I never fought Hicks on it. Burke was his mother. And I understood loyalty. But after years of missing out, I started to wonder if we were still living our life, or hers.
Then, one night while I was folding laundry on the couch, my husband walked into the room. He stood there for a moment, watching me. His face was calm, almost too calm, the way it gets when he’s been rehearsing something in his head.
“I was talking to Mike at work,” he began, easing into the conversation like it was nothing. “And he mentioned that his cousin was a surrogate. She made about $60,000. Just like that. She just carried the baby and gave birth. That was it.”
“Okay… and?” I asked, still folding Nux’s tiny jeans. I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard him correctly.
“Khal, if you did something like that, we could finally pay off Mom’s mortgage. We’d be done! There would be no more monthly panic sessions. We could finally move and start a fresh chapter. Do it for us. Do it for Nux.”
“Hicks,” I began, my stomach already twisting into knots. “You’re not actually suggesting I carry someone else’s baby, are you?”
“Why not?” he asked. “You’ve had a healthy and easy pregnancy with Nux. There were no complications at all. And think about it, Khal — it’s just nine months. One year of sacrifice, tops. And it would change everything for us. And… think about that family that desperately wants a child but cannot do it themselves.”
He always said us like it meant we. Like I was being invited into something like an equal. But in that moment, something shifted. My hands paused over a pair of socks and I turned to look at my husband.
“You mean, I’d do all the sacrificing, Hicks. And we’d both enjoy the reward?”
“Don’t be hasty, Khal,” he said, smiling the kind of smile you give someone you’ve already convinced to do something. “Think about it. You’re doing this for us. And for Nux. And for Mom.”
