She sat down in the waiting room after checking in and slid her worn copy of Turtle Moon out of her purse, one she had read at least three times before. Alice Hoffman was her favorite author, ever since she saw the movie Practical Magic when she was thirteen. Back then she had wanted to be a witch, like those she saw in the movie. Maybe her life would have went better if she had been able to cast spells on those who betrayed her. Or at least had a family like theirs who didn't betray one another. The love in that movie family was palpable. She had wondered if real life families could ever be that way or was it only in fairy tales?
Nicole Kidman played the part of Gillian Owens, who's sister nicknamed her Jilly-Bean. She wanted a nickname like that. Or a sister that cared enough about her to give her a nickname like that. But instead all she had was an angry, hateful sister who she wanted to smack regularly. Oh and she had nicknames for her. Just not ones she'd repeat out loud.
A stack of parenting magazines sat beside her on a table. She ignored them and read her book in silence as she waited for her name to be called. Laughter came from her left. She turned to see two young men in their early twenties staring at her. Back in her early teens, she may have smiled and waved back, but not today. Not at age nineteen after having a baby. Well, of course she didn't actually have any children. It was a surrogate pregnancy. But she had the figure of a mother, so at least she got something out of it besides the money, right? The men turned away from her as she looked at them and pretended to play on their phones, trying to suppress the smiles on their faces.
She was used to the stares, as they came regularly. She was a scathing beauty in her early teens. She got compliments wherever she went. There wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't admired in one way or another by strangers. But ever since having a baby, they all stopped. When she was pregnant, everyone knew and fawned over her growing belly. But now, she was overweight without a baby to show over it. So, she had to figure out a new way to get attention. So, in a rash decision a week before, she got out a shaver and gave herself a mohawk that was three inches high and dyed purple with dye she got from the neighborhood punk store. It wasn't a large mohawk, but it was wild enough to get attention. That, added to her size, made for an unusual combination that generated a lot of looks. Just the thing she was going for. Attention was attention, whether it was positive or negative. Eventually she'd tired of the negative and find a way to make it positive again.
Her mother hated how she looked. But she was comfortable with her mother's hate. It had been there for so long, she didn't know how to live without it. And the idea of getting pregnant at age eighteen only to give her baby away did nothing for their relationship at all. Although Jessica was more convinced her mother was angry she had ruined her figure with pregnancy and shaving her hair off, rather than losing a grandchild. But the truth was, Jessica had stopped being a stick-figure many years ago. Her preteen years left her round and curvy, but as she got into her older teens, the curves turned into jiggles. Small jiggles, but jiggles nonetheless. And her mother was always there, pointing this fact out as much as she could. But never as much as when she was pregnant or after giving birth.
"After I had you, I was back to a size two in a month!" she'd screech at her.
"Yes, you starved yourself and worked out obsessively until you'd pass out!" she'd reply with a finger in her mother's face as she rolled her eyes.
"Yes, but it worked, didn't it? I have never had a weight issue like you do. Because I know the meaning of hard work!" she'd yell right back.
Jessica would storm out and go home, to the apartment her surrogacy money paid for a year back. With it being private and not through an agency, there were no rules, so she demanded she got paid at least three-fourths of it up front to pay for expenses. The couple ended up paying her more than agreed upon, much more than any agency would had paid her. Unlike her mother, she knew the meaning of doing less work for more money, which was a far better way to live in her opinion.
Jessica had never mourned her child. Because, at the time, she had convinced herself it was never her baby to have. There were recent nights, though, that she'd rub her still-swollen belly in bed, and remember what it felt like to have life inside of her. To be honest, she really didn't miss the actual baby. What she missed was being pregnant. But it had only been six months since the baby was born, and it was too soon to get pregnant again. The doctor had told her to try to wait at least a year, when she asked about it, if not more. Being that her surrogacy was probably illegal due to her age, she had lied to them and said she has given the baby up for adoption (which wasn't a complete lie, she just got paid for it). So she couldn't go back to the same doctor if she made the choice to do it again anytime soon. What started out as a way to make enough money to leave her mother's home for good, seemed, now, like something that might turn out to be her calling.
Surrogate motherhood. Being pregnant could be her job. Granted, it might not make enough to pay her bills forever, but if she played her cards right, she could afford to do a lot with it, along with working part time to cover the rest. But if she found a way to become a professional private surrogate, maybe she could ask for more? She smiled at the idea of living out her dreams. A life away from her family. Never really having to work a nine to five. A cushy job with nothing but benefits.
