“May I ask you how long you’ve been trying?” Wendy says.

I look over at Parker. This is the moment I was dreading. I’ve never liked being the center of attention.

Parker starts to answer for me, knowing how I feel, but I know I should be the one to explain. “I’m a cancer survivor. Unfortunately, I’m not able to carry a child.” I say, as honestly and firmly as I can. It takes a lot to open up and say you have cancer, but it shouldn’t take a lot to say you are a survivor.

And that’s what I am.

A survivor.

Parker takes my hand in his and I can feel him trying to comfort me.

“Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that, but congratulations,” Wendy says. She looks like she wants to reach out and touch me, too; her eyes are sorrowful and I can tell her heart goes out to us.

Ron gives me a sad smile and echoes Wendy. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad everything is on the positive now.”

“Thank you. Really, it’s okay. There’s no need to be sorry. I’ve been cancer-free for almost three years now.”

“That’s something to be proud of right there.”

“It is, thank you.”

I don’t feel it’s necessary to discuss my cardiomyopathy with her. She doesn’t need to hear about how I couldn’t catch a break. Telling her about my history is one thing; what might be in my future is quite another.

We eat lunch and continue talking for a few hours. We learn more about Wendy’s deliveries and children, and about Ron, who works in construction. When it’s time to go, we say our goodbyes and exchange hugs.

She’s perfect. I can’t find one thing I don’t like about her. We get along great, she’s smart, has a wonderful life, loves kids, and seems like she’ll care for our unborn baby as if he or she were one of her own.

When we get back in the car, Parker and I start talking at the same time.

“She’s perfect!”

“She’s great, Aundrea. Her enthusiasm about the entire thing, and her reasoning … I couldn’t ask for a better reason from someone.”

“It’s also comforting to deal with someone who has gone through this process before.”

“I agree. I have a good feeling about this and her.”

Parker gives me a long kiss filled with promise before we set off home. I refuse to let anyone or anything ruin this for us. Nothing else matters.

We drive back to Circle of Life to meet Polly. It didn’t take much to get Kevin and Jason to cover my afternoon schedule. They’re both very supportive of this entire process and told me not to worry. They’ll cover when they can.

“Parker, Aundrea, this is Tim. He’s going to be representing you. He’ll walk you through the contract that we’ve started and will finalize after the numbers are figured out. Then he’ll have the contract sent over to the lawyer who is representing Wendy. If she accepts, we’ll proceed.”

“Sounds good,” I say as Aundrea nods frantically.

“Okay, let’s get to it.”

It seems so formal. Who would have thought that having a baby would mean so many formalities? This is way more invasive than I’d ever thought.

“Okay, first things first,” Tim says, “I’ve drawn up the contract based on Wendy’s previous contract that fell though. Remember, this is all negotiable.” We both nod. “She’s asking for $22,000. That is a little lower than the average rate of $25,000 for a single birth, so I think it’s fair to stick with that.”

Aundrea looks my way. I can see her processing this, but we knew from our paperwork to expect about $25,000, so that’s a non-issue.

I run the numbers in my head. “And what happens if she doesn’t get pregnant?”

“We’ll write it into the contract that the first of four payments is non-refundable, with the stipulation that she agrees to try for four months. If she doesn’t get pregnant in four months, she is free to walk away, as are both of you. Or you can re-sign and the initial payment will carry over for an additional two months. After six months, the contract is void and, if you wish to continue, new contracts will be signed.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Aundrea says.

“I like what you’ve suggested,” I agree.

“Next up, there is no mention of how many embryos you want to transfer. Wendy is open to a maximum of two, but in the case of a multiple birth the $22,000 doubles.”

Aundrea’s eyes go wide. “Twins?”

“It’s just a formality we must discuss,” Tim says calmly.

“We didn’t discuss how many,” I add. I think we both assumed it would only be one.

“The number to be transferred is strictly up to you. Some people transfer up to four embryos for a higher probability of pregnancy, but Wendy is young and healthy, so the chances of one taking are higher than if she were older and higher risk,” Polly interjects.

“One is good!” Aundrea says quickly. We all laugh.

“Okay, one it is,” I declare. “And if by some chance that splits and turns into multiples, we’ll make it work.”

“Aundrea, are you okay?” Polly asks. I look over to see her gulping her water.

“This is a lot, I know, but we need to cover every eventuality so we’re prepared,” I reassure her.

“I understand. It all sounds good.”

I squeeze her hand to let her know it’s okay and don’t let go as we discuss maternity leave, vaginal versus a caesarean deliveries, and other costs. We figure everything out to the last penny. Tom and Polly don’t leave out a single detail. We spend three hours making sure we have the clearest, most airtight contract we can. I ask questions, make notes, and ask Aundrea’s opinion on everything, which keeps her relaxed. But by the time we head home, Aundrea has yet to speak more than a few words.