“I gave my baby up at twenty and removed the fake boobs. I gave the parents a letter to give to her, when she’s older. In it I tell her that she has her father’s nose, her hair is perfect, and that she’d always be loved, lipstick or not.” She placed the mic back and stepped off the stage. The room went wild with cheers and applause. The bartender called for another person, who was just as passionate about what was upsetting them.
After the fifth person I realized that this was just a stage for people to vent without being judged. What an interesting concept. I looked over at Ethan who had been waiting for me to catch on.
“You want to try?”
I bit my lip, unsure. We listened to people talk about their cheating spouses, deaths that they were struggling with, drugs, their jobs. When the bartender called “Ol’ Blue Eyes,” Ethan stood up and hurried to the stage. I chuckled. That was the nickname Adrian had for him.
He took the mic and greeted everyone with that flirty smile he was known for and then started speaking.
“My wife is pregnant with someone else’s baby.” People boo’d and swore. He raised his hand. “She’s doing it for a good cause. She’s her best friend’s surrogate. I know I should be okay with it, but I’m really not. I waited years to finally have her, and less than two years into our marriage I feel like I’ve taken the backseat and she’s determined to help him.
She tries to keep me happy. Our sex life is great, if I can stop focusing on the baby kicking while we’re doing it. Like she knows that this is wrong. I’m an outsider. I want to shout, “She’s mine!” But I know that her friend could shout “She was mine first!” Because it’s true. How do you compete with people who have been inseparable since they were ten years old? You don’t.
Her friends say jump, she says ‘how high’. The feeling is mutual. They’d lay their lives down for her, but I still struggle to find my place in her life. Where do I fit in? In what order does she place her priorities?
I can’t wait until this baby is born. I can’t wait to have my wife back. To enjoy just a brief moment with only her. She’s my life, and I can’t even tell her how I feel. How do you tell someone you hate how perfect they are?”
He stopped, his chest heaving. He put the mic back and quickly left the stage. There was a pause and then another eruption of cheers. When he sat back in his chair, I saw that he was sweating. I clapped for him and he smirked.
“I haven’t wanted a drink in forever, but man I could really take one.” I gave him a sharp look and he assured me it would pass.
“Pretty in Purple,” the bartender announced, and Ethan nudged me.
“Is that me?” I asked incredulously. He shrugged. “He picked it out. I pointed and he wrote that name down. Go,” he urged. I stood up and slowly made my way to the stage. My hands were shaking. Was I going to do this?
I reached for the microphone and saw the people staring at me, waiting. I could barely get it out of the stand but managed to pull it down and hold it tightly.
“Hi. Umm..” I froze up, but once my eyes found Ethan I relaxed. He motioned for me to keep talking. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and started.
“I didn’t want to do it. I told my husband that I was okay with it. I could be the best aunt and dog mom ever, but he wasn’t okay with it. I did it for him.
We took my egg and his sperm and put it in his closest friend. She was the right person for the job, but I hate knowing that I don’t get that. I don’t get to feel her kick, or pee all the time, or throw up because I smelled barbecue chips.
I was gone when the baby kicked for the first time. You know who was there? My husband. He got to feel our child’s first kicks with another woman. They got to share that moment, while I was left to catch the next batch of movement.
She tries constantly to include me and make me excited about the baby, but the more she tries the more distant I feel about it. I can’t wait to be a mother, but I hate people thinking that my husband and her are more important than me. I’m important too!” I paused and people started agreeing with me.
“Amen!” Someone shouted.
“People have a way of taking beautiful moments and turning them ugly. I deserve those beautiful moments just as much as they do, and I really wish fans would see that.” I finished. I left the stage and began wiping my face. I don’t remember when I started crying. As I walked back to my table people patted me on the back and said kind words while they clapped.
When I returned to my seat Ethan was waiting for me with a napkin to clean my face up.
“How’d it feel?” He asked as the next person took the stage. I relaxed in my seat and thought about it. Smiling, I turned to him and laughed.
“So damn good.”
