I’d encouraged her art and unlike her family, I never asked if she was planning to do anything useful with her business degree. I was also probably the only one who still lent her money. Although, to be fair, she hadn’t borrowed from me in a year.
The last time I’d seen Freya was at Christmas in Burlington. She’d made reservations for us at a restaurant that served a traditional Swedish feast, ajulbordwith cured salmon (gravlax), meatballs (köttbullar), creamy potato-anchovy casserole, a cheese board, malted wines (glögg), and saffron buns for dessert. We ate like a king and queen. And get this…she’d insisted on paying the tab. She’d been adamant that she could afford it. Her ceramics were selling, not to worry.
But old habits died hard, and three and a half months later, I was worried all over again. Something in her tone was too manic, too frenzied.
“And your art?”
“Oh, my gosh, V. I was commissioned to make a series of vases for a gallery in town,” she enthused. “So exciting! I told you about it in December, remember?”
“Uh…”
“They sold like hotcakes! Every single vase. And one of the buyers wants me to make six place settings—salad plates, dinnerplates, dessert plates, and mugs, too. It’s going to take a while, but she’s okay with that,” Freya continued excitedly.
“This is good.”
She snickered. “Itisgood. And you know what’s even better? I can pay you back everything I owe you. And I think that number is approximately fifteen thousand with interest. I’ll have it all to you within three months.”
“Three months,” I repeated.
“Or less.”
“How? From vases?” I frowned at the vegetables as I turned off the burner.
“I wish. The problem with my art is that I constantly have to feed it. I bought a bigger kiln, and I’m toying with the idea of offering ceramics classes to offset the cost of?—”
“Then how will you pay me fifteen thousand?” I puffed my cheeks out and let out a stream of air. “Did you rob a bank?”
Or worse? Robbery might have been preferable to hearing she’d met someone who was going to make all her worries disappear.
Freya laughed. “No, I’ve come into a bit of money. That’s all.”
Fuck.“How?”
She went quiet, and that wasn’t good.
“I wanted to wait to tell you this in person.”Oh, no.“It’s a sensitive topic, but it’s a good thing, and I want you to be happy for me.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing bad, Viggo. But…I’m pregnant.”
My jaw dropped. I swiped my hand over my face as I slumped onto the nearest barstool. “Pregnant? You’re having a baby?”
“Yes and no.”
“That isn’t a yes or no question,” I growled sternly.
Freya just chuckled. “I’m a surrogate.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re the first person I’ve told. The only person. I’m not telling my family. This is a secret.Allof this is asecret, but not really ’cause I’ll have a belly soon and…I wanted you to know.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I went with, “Why?”
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, and I love you and?—”
“No, I meant…why do this at all? I don’t…I don’t understand.”
