The Choices We Make (28 page)

Acknowledgments

In many ways, this is the book I've been waiting to write. While a work of fiction—I have never lived in San Francisco, been a recipe developer or felt an earthquake rumble under my feet—hints of my personal story are scattered throughout the pages. And so, my first thank-you goes to my sister Jenna Free Davis (along with her husband, D'Arcy, and children, Emily and Gavin), who was our gestational surrogate and delivered into our arms a beautiful little girl we named Addison Mae. Without Jenna I would not be a mother. It's that simple; I'm that grateful.

While the procedures and emotional impact of infertility were familiar and unfortunately easy to write, I relied on a number of people to bring life to this book and to make it real.

Thanks to Google and the folks who post beautiful photos and descriptions of San Francisco so I could imagine it without living there, and especially to Catherine Nomura for sending me a travel-book-worthy email detailing not just the places and things, but the cultural feel of the city—and also for letting me know no one there calls it “San Fran.” Closer to home, thanks to Starbucks and Chapters on Fairview Street for providing an away-from-home office, as well as plenty of hot coffee.

To Kristen Eppich—food stylist, writer and recipe developer extraordinaire—thank you for sharing what it's like to create magic with simple ingredients, and for answering mildly inappropriate questions like, “So, how much weight did you gain at your first job?”

To attorney Richard Vaughn, of the California-based International Fertility Law Group Inc., thank you for not only answering my (many) questions via phone and email, but also for reading sections of the book to ensure I wasn't screwing up the legalese. And thanks to Toronto lawyer and friend Sara Cohen for introducing me to Rich, and for indulging my surrogacy law questions over morning coffee. Thanks also to ICU physician Dr. Heather Whittingham, who graciously debated horrific medical scenarios and outcomes while our daughters attended art lessons, and to Dr. Kim Foster, who offered medical advice along with eagle-eyed feedback. Any and all errors in this book are mine and mine alone.

To my editor Michelle Meade, who seems to understand what I'm trying to do with my words even when I don't, thank you for always having your door open and for sitting on my shoulder as I write. We make the best team. And to Carolyn Forde, my agent and chief cheerleader, your faith in my books—current and future—does not go unnoticed. Thank you for the exclamation marks and reassurances—I knew I made the right choice way back when. To the teams at MIRA Books, Harlequin, HarperCollins and BookSparks, I literally could not call myself an author without your support and tireless work to turn these words of mine into real, on-the-shelf books. You certainly make me look good, and make it look easy.

To all the readers out there, thank you for buying, borrowing, reading and discussing our stories! Without you there is little reason to write. To my writer friends, beta readers, and the awesome book bloggers (especially Melissa Amster, Andrea Peskind Katz and Jennifer O'Regan), thank you for the support. To Rosey Kaes, Kim Foster, Becky Stanisic and Annabel Fitzsimmons—thank you for hashing out plot lines and reading my words, even when they were a giant mess. A special thanks to Tracey Garvis Graves, Lori Nelson Spielman, Taylor Jenkins Reid, Mary Kubica, Rachel Goodman, Amy E. Reichert, Colleen Oakley, Sona Charaipotra, Shelly King and the Tall Poppies for helping me navigate debut author land—I'd be lost without all of you.

To Tracy Chappell, a mother, writer and editor friend who died suddenly of a brain aneurysm at the too-young age of forty-one, right around the time I was revising this novel—thank you for reminding me that while this book is not my story, someone else may be living it. This story is better because of you.

To my parents, Bob and Judy, and their significant others, Brenda and Jürgen, along with my siblings—it's been easy to strive for what I want because you've always given me a soft place to land. I love you.

And finally, to Adam and Addison—I couldn't do any of this without you. I love you more than the moon and the stars combined.

THE
CHOICES
WE
MAKE

KARMA BROWN

Reader's Guide

Questions for Discussion

1. Hannah is desperate to become a mother, but she is extremely hesitant to consider adopting. Do her concerns seem valid to you? Why do you think surrogacy appeals to her as a better option?
   
2. Hannah and Ben have a number of difficult and tense conversations over the years as they've dealt with infertility. For a long time, they seem at odds when it comes to deciding on an alternative option, and it puts obvious strain on their relationship. What do you think of the way she and Ben handle these conversations?
   
3. While Kate is lucky enough to have two healthy daughters, she's also experienced difficult loss in her life. Discuss the role of her parents in this novel. How do you think the death of her mother affects the decisions she's making? What do you think about the way her father is attempting to reenter her life at this late stage?
   
4. When Kate first broaches the idea of being Hannah and Ben's surrogate, David is not only firmly opposed but furious at the suggestion. Discuss his reaction, and the way Kate handles it.
   
5. What do you think of the characters' decision to go through with a surrogate pregnancy? Have you or anyone you've known used a surrogate, and what was that experience like? If not, what do you imagine the most challenging part of the process would be?
   