She didn't want to actually keep the children she'd eventually have. Unlike other mothers who wanted the exact opposite of what she did, she just wanted to carry them. Do their dirty work, so to speak. Everything about being pregnant enthralled her. Buying new clothes. Parking in maternity spots. Strangers asking when she was due. The fussing over her during doctor's appointments. Everything about it was thrilling. Even when she has placenta previa during her second trimester: what other pregnant women saw as a horrible situation, she saw it as somewhat of an adventure. The daily ultrasounds. The hospital stays. When the placenta eventually grew upwards with the baby and away from her cervix, she was almost disappointed. But, soon that was replaced with constant heartburn and swelling of her feet. Every little thing was a chance for being doted upon.
Deep down, Jessica knew her mother was jealous of her. Whenever she would make a point of talking about the pregnancy, she would change the subject while Jessica was speaking, to revert the conversation back to herself. When her mother was pregnant with Jessica's older sister, she was stuck at home with her own mother, living in Mexico, destitute, forced to panhandle for practically nothing. Her mother, a local prostitute, made a few peso's a day, and they ended up having to live on the kindness of others. Which in rural Mexico, meant absolutely nothing, as nobody had a pot to piss in, much less any food to share.
Jessica's white American father had come into her mother's town as a Catholic missionary, saw her very pregnant mother, radiant with life inside of her, and he felt instantly in love (as the story went as her father told it) and "saved the day" (as story went as her mother told it). Neither one spoke the other's language, but it didn't matter. He brought her back with him, gave her food, a safe place to live, and that was that. Later, she popped out two more children with Jessica being the third and final child. Eventually her mother learned enough broken English to get by in life, but not enough to make any lasting relationships with her neighbors or friends outside of her home. Jessica was sure she preferred it that way. Being unable to converse with the world around her, she could always be the victim that needed her children to take care of her. But now, Jessica was the only one left, as her brother and sister disowned their mother years ago. And with with her new found financial independence, she could do the same.
And the fact that Jessica had insurance with her first pregnancy (something her mother had never even heard of before coming to the states) drove her mother insane. "You have no idea, mija, what it was like for me, you spoiled brat! You should have to be forced to know what it was like to eat out garbage cans and not know if you'd live through the night. Then you'd know what real life is like! All you've ever known was luxury!"
It was true. She had only known luxury. Her father had been a high up official in their church and went on many missionary trips a year. The church was very generous with their family due to her father's work (and Jessica assumed the pity they felt for them because of the generosity of her father for saving her mother from a life of poverty). But the only luxury Jessica knew as monetary. She never knew what it was like to have a mother say "I love you." Or what it was like to feel any kind of love at all. All she was knew was belittling, secrets, anger, violence, and domination. "The man rules the roost!" her father used to chant while drinking beer after church on Sundays while he chased Jessica and her brother around with a belt. She vowed to never marry. She was going to be the one who ruled the roost in her home. If she did ever marry, he would be a man who knew his place in life. She was never going to turn into her miserable mother and constantly need others to do things for her. Jessica learned at young age to only depend on herself. She realized that when you can't even count on your own mother, then who else was left?
Her rules, her way, forever. That was it. That was her motto she lived by. Now that she was of age, and moved out on her own, she implemented her motto every single day of her life. Nobody was going to control her ever again. Nobody. Not even her mother, who could die bitter and alone, for all she cared.
She looked down at her watch. Her appointment was eight minutes ago. She laid her book down in her lap and sighed. Two more minutes and she'd walk out. She wasn't allowed to be ten minutes late to her appointments, was she? No. So therefore it stood to reason that nobody was allowed to be ten minutes late for her, either. Respect was something you demanded in life, not sat around and waited to receive (the only thing she admitted to learning from her late father). A pregnant woman came out of the closed door to the doctor's office and the two young men left with her. Jessica tapped her fingers on her chair for as long as she could stand it. Her watch clicked another minute gone by.
She looked around, annoyed. There was nobody in the room anymore but her. She picked up her book, thought about the characters. If she were a witch, she'd just wiggle her finger at the nurse's area and her name would be immediately called. But she wasn't a witch. She was a mere mortal. The clock ticked another minute that went by. She may have only been a mere mortal, but she had the spirit of an angry witch who had had enough of waiting. So she put her book nicely into her purse, pulled out her sunglasses and keys, and got up. One more glance around. Nobody was coming.
It wasn't all a waste, she thought to herself. She had in less than ten minutes worked out more than most people do years. She knew what her life plan was from that day forward. And no matter what happened next, she knew it wasn't going to happen in the same town where her mother lived. Just like her siblings before her, she was getting out.
She slipped on her sunglasses as she let the OBGYN's door slam shut behind her. "Fuck 'em," she said aloud to the bright, sunny world around her. "Fuck 'em all." A smile spread across her painted red lips as she got into her blue Ford Acclaim and left everything she knew, and hated, behind.
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