That's what Joanne called my refusal to play house with my wife's boss's baby. Not principled, not self-respecting. Petty and vindictive. "I raised three children, Grant, and I know what sacrifice looks like."
"What Melissa did, carrying a child for a couple who couldn't have their own, that's the kind of selfless act that should make a husband proud, not angry. The fact that you can't see that says more about your character than hers." The voicemail went on for another two minutes, covering everything from my supposed lack of Christian values to my failure as a role model for our children. By the end of it, I was half convinced that I was indeed the Antichrist and Melissa was some kind of modern-day saint who'd been unfairly persecuted for her noble deeds.
But the absolute cherry on top of this sundae came the next evening when my phone rang during dinner. I was helping Sophie cut up her chicken nuggets when Charles Whitmore's name appeared on my caller ID. Charles Whitmore. The man who'd hired my wife's reproductive system was calling to lecture me about my attitude.
The balls on this guy could have been registered as their own small country. I almost didn't answer, but curiosity got the better of me. I had to hear what this pompous asshole had to say for himself. "Grant," he said when I picked up, his voice dripping with that fake concern rich people use when they're slumming it with the little people.
"I hope you don't mind me calling. I got your number from Melissa." Of course he did. Because apparently my soon-to-be ex-wife was just handing out my personal information to anyone who asked.
"What can I do for you, Charles?" I asked, putting him on speaker so I could continue helping Sophie with her dinner. If he was going to waste my time, he could at least provide some entertainment for the kids. "Well, I wanted to talk to you about this situation with Melissa and the baby. I think there's been a misunderstanding."
A misunderstanding, right? Like I'd somehow misunderstood the part where my wife got pregnant with his kid. "I'm not sure what you think I'm misunderstanding," I said, cutting up Sophie's nuggets while she made faces at the phone. "Seems pretty straightforward to me."
"Grant, what Melissa has done for Vivien and me, it's incredible. It's a gift beyond measure. She's given us the chance to have a family, to experience the joy of parenthood that we thought was lost to us forever. You should be proud of her."
"You should be supporting her through this transition." Transition. Like carrying someone else's baby was some kind of career change instead of a marriage-ending betrayal. "Charles," I said, wiping barbecue sauce off Sophie's face, "let me explain something to you."