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My father nods and jumps into the details of what happened. “What about the young lady; how did she take it?” he says.
“She was supposed to be a surrogate mother for a couple who are friends of hers. They had some kind of arrangement with her, but she got over it pretty quickly and decided to keep the baby.”
“Were they paying her?” my mother asks shrewdly.
I’m reluctant to divulge details of Ivy’s surrogacy financial arrangement, but if I don’t say anything, my mother will dig further from the clinic.
“Yes. A small stipend for living expenses.” Why am I defending the woman who threw me out of her house after sex?
Silence falls in the room as my parents take in the information that they will soon be grandparents and how that came about.
“I don’t know how to feel,” my mother finally admits, and I feel sorry for her. It can’t be easy to have something like that sprung on you. My father looks thoughtful.
“Do you think she’ll sue the clinic?” my father says.
I shake my head. At first, it had been a real worry, but the more I’ve gotten to know Ivy, I can say with confidence that she won’t. What you see with Ivy is what you get. All she cares about is her writing and her book. That’s all.
“How can you be so sure?” my father asks. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, but I don’t have any answer I can give them except to reassure them that Ivy won’t sue.
“I’m going to be a grandmother,” my mother says, her voice filled with awe. It makes me smile to see her taking it so well and not focusing on the mistake that has brought it about.
“I’d like to meet her,” my mother continues. “What does she do? Tell me everything about this woman who is carrying my grandchild.”
I give her a condensed version of Ivy, how she’s a writer and has a contract with a publishing company.
“How many books has she written?” my mother shoots.
“The one she’s writing will be her first,” I say.
My mother is clearly not impressed. I can’t blame her for judging Ivy based on the information I’m giving her. I had judged Ivy just as harshly even when I first met her.
I don’t have the words to tell my mother that there’s much more to Ivy than what I’m telling her. That it takes courage to go after one’s dream the way Ivy has. She has no plan B where her writing is concerned, and she has never had. I say none of this. The only way to realize that Ivy is special is to scratch the surface and get to know the woman underneath the gorgeous face and figure and failed surrogacy arrangement.
“I want to meet her. When can you arrange it?” my mother says.
I should have seen the request coming. Ivy and I are not even on speaking terms. How do I arrange for her to meet my parents?
“I think meeting you so early will be too much pressure on her,” I say.
My mother narrows her eyes. “Pressure? Where does pressure come into play here?”
“I’ll ask,” I tell her. I’ll buy time and figure out how to keep them away from Ivy for now.
“Where does she live? Is it a safe environment for my grandchild?” my mother continues.
“Mother!” I say.
“I’m just asking. We’ll be linked to this woman forever, and she’ll be raising our grandchild.”
I don’t like the snobbish note in my mother’s voice. “Mothers worldwide are equipped with the ability to raise their children irrespective of where they live.”
One thing I know for sure is that Ivy will be an awesome mother to my child. She treated me like crap the last time we met, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I think she’s a great person. A special person.
11
Ivy
Okay, I miss him, I admit to myself when I look up from my computer screen to check whether the car passing in front of my house is Alec’s. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so cold to him after we’d had sex. I must have humiliated him by essentially chasing him from my house.
