Lourdes

With all of the blood testing, physicals and ultrasounds already done for IVF, long before I said yes to Liam and Amira’s request to do artificial insemination instead, it didn’t take long to get the ball rolling. Only six weeks after meeting Liam, I’m sitting here waiting to confirm the home pregnancy test that I took two days ago. It was positive. I didn’t tell Liam. He’s so excited, and I couldn’t stand to get his hopes up. Blood tests are more accurate, so here we are together in the clinic, waiting to find out if I’m pregnant when I’m already pretty sure I am.

The whole experience is surreal. I don’t feel like I’m having a baby for someone else. I have to remind myself to act like a surrogate, but I don’t know what a surrogate acts like. I don’t know what to feel or what I’m allowed to feel. When I found out I was pregnant with Toby, I was young and surprised and scared, but when all of that fell away, deep down, I was happy to be having a baby with the man I loved.

I feel the same way now minus the surprise, but I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to be detached and think of this child as Liam and Amira’s when it’s not. This is our baby. We may not have gone about it the natural way, which God knows I would have preferred. But it’s made up of Liam and me—our DNA, not hers—and she’s thousands of miles away, hovering over her critically ill father, waiting to see if she’s still in his will.

I don’t understand how a father can be so awful to his own flesh and blood. How could he threaten her future when he’s been enabling her all of her life? He’s counting on her to fuck up and fall flat on her face so he can punish her for all the trouble she’s caused him over the years. Liam likes to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I think Mr. Oni is an evil man. Anyone who would give his daughter an ultimatum like that, no matter how nasty a person she is, has a black heart. That last little shred of hope that having a baby is giving her is psychological torture. He set her up to fail so he could sit back and enjoy the show.

Liam is sitting next to me in a waiting room full of couples in various stages of pregnancy. I don’t know their stories and they don’t know ours, so it’s not surprising when a woman strikes up a conversation with him and asks about our baby.

“You two are such a beautiful couple. Is this your first baby?” she asks.

I slide my hands under my thighs and let Liam handle her, because I’m not sure what to say.

“Thank you, and yes, if we are pregnant—we’re finding out today,” he says with a beaming smile. God, how is he so happy when I’m so freaked out?

“Oh. Well good luck. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” She pats his knee, and he turns to see if I’m catching all of this. He winks at me, and I roll my eyes before looking away. He notices my hands tucked under my legs and pulls the one closest to him out, lacing his fingers with mine to give it a reassuring squeeze.

Should I be letting him hold my hand in public? He should have corrected her when she assumed we were a couple. I lean closer into his side and whisper in his ear.

“You should let go of my hand. It looks like we’re together.”

He jerks his head away from me in surprise.

“You don’t want to hold my hand?” His voice is too loud, and everyone in the waiting room is looking at us. A red-hot blush creeps up my neck, and for the first time in over a year, I miss having long hair. If it were still long, I could just tip my head forward and hide behind it. But since my stylist convinced me I needed something short and sleek when I started college, I’m sitting here exposed and blushing like crazy.

“Liam . . .”

“We’re having a baby together, honey, and you don’t want to hold my hand in public?” he says with fake shock, as if I’ve deeply wounded him with my rejection. He is so gonna get it later for messing with me. I should have known he would pull something like this. The past few weeks have been full of cracks and pranks about our pretend, not so pretend relationship.

I’ve been taking mental notes, though, so this time I pull it together just enough to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

“I think we should find out if you’re the father first, shouldn’t we, honey?”

The nosy woman gasps, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Liam just goes with the flow. He doesn’t miss a beat, and he drops my hand like I have cooties.

“You told me we had nothing to worry about.”

I’m about to sling some more sarcastic crap at him when a nurse opens the door to the reception area and calls my name.

“Saved by the bell,” I whisper.

“It’s cool. There will be other opportunities. You’re fun to fluster.”

“Yeah, well you keep it up, and the student will become the teacher.”

“I can’t wait for you to teach me a thing or two,” he says, bending down and delivering that innuendo-filled message straight into my ear—a little trick he learned that drives me crazy. His sexy, gravelly voice travels at light speed from my ear to my core, melting me from the inside out, and he’s very aware of its effect.

I punch him in the arm as we greet the nurse and follow her back to the physician’s office. One side of his mouth lifts in a satisfying smirk, and if I thought my insides were melting before, now they are downright volcanic.

Liam follows the nurse, guiding me with his hand on the small of my back. The combination of his hand on my skin and the pending test results have butterflies fluttering in my tummy. I’ve been so tired this past week that I can hardly function by three o’clock in the afternoon. Toby is getting used to Mommy’s naptime. He brings books and toys and a snack into the bed with me and entertains himself for about forty-five minutes. Thank God he’s such a good boy.

