Fiction: Surrogate (777 words)

Maggie eyed this new woman suspiciously.  It was in her nature to mistrust.  But she was fighting it, for King’s sake.

“My Psychic is named Carlos,” She smiled, “and our son is Oscar.  He is an angel of a boy now, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a holy terror once he starts flexing those muscles.”

“Why are you doing this?” Maggie asked, cutting off the thrilling tales from the little Psychic family.

“I thought you would want to know a little about me?”  You know, if you are considering letting me carry Arthur’s kid,” Abby smiled.

“No, that’s not what I meant.  I want to know why in the world you would want to carry the child of a man who is not your husband and another psychic’s child nonetheless, for no money or other worldly benefits, in fact, most likely at your own expense.”

Abby shrugged. “I’m not going to lie to you—having a psychic’s kid is tough.  If we all agree to this, I am going to learn a lot about Arthur that he might not want me to know, and by extension I may learn a bit about you that you might not want me to know.  And I know you are a very private person and I understand that you are weary about this, but,” Abby spun her mug on the table and smiled again.  “When Arthur talks about you, Oscar gets this smile.  Carlos is better, as you know I’m sure, at not giving away what he knows or what he learns, but Oscar hasn’t quite gotten to that point yet.  So, whatever Arthur feels so strongly when he talks about you, Oscar can’t help but light up and smile, and…I don’t know.  I guess it’s hard to explain.”

Maggie looked down at the table and scratched at the back of her neck nervously. She still wasn’t used to the fact that someone felt a “light up and smile” way about her, and she really wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that someone else could see that, even if it was just a four-year old psychic boy.  “You know you’d have to raise him—Arthur’s boy, I mean.” Maggie pointed out, not entirely sure why she was still trying to talk Abby out of it.

“I know. Arthur said that for whatever reason you don’t want to raise a family, and I figure that’s none of my business.  But this way, Arthur doesn’t lose his mind and cheat on you, his son gets to be raised in a loving family, with a half-brother to help take care of him, and no poor unsuspecting woman is dragged into a terrifying world of magic and monsters by unknowingly carrying the child of a psychic.   Also, if Arthur wants to be involved in his son’s life, then I’m sure we can figure out a way to make that work too.” Abby took a long sip of her tea to let it sink in, and to let Maggie come up with more objections if she had them. “I wouldn’t dare insult your intelligence, Maggie.  I know you are smarter than two of me combined.  I know that you know this is a good plan.  I also know that Arthur wouldn’t have dared to bring me to your home without your explicit permission to have me know where you live.  From what Carlos has told me and what Arthur says, you do a lot of good for a lot of people who help protect innocents. I know that at least once you had a big hand in helping to save Carlos’s life, and I’m willing to bet you had at least some help in a series of other times that he’s survived. Carlos and I just want to make your life easier, Maggie, and we want you and Arthur to have your happily ever after if we can wing it.  Since this is something Arthur has to do, we want to make the whole experience as convenient as possible. You do enough for others, let us do something for you.  Does that answer your previous question sufficiently?”

She was authoritative, but not challenging Maggie.  She was willing to play pleasantries, but knew where she stood and was going to make sure Maggie knew it too.  She was happily married and didn’t want to conceive with Arthur the “Natural” way.  In spite of herself, Maggie liked this girl.  A lot.

Maggie stood up, and Abby followed suit.  Maggie offered her hand in a shake. “We’ll be in touch, Abigail.”

Abby smiled as they shook.  “I’m sure we will, Margaret.  I’m very sure we will.”

 

Fiction: The Family Way-Part 19 (379 words)

“I am just so afraid that I’m going to mess him up,”  Marta confessed as soon as the car door was pulled shut.  “I’m not at all where I thought I would be by the time I was having a kid.  I should have been better prepared, and I just want to do right by him. Shouldn’t I give him up if I’m afraid of messing him up?”

A hundred things came to mind in response to that. All them were probably “right” things to say, some just seemed more right than others.  Unfortunately, the most right things were not the things I wanted to say.

“I can only give you selfish advice.”  I warned her, “I can only tell you what I want to happen, and how I’m justifying it in my own head.”

Marta sniffed and dug a tissue out of her purse before nodding to me. “Yeah, you’re afraid.  I’m afraid, Bradley’s afraid.  It’s very possible that we could do something wrong, that we aren’t going to be the best parents in the world. But if we give him to someone else, whose to say that they won’t mess him up just as badly?  I want to help you raise this kid.  I want to love him as he grows. It’s going to be hard.  It’s going to suck at times.  But I think we can do it, just you and me and Bradley if he wants to stick around and help.   I’m really starting to get excited about this kid.  And it is your choice.  If you want to give him up, then I’ll support you. But, if you don’t, I’m here one hundred percent, and I’ve got some name suggestions.”

Marta took a deep breath and buried her face in her hands. “I love him so much.”

“Okay.”  I offered her another tissue.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Marta didn’t want advice anymore—she wanted sympathy.  “I’m sorry.”

We sat in silence for about ten minutes.  Marta sat up a little straighter and put the tissues into the trash bag.  “Okay.  Let’s go home.  I’m not promising anything–But I need to talk to Bradley.”

“Okay.”  I tried to keep the smile off my face as I put the car into gear. “Let’s go home.”

 

Fiction: One Moment (99 words)

They sat across the table from each other.  Since she set down the papers and he picked up the pen, neither of them had moved a muscle.  Everything was changing.  It all hinged on this moment.  What he decided to do—what she decided to say—what they actually meant to each other.  Right now, everything was perfectly balanced, the whole word equally weighted.  The next action, the next word, the next breath would tip the scales one way or the other, and there would be no going back.

No one wanted to make that next move.  Someone had to.