The Choices We Make (12 page)

23

KATE

Our bedroom was dark except for my e-reader's ghostly glow creating a bubble of soft light around me. Though I had tried to shut it down a few times and go to sleep, my mind kept going back to the letter and the fact that my father was getting remarried. For reasons I couldn't articulate to David when I'd tried earlier, I was furious. So angry I'd started crying when I told David about the letter—which made me angrier, that my father had gotten under my skin.

As quietly as I could I pushed down our quilt and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet landing softly on the hardwood floor. I held my breath and started toward the bathroom, cringing when the old floorboards squeaked under my weight. “Katie?” David's voice was scratchy. “Are you okay?”

I could lie and say yes, totally fine, go back to sleep, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in David's arms. To unzip my chest, which felt tight with anxiety and guilt I didn't fully understand, and let it all spill out into the darkness so I didn't have to carry it around with me anymore.

“Not really,” I said, still standing where I was, shaking a little in the cool night air of our room.

“Come here.” David sat up and turned on his bedside lamp, the soft glow blanketing the room. I squinted with the light, then made my way back to bed and under the covers David held out. Snuggling deep into the warmth of our bed, I leaned back against his chest and linked my fingers through his, holding them tightly. “What's going on?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.

“It's Mom's birthday next week,” I said. “Edward said he'll be at the restaurant.”

“Do you want to meet him?” David asked.

“Of course not,” I replied, my voice loud in the quiet of the night. “What would I even say to him?”

David nuzzled his lips into the crook of my neck and planted a warm kiss there. “Whatever you want. Or nothing at all. I can't imagine Edward expects you'll show up. But you can if you want, Katie. It's okay if you do.”

The tears started, rolling down my cheeks. “I only went to those lunches for Mom. If it had been up to me—”

“I know—you wouldn't have gone. But I also know you, and I suspect you're thinking your mom would still want you to go and have lunch with your dad even if she can't be a part of it anymore.”

“I hate him.” A sob escaped me, and David held me tighter, whispering soothing words into my ear. “I'm honestly just not sure I can do it, David.”

“Baby, you can do anything you put your mind to. I've seen you in action, and you're scary when you get like that.” I laughed, and he joined me, still holding me tightly. We lay like that for a few more minutes, and as the tears dried on my cheeks I felt myself drifting toward sleep.

“Kate, I want to ask you something,” David said, startling me out of my near slumber.

“Mmm-hmm?” I murmured, my lids heavy.

“Are you going to carry a baby for Hannah?”

It was as if he'd tossed a bucket of ice water on me. My eyes snapped open, and my breath caught in my throat.

“I... You said you wouldn't even consider it,” I replied, my heart pounding under our hands. “You said it was a crazy idea, and that I was delusional. Remember that conversation?”

“I still feel that way,” he said. “But I need you to be honest with me. If my feelings were a nonissue, and Hannah and Ben agreed to it, would you go through with it?”

“But your feelings do matter, David.” I paused for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. I wanted to be truthful, but I wasn't sure exactly how blunt to be about it. “However, if it were just up to me, and Hannah and Ben were in, then, yes, I would. That is, if I didn't think you might leave me for it. Nothing is more important than our family, and I would never do anything to screw with that.”

David sighed, scrubbing a hand across the shadow of a beard that magically appeared at night. “I wouldn't leave you. Ever. Not for any reason, Katie.”

I nodded, my mind a tornado of thoughts.

“Because here's the thing,” David said. “I love you more than the idea terrifies me, and I know you well enough to know that if you want to do this, I probably can't stop you. Or I shouldn't, because that's not how we do things, you and me.”

“David, I would never—”

David put a gentle finger to my lips. “Let me finish, okay? This isn't about some power struggle or you getting your way whether I agree or not. We are a team, you and I. We've always supported each other, and that isn't something I want to mess with. So even though I'm worried—about you, and what could happen, and I'd be lying if I said those worries weren't keeping me up at night—how can I stand in your way when one of the things I admire most about you is how much you're willing to do for the people you love?”