6. Lyla, at first, seemed the perfect solution for Hannah to become a mother. How did you feel when Lyla backed out of the surrogacy because of racial discrimination?
   
7. After Kate's aneurysm and coma, Hannah and David struggle to find common ground. Did you think Hannah handled things appropriately by pushing back so strongly against David? Do you think Hannah did the right thing by pushing to continue the pregnancy after Kate's collapse?
   
8. Was David unreasonable when he kicked Hannah out of Kate's hospital room? Did Hannah and Ben have a moral obligation to support David's decision?
   
9. What do you think Kate would have done, if the situation were reversed? Put yourself in Hannah's shoes—what might you have done differently?
   

A Conversation with Karma Brown

The Choices We Make
is a very personal story for you. Can you explain where the idea for this story came from, and how it relates to your own experience?

I have always wanted to write a story about surrogacy, and in fact, one of my earlier “practice” (read: never to be published) books focused on a similar theme.
The Choices We Make
was inspired by my own story of becoming a mother (my sister was our surrogate after cancer left me unable to carry a pregnancy), as well as a news story about a pregnant woman who became comatose, and the heartbreaking battle that raged for months between the hospital and her family about whether or not to continue the pregnancy.

While you drew on your own emotional experience when writing this book, the details surrounding the surrogacy process and the complications are completely different. What kind of research went into creating this story?

My sister was our gestational carrier, meaning we provided the bun and she provided the oven. So my daughter is biologically ours, whereas in
The Choices We Make
, Kate is the biological mother as well as the surrogate mother. Despite not having personal experience with traditional surrogacy, much of the process is similar to gestational surrogacy (where the surrogate mother carries an embryo created by another couple)—especially the fertility procedures and emotional aspects. In terms of the medical and legal research, I was fortunate to work with knowledgeable and highly skilled fertility law attorneys and physicians, who all generously answered every question I asked (there were many).

Much of the novel is told in dual perspective, giving the reader a glimpse into the hearts of both Kate and Hannah as they embark on this incredible journey together. Can you talk about what it was like to write about these women and the bond they share?

In some ways this novel is a (very long) thank-you note and love letter to my sister Jenna, who carried our daughter for us. While most people assume our journey was simple—easy because of our close relationship—there were challenges along the way and moments when we both struggled. It's not easy to carry a baby for someone else, nor is it easy to be the one unable to experience pregnancy firsthand. So I wanted to capture both sides of that, to show it as the honest, challenging, heartwarming and miraculous experience it is.

Like
The Choices We Make
, your previous novel,
Come Away with Me
, is a heart-wrenching, emotional story about love and loss—exploring themes of grief, healing, motherhood and intimate relationships between lovers and friends. Can you discuss the significance of these themes in your writing?

I keep telling people I'm a very happy person who writes heartbreaking stories! But if I dig deeper, the truth is I write about things that scare me, make me weep and keep me up at night. I'm fascinated by how people rebound from tragedies, how they get on with the business of living even when the life they know crumbles around them. That's a kind of courage I'm incredibly drawn to, and I love exploring it through my writing.

What was your greatest challenge in writing
The Choices We Make
? What about your greatest pleasure?

The hardest part about writing this book was how emotional it was for me—while our situation was completely different, much of what happens to Kate and Hannah and their families came from my fears when we were doing our own surrogacy. The thought of something tragic happening to my sister—however remote—was for me almost a deal breaker. The greatest pleasure was the opportunity to tell a story that's been trying to burst out of me for a long time. I hope, as they turn the pages, readers feel the emotion that went into writing it.

Do you read other fiction while you're doing your own writing or do you find it distracting?

I'm always reading—whether I'm drafting my own story, or deep into revisions, or between projects. And I'm often reading more than one book at a time, something my husband thinks is one of my superpowers—the ability to keep track of three or four plotlines and sets of characters all at once. But I wouldn't be able to write a single word without reading. It provides great inspiration and motivation for my writing, and is, in my opinion, one of the greatest luxuries of life.

Can you describe your writing process? Do you outline first or dive right in? Do you have a routine? Do you let anyone read early drafts, or do you keep the story private until it's finished?

When I'm drafting a book I'm up early...5:00 a.m. every day, until it's done! I'm a little more relaxed through the rest of the book's life cycle, though I still tend to be an early riser. There's nothing better for my writer's brain than a presunrise dark sky, a giant mug of coffee and the stillness of the morning. It's taken me a few books to find the process that works best, but generally I start with a detailed synopsis of the book idea, then move to Scrivener (a workhorse of a writing tool I would be lost without) to outline the chapters, and only then do I start writing. But even though I outline 90 percent of the book before I write it, I leave wiggle room for surprises as I go. And the little secret I'm certain drives my editor crazy is that I never know how a book will end until I'm about halfway through writing it.

With two books under your belt now, what's on the horizon for you? Are you working on a new project?

