thatâs where the gift originated.â
âProbably.â I tilted my head and added, âTo be honest, Iâm not sure where my daughterâs talent comes from, but her teachers at the Takahashi school say itâs extraordinary. The money from this programâif Iâm acceptedâwill help us pay for her tuition in the years ahead.â
Natasha flipped another page. âYou passed your initial medical screening with flying colors, and I really enjoyed our home visit. Your daughter is lovely and your husband is quite charming.â She folded her hands on the desk and smiled. âAs long as thepsychologist didnât spot any problems in the screening interview, you should be on your way.â
I pressed my damp palms together, hoping Natasha wouldnât notice my trembling fingers. Iâd never been more thrilled, but what if the shrink found faults that wouldnât be acceptable in a gestational carrier? Maybe Natasha would learn that I consistently run late for appointments. Or that I have a tendency to wallow in guilt when I make a mistake. Or that my husband spoils me far more than he should.
Maybe the psychologist had added up all my shortcomings and declared that I wasnât suited for motherhood of any kind, even the traditional variety.
Natasha arranged her papers in a neat pile, closed the folder, and looked over at me. âDid you bring the marriage satisfaction questionnaire? And the personality tests?â
âI have them in my purse.â I pulled an oversized envelope from my bag and handed it across the desk. âWas there anything else? Iâve been so scatterbrained lately and with all the Christmas partiesââ
âI have nothing else.â Natasha put the envelope in the folder, then pushed the folder aside and picked up her pen, her eyes glinting. âIâll look those pages over later, but now I want to know what you will enjoy most about being a gestational carrier.â
I crossed and uncrossed my legs as I searched for an honest but commendable answer. âWhat will I enjoy? Helping someone. I really mean that. At college I majored in psychology because Iâve wanted to be a social worker ever since middle school.â
Natasha clicked her pen. âNot the typical choice for a middle school girl. Did something specific lead you to social work?â
âI saw a movieâ Radio Flyer, I think it was calledâabout a boy whoâd been abused by his stepfather. I wanted to help that kid in the movie so much I found myself wishing I could jump through the screen. Maybe thatâs crazy, but thatâs when I learned that social workers help kids like that boy. People have always been important to me.â
âDid you identify with the child in the movie?â
Recognizing the motive behind the question, I shook my head. âI wasnât ever abused. My dad died when I was six, so after that it was just me and Mom. We didnât always get alongâin fact, weâre not close even nowâbut I canât say I was ever abused. I was probably a little spoiled because my daddy would have given me the moon if Iâd asked for it. I loved him more than anything, and when I lost him . . . well, it wasnât easy.â
âIf spoiling a child results in the kind of altruism youâre displaying, maybe the world needs to rethink its child-rearing philosophies.â Natasha smiled and wrote something on her notepad. âWhat do you remember most about your dad?â
âMost? I have so many memories, itâs hard to pick just one. He sold insurance and worked out of an office in the house, so he was always around when I was littleâin fact, I think he changed more of my diapers than Mom did, because she worked at a pet shop in town. He taught me how to count, he read me stories, he would sing silly songs to make me laughââ I sighed as a flood of nostalgia swept over
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