Accidental Surrogate

Sinclair

A crash sounds upstairs. The second one today. I groan and put my head in my hand, honestly not wanting to know.

“Dominic?” I hear my mate call, requesting my assistance. I press my eyes shut, ignoring her for just…just one minute. “Dominic!”

“Seriously,” Roger murmurs, looking towards the door. “What were you thinking, letting her put this insane plan into action?”

I drop my hand and glare at my brother. “Ask me that again when you’re mated,” I murmur, steeling myself as I head out of the room. Roger doesn’t say anything as I go, though I feel his eyes on me. I ignore it.

“Ella?” I call from the base of the stairs. The seat of her stairlift is at the top, so she must be up there.

“Dominic!” Her faint voice comes to me, sounding relieved. “Can you come help? I’m…stuck.” I sigh and pull myself up the stairs.

Three days. Three days she’s had her wheelchairs and her stairlift, and while I’m pleased to see her spirits raised, it’s been a nightmare for me. Three days of watching her zoom around, crashing into every thing I own. I’ve already imagined six thousand ways this could go wrong – Ella sliding off of the stairlift and tumbling down the stairs, Ella somehow miraculously managing to run herself over with the chair, Ella crashing through the banister and flying through the air like Evil Knievel… 1

And you’d think that I was kidding, or exaggerating, but…

As I get to the top of the stairs, I turn to see her wedged, somehow, behind a potted fern in the corner.

“How did you even…do this?” I ask, exasperated, as I walk over to her.

She gives me a bright, if embarrassed, little smile. “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I just…went forward, and it was there…”

I sigh again – my three hundredth sigh of the day and lift the plant, freeing her. She zooms backwards in the wheelchair, grinding potting soil from the plant into my carpet as she goes. I sigh again. Three hundred and one.

“What are you even do-” I start, but she’s off already, waving to me as she heads down the hall towards our bedroom.

“Things to do!” she calls, waving over her shoulder. “Go back to work, I’ll catch up with you later!”

I shake my head, following her into the bedroom, eager to put a stop to this. “Ella,” I demand, striding in after her. “This has to stop – I’m going insane with worry –”

“What!” she exclaims, appalled, turning her chair in a little half circle so that she’s facing me. Why are you worried?”

staring at her, my mouth hanging open a

demands, frowning her pouty little mouth at

head. “Ella, in the past three days you’ve broken hundreds of dollars‘ worth

waving a flippant hand. “We can buy new

a hand down my face, trying to figure out how to say

cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me, sensing a “but” coming. I oblige her. But,” I continue, “baby, you’re the..you’re the worst wheelchair driver I’ve ever seen. I seriously don’t even know how you ever got a driver’s license,

amazing at this!

me when I say this –

then and I can’t help but laugh with her. It’s so ridiculous. But I’m so grateful that she finally sees

she asserts, giving me a

drops open and I don’t even know what to say. Jealousy… has

she picks up. “If I were bad at this, could

My stomach drops as I lurch forward, desperate to keep her from tipping over, but she just laughs at me as the chair rights itself, zooming out of my

that!” I gasp, glaring

she counters. “I’m fine- this chair can’t tip over,

can manage it,” I caution, “it’s you. Ella, please.”

you’re being just a little overprotective? I mean, sure, I get stuck behind a potted plant or two.” She shrugs. “So what? I’m fine.” She gives me a bright, happy smile, and I have to say it goes to my heart. It’s good to see her cheerful and engaged again. That’s why I let this go on as long as I did, but

her misery on her, could feel it in my very bones. But I could also feel her pride every morning when she sent me off to start my day. In many ways that was the one thing keeping her together – the idea that she was doing this for the baby, and was letting me go for our people. That

went, spending as little time on my work as I in good conscience could, and otherwise spending my time curled up with her, my troublesome

I stare at her now, as she smiles up at me. My sweet, clever girl. How do I do this?

I say calmly, putting out a hand towards her. “Enough chair for the day… my nerves are absolutely at their end. Please. For me. I’ll come to bed – we’ll

step closer to her, intending to pick her up and carry her to bed. But then, at the last second,

her fingers over the command board and zooming past me, right out

cry, growling as I turn to watch her fly out

to stop me,” she calls over her shoulder, “you’ll have

grows inside of me as I launch myself after her, out into the hallway and to the top of the stairs where

half scream, half cry of laugher and delight, pressing the button on her stairlift frantically to make it go faster. Luckily, as it was built for the elderly,

with her and pressing the emergency–stop button on the lift. Ella gives another little cry, laughing hard and

the bedroom and laying her down on the bed. When she’s settled I climb onto the bed as well, settling over her but holding myself up on my elbows