"Mel, you know how miserable you were when you were pregnant with Emma. You couldn't keep anything down for three months, and your back was killing you the entire time." The emotional angle. "What are the kids going to think when Mommy's walking around with someone else's baby?"
The financial angle. "They're not exactly paying you enough to cover the medical bills, let alone compensation for nine months of your life." But nothing stuck. She had an answer for everything, delivered with the kind of self-righteous certainty that probably started wars back in the day.
She'd help with childcare costs. She'd explain to the kids that she was helping a family. She was doing this out of the goodness of her heart, not for money. Although, let's be real, the 25 grand Charles was offering didn't exactly hurt her enthusiasm.
Then the flying monkeys showed up. First, it was her sister Clara because of course it was. Clara had always been jealous of Melissa, jealous of her job, her house, her kids, probably even her split ends if we're being honest. So naturally, when Melissa called to share her brilliant plan, Clara jumped on the supportive-sister bandwagon like she was running for political office.
The call came on a Thursday night while I was helping Jake with his math homework, trying to remember why algebra was supposed to be important when you grow up to be an accountant who spends his days entering numbers into spreadsheets that nobody reads. "Grant." Clara's voice had that fake-sweet tone she used when she was about to stick a knife between your shoulder blades. "I just wanted to call and tell you how proud I am of Melissa."
I pressed the phone harder against my ear, hoping the kids couldn't hear this conversation. "Oh, yeah? And why is that, Clara?" "For agreeing to be a surrogate."
"It's such a selfless, beautiful thing to do. You should be supporting her instead of being so negative about it." Negative, right? Because apparently not wanting your wife to carry another man's baby made you the villain in this twisted fairy tale.
"Clara, with all due respect, this is between Melissa and me." "It's really not. She's my sister," Clara interrupted. And I could practically see her getting all puffed up with righteous indignation.
"And what she's doing is amazing. She's giving the gift of life to people who can't have children. It's practically saintly." Saintly. Jesus Christ.
"You know what would be saintly, Clara? If Charles and Vivien adopted one of the thousands of kids who need homes instead of paying my wife to manufacture them a custom baby." The line went quiet for a second, and I thought maybe I'd actually gotten through to her. But then she came back swinging.