
woman in a brusque voice. “Remove your clothes now.”
She was all business, this
Ms. Brook. I don’t know what I had expected, going in to interview
for the right to carry another man’s child. But I could never have
predicted this.
The whole process had felt
weird from the day I finally worked up the courage to call the
number in the surrogate ad. I had worked out in advance everything
I’d say, but the call was surprisingly brief.
“What’s your name?” the
women’s voice on the other end of the life asked.
“April O’Connor, ma’am,” I
responded, doing my best to sound polished and
professional.
“Right,” said the voice,
sounding bored. “Okay, the first interview is Tuesday at 6 p.m. You
know where the Atherstone Tower is?”
I did know. Everyone knew.
The Atherstone Tower was the biggest building on the city skyline,
topped off just a few years ago.
“Um, yes,” I
answered.
“Right, okay. Well, your
interview is there. Top floor. Just talk to the desk when you
arrive.”
I was confused.
“It’s at the
tower?”
The voice sighed. “Yes. 6
p.m. Bring your résumé and references. Thanks.”
The line
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