Dr. Clover has been the physician handling our case. I like her a lot. She’s warm and kind and compassionate, and she has nice hands. I have a thing for hands. Hands are the portal to a person’s deepest longings. They welcome and soothe, comfort and stimulate. A simple touch can set you on fire or settle your nerves. Dr. Clover has the hands that I want to welcome my baby into the world.

Shit. I have to stop thinking of this baby as my own. Liam wants to divorce Amira and raise the baby with me, but our relationship isn’t even an actual relationship yet. We haven’t kissed or dated—well, not officially, anyway—and we’ve only begun to get to know each other. Things are happening backward, and it’s got my brain on pause while I try to figure out what to do next.

Liam seems so sure that Amira won’t want a baby once she’s gotten a load of how much work and responsibility they are. From what little I know about her, I would have to agree, but you never know what a woman will do to keep her man—especially since she went to such extremes to get him in the first place.

My worst nightmare is that I hand over our baby to that wicked woman and she refuses to divorce Liam. What if she decides to fight for what she believes is hers? She could easily use her trust fund to make it impossible for me to see our baby again. I’m five minutes pregnant, and already I feel the same fierce protectiveness that I do for Toby.

Liam and I take our seats on the opposite side of Dr. Clover’s desk. Liam is looking around at the doctor’s family photographs and diplomas on the wall. I’m trying to push away the anxiety and worry about the future and focus on right now.

“Checking to see if she’s qualified?” I tease, but he doesn’t take the bait. His eyes slowly trail over the desk. He’s thinking.

I was kidding, but maybe he’s actually concerned about the physician’s credentials. One thing I have learned about him is that he questions things that your average person wouldn’t think twice about.

“Do you think she’s a good doctor?”

“Of course I do. You’re going to like her too. I promise. I’ve seen her several times.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, you were a little busy providing a sample during our last appointment.”

He smiles and reaches out to take my hand.

“Good point. Okay, I trust your judgment.”

Something about that comment and the crystal clear conviction in his eyes shoos all the butterflies out of my tummy and replaces them with a warm calm.

Dr. Clover opens the door, and Liam and I instinctively release each other’s hand, but not before she catches it. It’s no one’s business what’s going on in our crazy dynamic, but as far as anyone knows, we are just two people helping each other out by trying to have a baby.

“Good Morning, Mr. Wild and Ms. Kennedy,” she says, reaching out to shake our hands. We both stand to greet her and take our seats again.

“You have a beautiful family,” Liam says, gesturing to the photographs on her desk and the wall.

“Thank you. They keep me busy, that’s for sure,” she says with a warm smile. “So I have the test results here. Are we waiting for one more?” she asks.

“No, my wife is in Nigeria. Her father had a heart attack. She’s taking care of things there before she comes home.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, and I really believe that she is sorry. There are no fake undertones or a rushed attitude. She is one of the rare few genuine doctors left in the world.

“Well, I think I might have some news that will cheer her up then. Liam, Lourdes, you’re pregnant—six weeks. The blood tests were positive.”

Even though I knew it already, there is still a sense of shock when she says it out loud. I am pregnant. With Liam’s baby. My baby. This is real. My heart flutters in my chest, and tears fill my eyes while I wonder if these are the normal reactions of a surrogate mother. Am I supposed to be excited? Am I allowed to care? All of the questions from the past two weeks are suddenly popping into my mind one after another in such rapid succession that I can’t verbalize even one of them.

I look down between the chairs, and Liam’s hand is in mine. When did that happen? Tears begin to race down my cheeks. I can’t hold in the emotions any longer. Surrogate mother or not, I’m pregnant and hormonal, and my shit’s all over the place.

“Congratulations,” she says, glancing at our joined hands.

“Thank you,” Liam says while Dr. Clover slides a box of tissue across her desk. He plucks two of them and hands them to me. I blow my nose and dab at my eyes.

“So when do you expect Mrs. Wild to return?” Dr. Clover asks.

Seems like an odd question to ask at this moment, but she’s a perceptive woman. I’m sure she can sense that Liam and I are more than just casual business partners meeting to finalize a deal.

“Her return depends on her father’s health. She’s torn right now. She wants to be here for this, but her dad is still considered critical, so she will be home as soon as he turns a corner, I’m sure.”

I snivel a few times and watch Dr. Clover assessing Liam. She’s not falling for his explanation, but she’s too good of a person to call us out on what we’re doing—which is nothing, really. She suspects though.

“So what do we do next? Do I have any restrictions, or do I need to make another appointment?” I ask.

“Yes, you’ll need another appointment to be sure the pregnancy is progressing as it should be. I’ll have my secretary schedule one for you. I’d like you to pick up some prenatal vitamins and folic acid, and your hemoglobin was a little low last month, so let’s get you on some iron as well. Other than that, you’re fine. From here on out, it should be just like a normal pregnancy.”

Liam and I sit and continue to stare at Dr. Clover. She makes it all sound so easy and normal, but our situation is anything but. I speak first to break the awkward silence.