I couldn't quite catch my breath. “So what are you saying?”

He turned me onto my back and shifted so he was looking down at me, his gaze intense. “I'm saying I'm willing to consider it.”

“Really? What about the whole ‘I'm making a baby with another man' thing? Or the ‘giving a part of me away'?” That one had stung the most, probably because he had a point. While I was nearly positive I could separate myself from the idea of the baby being
my
baby, handing it over to Hannah with only joy in my heart, I wouldn't have bet my children's lives on it. So I asked him this genuinely, some part of me
needing
to hear him explain how it would be okay.

He shrugged. “It's Ben and Hannah.” As if that explained it all. Which, to me, it did.

“So...is it okay if I talk with Hannah, then?”

He nodded. “But first I need to be sure you've really considered everything. There are a lot of complications... I don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, what are you most worried about?” I had already written down a long list of pitfalls—the top of that list being not getting pregnant—but I wanted to hear what
he
was afraid of.

“It not working,” he replied, as if reading my mind. “I'm worried what that will do to you.” Then he paused, and I watched him, waiting. He frowned. “Or you having a hard time letting go of the baby once it's born. That's no small thing, Katie. This baby would genetically be yours. You told me when Ava was born that taking care of her, and loving her, felt instinctual. What if you feel that way about this baby, too?”

“I've thought a lot about that,” I said, taking my time with my words to properly convey just how seriously I meant what I was about to say. “But no matter how many times I've tried to force myself into that scenario, to imagine what could happen if I became attached to the baby, I know that isn't going to happen. This baby would be Hannah and Ben's. I'd just be donating an egg and an oven. I've had my babies, and this already feels completely different.”

David nodded. The air between us felt heavy, charged with David's worry and my determination to alleviate it.

“I have a big list of things that could go wrong. And when the sun comes up, and we have coffee in front of us, I'll show it to you. I want you to know I understand what this means, to offer this to them. I'm not delusional, despite what you may think.” David rolled his eyes at that one and smiled. “I promise you I am going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I can handle this and anything on that list. As long as I have you with me, okay?”

I wrapped my fingers around his head and pulled him to me. In one quiet, warm breath he whispered into my ear, “Talk to Hannah. And we'll go from there.”

24

HANNAH

The timer beeped, and I opened the oven door and peered into its depths. The cake was golden brown on the top, a thin ring of amber-colored liquid bubbling around its edges. Grabbing the dish towel I pulled the square cake pan toward me, pressing my index finger into the top and watching as the small circular indentation puffed back up a few seconds later. I turned off the oven and set the cake onto the cooling rack.

While I hunted for my grandmother's china serving plate, with the gold edge and blue rose pattern, I tried to keep the nerves from taking over. Kate had left me speechless when, over lunch at the little bakery that made the best clam chowder in sourdough bread bowls, she'd told me she and David had talked and that her offer to carry a baby for us was up for discussion. Real discussion. My speechlessness had quickly turned to a torrent of tears and so many questions I couldn't get them out fast enough. Kate had cried with me, saying she just knew it was going to work, if we agreed to it.

The gratitude had been overwhelming, imagining what her offer could mean if it all worked out the way she said she knew it would. Her confidence was intoxicating, and by the end of lunch I had no doubt it was exactly the right decision.

But now I had to talk with Ben. My stomach was clenched so tightly I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up or needed a strong drink, or both.

I turned the cake out onto the plate, drizzling the leftover syrup in the pan over the top of its warm surface. The rings of pineapple lay nestled in a thick layer of caramel, the result of butter and honey baked into a rich sauce, and I felt instantly relaxed, breathing in the sweet scent that reminded me of my childhood. Though I loved to cook, baking settled my soul in a way nothing else could. It was the precision of the measurements, the comfort of ingredients like flour, butter and brown sugar, and the rhythm of beating, stirring and folding.

