The Surrogacy Secret

Spilling the Juice

“Jeez, knock much?” she squealed as she turned around and stuffed her arms into her blouse.

“s**t, sorry. I thought you’d gone already,” Royal apologized. “Keshaun gave Precious a juice box and she squeezed it all over my shirt.”

She looked over her shoulder to note the bright purple stains on his pale blue shirt. She waved to the sink, “go ahead, clean off. I’m almost done.” She buttoned her shirt up, grateful she had pants on. He had seen her in her cheap cotton bra. He’d probably also seen the stretchmarks on her tummy. She wanted to melt into the floor in humiliation.

He grabbed a bunch of paper towel and began dabbing the shirt with water. He was silent as he worked, and she reached past him to collect the make-up she’d left sitting on the counter. “Excuse me.”

“Yeah,” he lifted his arm up so she could reach around him.

God, why did he have to smell so good? It was evident billionaires did not wear the drugstore body spray. He was spicy and musky. She needed out of the bathroom. She met his eyes for a half second in the mirror and then bent to retrieve her bag.

She paused, “look, I’m sorry if I overstepped with Precious earlier. She’s a funny kid and she reminds me of someone and a bit of me, I guess. I mean I lost my parents when I was sixteen, but Bram was only eight and he was lost too. I get her, or how she’s feeling. Anyway, I won’t overstep again. I’m sorry.”

“Who does she remind you of?” his question stopped her from making her exit.

“A friend,” she thought of Prince and took a deep breath. “A friend I had once for a short time in my life. She reminds me of him.”

“Him, not a female friend? She’s a girl.”

“He had freckles,” she said quietly. “Like she has freckles.” She rubbed her forehead. “Anyway, it’s moot. Um, I should go.”

She watched as he spread the juice on his shirt. “There’s laundry detergent by the washing machine. You could dab a bit on there to avoid the stain.”

“Would you mind grabbing it?” he asked quietly as he began to unbutton his shirt.

Her eyes widened and she dropped her bag outside the bathroom and went to grab the liquid detergent. She brought it back and held it out to him and found him standing in a white undershirt which hugged the bumps and ridges of his sculpted torso. Her dreams were going to get a whole lot weirder, she realized. She turned to leave again, and he spoke.

“My brother had freckles. My mom has them too. He’s the only one of the three kids who got them, but he had them. He passed them onto his daughter.”

“Oh,” she blinked unsure of what to say.

“I miss him,” his voice was low. “He was my best friend besides Keshaun. I always thought he never kept anything from me but I’m finding out he wasn’t who I thought he was. I’m angry and I’m struggling to deal with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear this,” she said feeling very odd to be in the bathroom with him while he had his dress shirt off. Her eyes kept flicking to his n*****s poking through the white shirt. Dark and inviting. She wanted to run her tongue --. She snapped herself from the thought and cleared her throat.

“He cheated on his wife.”

She paused. “What?”

“He was the most upstanding person I ever met. I thought he loved her more than life itself. My biggest consolation was one wasn’t going to have to live without the other, you know, since they went at the same time. Then I found out he got another woman pregnant and forced her to give up their child so he and his wife could raise it. Who would do that? The cheating was bad enough but then to make the lover give up the kid and then to force my sister-in-law to raise her.” He shook his head. “I found a letter he’d written to her, his lover. He confessed how much he loved her and how grateful he was for the sacrifice of their child, yet he didn’t send it.”

She was not sure why he was spilling family secrets, but her discomfort grew exponentially as he angrily scrubbed the stain on his shirt.

“I can’t tell my mother. I can’t tell my father. I feel like I didn’t know him at all. Worse, each time I look at my niece, the child he made me the legal guardian of, I feel like I’m holding a stolen baby in my arms.” His lips were smashed together as he got lost in his thoughts, “I kept thinking what if this woman had no choice? He was ruthless in business. He was a lawyer and cutthroat when it came to work. What if he stole this child from her mother and the mother wants her back? I’ve been torn between never telling my family the truth or letting this woman know her child is now motherless and needs her.”