“All right then, we should be going,” I say, standing and thrusting my hand out to shake Dr. Clover’s. She surprises me, though, by walking around the desk and hugging me. She squeezes me tight and pats me on the shoulder before releasing me and doing the same for Liam. He looks at me over her shoulder and raises his eyebrows with question. I shrug my shoulders, and the moment is over.

Outside in the parking lot, I take deep breaths of the heavy, warm summer air. The office was stuffy and stressful. Being out in the sunshine is exactly what I needed. Liam and I are standing between our cars, leaning against the doors and facing each other. His lips are rolled in against themselves as he regards me with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s thinking again. I press my hands against the warm metal of the car behind me and admire Liam’s casual style. He usually wears jeans, but they aren’t just jeans. His are perfectly cut to accentuate his ass and give a little room in the legs without being saggy. His short-sleeved, V-neck t-shirt is less like a t-shirt and more dress casual. The way it hugs every lean muscle on his chest and abdomen makes me yearn to see what’s underneath it. And as always, he’s got on pure white Adidas tennis shoes without so much as a scuff or a spot of dust on them. I decide to make small talk. There are so many heavy things we should be discussing, but right now I need some chit chat.

“So what’s with your shoes?” I ask and jut my chin in the direction of his feet.

He immediately looks down and turns one foot around to look at one side and then the next. Then he repeats the behavior with his other foot.

“They’re fine. What do you mean?” he asks, looking at me with confusion written all over his face.

I laugh at his shoe paranoia.

“I didn’t say what’s wrong with them, just what’s up with the white shoes all the time? And how come they always look like you just took them out of the box?”

“Because I did,” he says.

“You wear a brand new pair of shoes every day?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that get expensive?” I ask.

“Maybe.” He shrugs

“So that’s it? Yes and Maybe?”

He drops his arms to his sides and slides his hands into his front pockets.

“When I was a kid, my mom was broke, and I always wore used kicks from second-hand stores. They hurt my feet and I got teased, so I vowed that when I made it, I would wear a new pair of shoes every day forever. Now it’s more of a habit than anything.”

“What do you do with all the old shoes?”

“They used to pile up in my closet and storage, but honestly, I think the housekeeper started cleaning the bottoms of them so I’d quit buying new ones.”

I nod and try to look like I understand, but I don’t.

“You’re a shoe hoarder,” I say.

The side of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. Lourdes?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re pregnant,” he points at me like there is a bug on my shoulder or something.

“I know,” I say with a nod.

“With our baby.” He waves his finger between us, back and forth.

I smile.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

I look down at my feet and shuffle them back and forth.

“I want you to kiss me,” I say.

But neither of us makes a move to do anything. We just stand there in silence for what seems like forever, but in reality, it’s probably just a few seconds.

“You should get to the pharmacy to pick up those vitamins and go get Toby,” he says, popping the tension bubble.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’d better get going.”

He closes the gap between us and cages me in between his arms against my car door. Nose to nose, I close my eyes and feel his breath on my mouth. Is this it? Is he going to kiss me?

Every muscle in my body is coiled tight. My skin is covered with goosebumps, and I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing again. He trails his finger down my shoulder to my elbow, where the rest of my arm disappears behind my back. He slides his hand between the car and me to the door handle, pulling it open. The door scoots me toward him. My eyes are still closed, and I’m definitely breathing now. In fact, I’m nearly panting.

“In you go,” he says softly.

Only then do I risk looking at him. I see a mixture of many things swirling in his lapis eyes: want, need, passion, and . . . restraint.

With our mouths only millimeters apart, my parted lips tingle, but I know he won’t do it—not yet.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He pulls the door open wide, and I step around him and slide into the steamy hot seat.

“Crank the air and roll down the windows. You’re going to suffocate in there.”

I do as he says and blast the air. It’s warm at first, but it doesn’t take long to cool off in the car. When he’s satisfied with the temperature, he gestures for me to roll up the windows. When I do, he turns away from me and walks around his car to leave. I sit and watch him start it and adjust several settings on the radio, and then he picks up his phone and starts to text.

A couple of seconds later, my phone chirps its text notification song, and I dig it out of my purse and tap the text bubble to bring up the message.

A short text says, I don’t wanna mess things up. –Liam.

Under that is a link to a video. I look up and find him watching me. He mouths the words, play it, so I press play and listen to Lady Antebellum sing Just a Kiss.

Three verses in, I cover my mouth with my fingertips. Tears fill my eyes for the second time today when I hear the familiar lyrics. Our situation is so unique that I can’t believe how perfectly the lyrics correlate. She sings about taking our time and not rushing things or messing things up, and she sings about fighting the feelings until the time is right. When I look up to see if Liam is still watching me I find his car gone. He dropped an emotional text bomb on me and ran. Nice, Liam. Nice.