I am always working on a new project! I'm one of those authors with too many ideas and not enough time to write them in...which is a great, if not frustrating, problem to have. Though I can't share specifics on what's coming next, I can say my stories will continue to be big, emotional novels featuring honest, relatable characters—and that you will likely always need a box of tissues nearby.

1

Even now, the smell of peppermint still makes me cry...

2

We drive the dark streets a little too fast for the weather. Beside me, Gabe crunches a candy cane and drums his thumbs against the steering wheel, singing along to his favorite holiday tune on the radio.

He reaches for the second half of the candy cane with one hand and uses the other to turn up the radio. I tell him to keep his hands on the wheel, but I'm not sure he hears me above the music.

If only he listened, if only I said it louder.

It's 6:56 p.m. I watch the clock nervously...6:57 p.m. We're going to be late, and my mother-in-law hates it when we're late.

At this hour the sky has already turned black, a particularly depressing fact about winter in Chicago. But the twinkling Christmas lights that wind around the lampposts almost make up for it. On vacation from the law firm, with a whole six days of freedom, Gabe is in a feisty and festive mood. Plus, it's Christmas Eve and we have so many reasons to celebrate this year. He crunches the candy cane enthusiastically, too impatient to savor it. The candy's sweet, refreshing scent fills the car.

“Your mom is going to lose it,” I say, eyeing the Jetta's dashboard clock. “We're going to be so late.”

“Five minutes. Ten tops,” Gabe says. “She'll live.”

“Wonder if we will.” I give him a wry glance. After eight years of being part of the Lawson family, there are three things I can count on. One, they love to eat, and dropping by for lunch generally means a six-course meal, prepared from scratch by his Italian mother. Two, Gabe inherited his love of life and unwavering positivity from his dad, which I am grateful for. And three, you never, ever, show up late to a Lawson family event...or without a good bottle of red wine.

“You need to relax, my love.” Gabe takes his right hand off the wheel and rests it on my knee briefly, before sliding it up my thigh. His calloused palm—rough from sanding the antique cradle he's been refinishing, the one I slept in as a baby—scratches against my tights as it works its way along my thigh. The bottle of wine tumbles off my lap.

“Gabe!” I laugh and playfully swat at him. I right the wine bottle and place it between my suede winter boots on the floor. “Get your hand back on the wheel. If this bottle breaks, you're done for.”

But he keeps his hand where it is. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his smile widening. “This will do the trick.”

“We're almost there,” I protest, pressing my hand down hard on his, temporarily stopping its climb. “Let's save this for later, okay? When we're not late and you're not driving.”

“Don't worry, I'm an expert one-handed driver,” he says, inching his hand higher despite my efforts. “Besides, I don't want you going into my parents' house all wound up. You know how my mom smells fear.” He turns and winks at me, and I melt. Like always.

His fingers hook the thick waistband of my tights, which sit just underneath my newly swelling belly, and I stop protesting.

Rockin' around the Christmas tree...have a happy holiday...

My breath catches as Gabe's fingers work their way past the waistband and into my not sexy, but quite practical, maternity underwear. I look over at him but he stares straight ahead, a smile playing on his lips. I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest, as Gabe's hand moves lower...

Then, suddenly, too much movement in all the wrong directions. Like riding a roller coaster with closed eyes, unable to figure out which turn is coming next. Except there's no exhilaration—only panic at the realization Gabe no longer has control over the car. The tires lose their grip on the road and Gabe's fingers wrench from between my legs. I gasp out his name and brace my hands against the edges of my seat. We fishtail side to side, and for a moment it seems as though Gabe is back in control. I allow myself a split second of relief. One quick thought that being late to dinner isn't the worst thing that could happen, after all. An instant to contemplate how lucky we are.

Then, with a sickening lurch, the car swerves. The momentum is so great it tosses me sideways like a rag doll, and my head cracks against the window. Stars explode behind my eyes, mingling with the lampposts' twinkle lights and creating a dizzying kaleidoscope. I feel like I'm watching a lit Ferris wheel, spinning high in the night sky.

As our car smashes into the lamppost, steel meets steel and everything slows down. I wonder if the bottle of wine will be okay. I think that at least now we have a good excuse for being late for dinner. And I'm amazed the radio continues playing, as if nothing has changed.

After the impact comes the shriek of metal as our sturdy car rips practically in two. And still, the music plays. When the airbag explodes into my face and chest I worry I may suffocate. But then a rush of pain, deep and frightening, crushes my belly—where the most important thing to both of us is nestled—and it takes my breath away.

Seconds later, everything goes quiet.

I try to call out for Gabe, but have no air left to make a sound. With my left hand I reach out, hoping to feel him beside me. I need to tell him something is wrong. My head hurts terribly.

He'll know what to do.

But there's nothing beside me except cold, empty space.

Then I realize it's snowing inside the car.

We will not be lucky this time.

Copyright © 2015 by Karma Brown