“You’re in a tough spot,” she whispered quietly. He stared at her in the mirror of the bathroom, and she questioned softly, “does it affect how you feel about your niece?”

“No!” he shook his head. “I love her. Nothing changes how special Precious is. She’s an amazing child.” He inhaled, “I feel guilty for keeping this child away from a mother who may have wanted her desperately but I’m furious to think someone could take her away from us. I’ve been through all the papers in his office and all the files and the only thing I found was this one damn letter to this woman where he confessed his love.”

“How did you find out then?”

“Precious had an injury and they needed her blood type. Hospital policy was to check blood types. Both my brother and his wife were O positive, but my niece is B positive.” He held her gaze as she paled, “what’s your blood type?”

The way he was staring at her made her stomach drop. Intuitively, she knew he already knew her blood type. She felt like she was going to vomit, the contents of the lunch she’d eaten hours ago, rising into her chest and she gulped for air to push it down. His eyes were laser focused on her as he held his shirt lightly in his hand, as if he’d forgotten about it.

“My niece needs a mother, Famke. What should I do?”

She was gasping, her chest burning with pain she hadn’t felt in years. “What do you want from me?”

“Did you know he was married?”

“I don’t understand.”

“He had a letter addressed to you in his office. Famke Noor. Your blood type is B, right? He left his letter in the bottom drawer, tucked away from everything. Did you know he was married? How did you meet? He rarely left New York.”

She felt pinpoints of blackness darkening her eyes and she blinked, worried she would faint. She gripped the edge of the doorframe, doubling over as the pain stole her breath. Prince was dead. Mindy was dead. Precious, the sweet child she had danced and sang with for nearly an hour was the one she had given birth to, and they took without a backwards glance. She clutched her chest.

“I need to go,” she whispered and backed up.

“You can’t. I need you. She needs you,” he motioned to the front of the store. “I need answers, Famke. I need to know what happened. Why did he cheat on her with you?”

She shook her head, “he didn’t.”

“He didn’t? I have a letter saying otherwise. He confessed how much he loved you and always would in this letter, but he needed to be with his wife.”

“No. It’s not possible. I.” She blinked and then shook her head, “no. You must have misunderstood.”

“She is your child. I know it as much as I know my own heartbeat. You recognized her the minute I showed up here today.”

“She is his child. His and Mindy’s. They,” she wiped her eyes, “you don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“What is going on in here,” Ambrosia interrupted the conversation with a sneer. “Good grief, did this slut try to make a play for you while you’re cleaning your shirt?”

“No,” she shook her head at the woman, still reeling from the words Royal had uttered. Royal. It made sense. Royal and Prince. Names his mother picked out to ensure they were successful.

“What is happening,” Kara came in behind Ambrosia.

“I’d watch your husband around this one,” Ambrosia smirked, “she freshened up her make up and is making a play for my man.”

“No,” she denied the words as Kara’s eyes widened. “I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

“Famke, wait,” Royal glared at Ambrosia, but she was too focused on Famke to notice his ire.

“You should leave, slut, before I teach you a lesson in f*****g with another woman’s man,” Ambrosia snapped her fingers in Famke’s face.

“I wasn’t hitting on your man. I got him detergent for his shirt,” she motioned to the bottle. “I’m going to be late for my shift,” she was quickly recovering her wits. “I’m not a slut nor a man-stealer. I don’t have time for this s**t. I have another job to go to.”

“That’s right, run off, stupid bitch.”

“What is wrong with you?” She finally snapped, “you are a mean, horrible human being and I feel sorry for anyone who has to spend more than ten minutes in your company lest their brains rot from your poison.” She looked past the stunned gazes of the two women to Keshaun who was staring as if looking at a train wreck. “If I still have a job tomorrow, I’ll see you then, but I won’t be back if she’s here. She’s crazy.” Without waiting for any further comment, she grabbed her coat off the hook and slammed out the back door.

It was only when she was seated on the bus, which had miraculously been at the stop, did she realize she was crying.