Page 101 of The Surrogate Mother

He’s already got her blood running through his veins!Isn’t it enough that every time I look at my son, I’m searching for traces of that evil woman? I love David so much, but I can never erase the fact that half his genes belong toher.

But when Mrs. Johnson thrusts the blanket in my direction, I take it from her. There’s no point in arguing. Let her believe I’ll give David the blanket if it gives her peace. Except the only place this blanket is going is the trash bin.

Just as I’m closing the door behind me and throwing the deadlock into place, Sam emerges with David, who is now sparklingly clean and snuggled up in a green towel. Sam always brings him to me after his baths because he knows how cute I think he is when he’s all wrapped up like that. David is beaming at me, showing off his six tiny teeth.

“Who was at the door?” Sam asks.

“Monica’s stepmother.” I shudder as I say the words.

Sam’s face pales in what I’m certain is a reflection of my own. “How is Monica?”

“The same,” I say.

Except…

“Oh.” His shoulders sag. “That’s comforting.”

“Also,” I add, “she brought us this blanket that used to belong to Monica.”

I hold the blanket to my nose and jerk my head back at the smell. Monica’s lavender-scented perfume is clinging to it, intermingled with the faint smell of laundry detergent. As if I needed another reason to hate this blanket.

“Christ, why does she think we’d want that?” Sam also shudders as he holds David tight to his chest. “Get rid of it. Now.”

“Banka,” David says, pointing to the blanket with a chubby hand.

“That’s right,” I say. “It’s a yucky blanket and we’re going to get rid of it.”

I turn to throw the blanket in the trash, but just as my hand hovers over the bin, David’s face crumbles. “Banka!” he wails.

“No, buddy,” Sam says patiently. “That’s not for you.”

“Banka!” Tears are running down my son’s face. He’s flailing his body around to the point where Sam is having trouble hanging onto him. He’s quickly growing inconsolable. “Banka! Banka, Mama!”

My fingers are still gripping the blanket. I step away from the trash and David’s face fills with relief. “Banka,” he pleads with us.

“Don’t give it to him,” Sam says. “I don’t want it in my house.”

David’s hand is outstretched, trying his best to reach the blanket. He didn’t even get this excited over the toy truck he got for his first birthday (although to be fair, he liked the box the truck came in significantly more). He’s really upset. All this over ablanket?

“I’ll just let him have it for now,” I finally say.

“Abby, no…

“Within a day, he’ll lose interest in it,” I say. “I guarantee it.”

Sam is shaking his head, but it’s hard for me to say no to David when he gets like this. He’s my only child and I spoil him. So instead of throwing it away, I hold the yellow blanket out to him. He takes the blanket happily, burying his face in the lingering scent of Monica’s perfume.

THE END