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so. It was a gut feeling, an instinct. And they were such a sweet-looking couple. She was almost petite in front of her husband’s tall and broad frame. He was built like a quarterback. Asha seemed like a good mother who talked fondly about her children and her hopes for them. She seemed sincere when she told them that she wanted to help other people and that was why she had decided to be a surrogate. Still, Priya had felt a slight pinch of worry that this woman was not fully on board. But the husband, the kind husband, the one who didn’t beat his wife, had been convincing.
    “Her first two pregnancies were so easy. Even the births and deliveries were easy,” he had said. He told them that he had been in the room with her when their babies were born. This was not the typical Indian husband waiting outside, avoiding the blood and mess with cigars or whatever it was that Indian men gave each other to celebrate the birth of a child.
    Priya picked up the blood-test results that were in front of her on the doctor’s table and traced her fingers over the strange numbers and figures and the line that read P REGNANCY = P OSITIVE .
    “You will make sure she takes her vitamins and all that?” Priya asked, even though she knew the answer. When Doctor Swati nodded, she nodded as well. “And you will see her once every two weeks?”
    “Yes, and then every week during her second trimester, and when she is in the third trimester, I will see her every day,” Doctor Swati said. “We have state-of-the-art prenatal care; you don’t have anything to worry about on that account.”
    “I know you are very professional. I don’t mean to doubt your expertise,” Priya said apologetically, then jumped to another question before she forgot to ask it. “Do you think it will be OK for us to talk to Asha once in a while?”
    “Yes, yes,” Doctor Swati said. “We can set it up so that you can call on the days she comes for her checkup. The nurse will give you an update, and you can talk to Asha as well.”
    “Can . . . I don’t mean to be rude, but can we send her some things that she might need? They would be gifts, not part of the payment,” Priya said.
    Doctor Swati seemed to think about it a moment and then said, “Some parents have no connection with the surrogate and that is their choice. If you choose to have a relationship with her, that is entirely up to you. I know some parents who send care packages once a month, something for the children and the mother. Things like moisturizer, shampoo, and underwear . . . small basic items. And I also know some parents who don’t want to know their surrogate at all. Sometimes that is easier.”
    Priya knew she wasn’t one of those mothers. She needed to know this woman. She needed to have a connection with her. A woman who was a complete stranger had transformed into one of the most important people in Priya’s life, at least for the next thirty-seven weeks. How could she not know her?

    “What are you smiling about?” Madhu asked as they drove back to Hyderabad.
    “I saw this very, very cute crib the other day at Babies ‘R’ Us . . . I went shopping with Nina—her sister’s having a baby—and I thought that if we ever did have a baby I’d get that bed,” Priya said. “How long do we have to wait, you think, before we can start buying stuff?”
    “Ah. My capitalist consumer American wife,” Madhu said cheerfully, but then suddenly became serious. “I’d rather we didn’t buy anything until the baby is born.”
    “But then we’ll have nothing when we come home,” Priya objected.
    Madhu shrugged. “I . . . I don’t want . . . it’s too hard, Priya. Remember that cricket uniform I bought when you were first pregnant? It killed me to throw it out, but I couldn’t keep it, either. I just don’t want to do that again.”
    “So, where will the baby sleep when we get home?” Priya asked.
    “Ask Nina or Krysta or one of your friends to start shopping for