One More Time

After blowing me a quick kiss in return, my friend turned and rushed out the door, leaving me alone at the restaurant. She'd left a few pieces of honeydew on her plate, so I took a few bites of that, trying to fill my otherwise empty belly. The waitress comes over and checked on me.

“More coffee, hon?”

“No, thanks,” I said, pulling out the wad of cash from last night. “I'm ready to pay.”

Time to go home. Sierra and Nick needed me. They might be teenagers, but if anything, that made it harder to get their asses to school on time. Neither one of them were morning people. Like me.

I hoped that once I got them out the door, I might get at least, a few hours’ sleep before heading back into the club. It was Sunday, which was normally my one day off, but there was a special event booked for the night, and I'd volunteered to work. I really didn't want to, but I needed the overtime and all the tips I could get.

I slipped from the booth and walked toward the Blue Line train. The sun was just starting to make an appearance on the horizon, which made me feel better about riding the train. Some nights, it was pretty sketchy. Especially dressed in my waitressing outfit. Some of the creeps on the train were skeevier than the pigs in the club I had to deal with.

Usually, if I remembered, I changed before hopping on the train. Not that it made much difference, people still assumed I was a hooker, or at least hoped that I might fuck them for the right price.

Morning was different. Commuters crowded the train, making it standing room only, but at least there was less chance of getting attacked or raped because there were too many witnesses.

God, what I wouldn't give to have my own car, I thought to myself. Maybe someday. For now, mom needed it more than me. So, as with everything else, I'd make due and put my own needs to the side. My needs didn't matter. The needs of my family did.

CHAPTER FIVE

MALCOLM

I really wasn't sure what I was thinking. I must have been gripped by some really potent alcohol or a quick bout of dementia myself. I had to have been to even consider asking a cocktail waitress to be the mother of my children. Not that she would have agreed, but the fact that I even considered it – even if only for the briefest of moments – told me just how crazed this whole thing was making me.

Honestly though, it just seemed like she needed a way out of that shitty job, and for a brief minute, I thought I could be a hero. Thought that maybe, I could swoop in with this amazing offer to pay her a large sum of money for her to be a surrogate for me, and both of our problems would be solved.

Not my brightest moment, that was for sure.

It was Monday morning, and I'd made a promise to my mom to meet with the people at Surrogates R Us – okay, not really what they were called, but that's what I called them. It seemed far more preferable to make light of them and what they did than admit that I was taking them, and this whole process, seriously.

The entire thing just felt weird to me. This was not how I pictured myself making babies. Not at all. But, it seemed like the only option I currently had. With time running short to meet my father's demands – and beat Adam to the punch – I really needed to explore the options I did, in fact, have.

The waiting room was filled with people – couples, mostly. A lesbian couple, an older, wealthier looking couple, and a younger couple. I was the only single person there, and I felt incredibly out of place as I flipped through a Parent's magazine, which had photos of happy families with bright eyes and wide smiles.

Yes, in the modern day, a family doesn't have to be a mom and a dad. Two dads, two moms, hell, even one dad and two moms if you were into that sort of lifestyle. Single parents were common enough too. Men and women these days, could raise children alone, sure, but making a child without a partner was not what I had in mind.

For about the millionth time, I had to ask myself – what was my dad thinking to attach this kind of a demand to his will?

“Malcolm, we're ready to see you now,” a forty-something year old woman with a soft voice said. She reminded me of my mother, in a way, except that she had brown hair that was pulled back into a loose bun atop her head. She also had deep smile lines etched into her skin that showed off a happy, motherly face.

I followed the woman back into a private office, and she introduced herself as Lisa. Just Lisa. No last name, we're all family here, she said. Her office was painted a light, soothing shade of blue. There was a small water feature on the cabinet behind her, the babbling of the water over the small stones helping fill the office with gentle, running water sounds so the silences would be less awkward.

On her desk were photos of her own family – a smiling father with two little boys that looked just like her stared back at us.

“Are those your kids?” Obvious question, but it felt like the nice thing to say.

“Yes,” she said, glancing down at the photo. “My husband Chuck, and my two boys Jeremy and Jacob.”

“A good-looking family you have there,” I said.

A good, wholesome, All-American family. Chuck and Lisa, Jeremy and Jacob. Almost sounded too good to be true. Like something out of a family sit-com from the 1960's or something. But there was photographic evidence of the happy family staring me right in the face.

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she said, her smile widening. “So, you're thinking of starting a family of your own?”

“I am.”

“Straight and to the point, I like it. Which is why I'm going to get straight to the point as well, so please excuse my bluntness.” she said. She crossed her hands and placed them in her lap, leaning back into her chair. “Have you thought long and hard about this decision? It says in your paperwork that you don't have a partner, you're still young – what makes you interested in having a surrogate right now, when you still have plenty of time to have children of your own?”

“My father has a brain tumor.”