When I graduated college—my intention to head to chef school next—my grandmother, who was half-Canadian on her mother's side, gave me her tattered copy of
The Laura Secord Canadian
Cook Book
, from which she took the morning glory muffin recipe and the pineapple-upside-down cake that was now cooling on her serving plate. Even though it was old-fashioned and not a dessert you'd find in most people's kitchens these days, it was a favorite of Ben's. And today I needed all the help I could get.

The table was nearly set and dinner ready—sausage-and-pepper lasagna, perfect for the rainy cool temperatures that came with winter in San Francisco. I was placing the decanter of Syrah—which had been sent to the magazine by a Napa PR company—on the table when I heard the front door open. Luckily for me Shoana,
Femme
's food director and my boss, only drank “white” things, like Chardonnay and gin, so anytime we were sent red wine I got to bring it home.

“What smells so good?” Ben came into the kitchen and dropped his messenger bag on the floor beside the table.

“Lasagna,” I said, pulling it out of the oven and setting it on the stovetop. The blanket of fontina cheese was bubbled and slightly browned, ready for a sharp knife and hungry bellies. Ben pulled a string of crusty cheese off the edge of the glass dish and popped it in his mouth. “Can't wait,” he said.

After pouring two glasses of wine from the decanter I handed him one and we clinked glasses and exchanged a smile.

“So what's up?” Ben sat down at one end of the table and swirled the wine in his glass. “Expensive wine. Lasagna. Pineapple-upside-down cake? On a Tuesday night?”

“How did you know about the cake?” I asked, sitting beside him.

He took a deep sniff of the air and winked at me. “Spill it. What's going on?”

“Can we eat first?”

After our plates were cleaned and cleared, I set a plate of cake in front of each of us and sat down, making little stabs at a pineapple ring with the prongs of my fork. Lost in thought, I jumped when Ben tapped his fork against my plate. “Hannah?”

“Sorry,” I said, smiling before putting down my fork and pushing my plate away. “Just thinking.”

“You can tell me anything, Hannah.”

At this I nodded, though I broke eye contact. It was now or never.

“Kate offered to carry a baby for us.”

When people say the silence was deafening, well, I now knew exactly what that meant. For at least thirty seconds, neither of us said anything or did anything. Ben stared at me, fork poised above his plate and a look of shock on his face. My heart fluttered and I looked down again, swallowing around what felt like a watermelon in my throat.

“Can you say that again?”

“Kate told me she wants to carry a baby for me. For us.”

“That's what I thought you...” His voice trailed, as if he lost his breath partway through. “I wanted to be sure I heard you right.”

“I know this is...unexpected. And sort of weird. And definitely uncomfortable? I have no idea what you're thinking. Can you tell me what you're thinking right now? Please?” Unlike Ben's slow and methodical response, the words flew out of my mouth like busy bees out of a hive.

“I'm thinking...” Ben shook his head, finally putting his fork down. Then he looked at me and grinned, and I felt discombobulated. Like everything had been turned upside down. “I'm thinking this is amazing.”

“Wha— What?”

“Look, I have no clue if it's something we really should do,” Ben said. “But after everything...after the meeting with Dan, I've come around to the idea that we might have to explore more unconventional options. My dad reminded me of that, actually, that night when I stormed away from dinner like a hormonal teenager.”

“He did?” Ben hadn't said anything of that conversation, and I hadn't pried.

Ben nodded. “He told me there is no greater joy than being a father. And that if things weren't working—traditionally speaking—I needed to be willing to think outside the box. And this, well, this definitely qualifies as a nontraditional option.”

“It certainly does,” I whispered, feeling the weight and anxiety lifting, like tiny helium balloons floating up, up and away.

“Are you sure she means it?” Ben asked. “And what about David? How does he feel?”

“She means it,” I said. “And she told me David is on board.”

“Then so am I.”

“Are we really going to do this?” I asked, taking a large gulp of my wine.

“Damn right,” Ben replied, then pointed his fork up in the air to emphasize his point. “It's time for me to knock up your best friend.”

I laughed so hard I spit my wine all over Ben's half-eaten piece of cake.