Date: Monday, December 1st, 2014
Mid-afternoon


Word Count: 1151

When Olivia Battaglia sat next to Paris on the marley floor of the dance studio, Paris smiled at her in greeting but didn't otherwise think anything of it.

Within the hierarchy of the Destiny City Ballet, Paris would be an apprentice for the duration of the school year, at which time she would graduate, be offered a contract, and begin her way up the ranks, starting in the corps de ballet. Olivia Battaglia, on the other hand, had been bumped up to soloist earlier last season.

She was twenty-fours years old, had one child with her high-school sweetheart, principal dancer Jacoby Robinson, to whom she was recently engaged. Without stage make-up she was decidedly plain looking, but she had the build and technical skill of a longtime professional, and a pleasant attitude which garnered unceasing praise. Paris spoke with her occasionally, usually about trivial things, and every so often Olivia would offer Paris advise.

But they were not quite friends. Olivia was shy and reserved; there was something distant and unreachable about her that kept Paris from drawing too close. Instead, Paris was drawn to the other apprentices and some of the dancers in the corps, while Olivia continued on her path as a quiet, rising star.

So it came as a surprise to Paris when Olivia opened the conversation with, “Some of the girls were saying that you and Chris were thinking of having a baby.”

Everyone in the company called Chris by his name, even if they'd never met him. Most of the dancers knew him for his baseball career; others had heard Paris talk about him often enough to feel comfortable tossing his name around whether or not they knew him personally. That wasn't what piqued Paris's curiosity.

What surprised Paris was that Olivia would seek her out to talk to her about something that had nothing to do with dance or the weather.

“We are,” Paris said, watching her curiously. “Through surrogacy, because... well...”

The statement remained incomplete. Paris simply shrugged her shoulders and left it at that. That she was a transwoman was not a secret within the ballet community. Though she'd never officially come out to the public, choosing to keep that between her family and friends, most of her colleagues were nonetheless aware.

Olivia smiled her understanding and asked, “Have you found a surrogate yet?”

“Oh, no,” Paris said. She found it was somewhat awkward to talk about, if only because she was a little unsure how the entire process would play out. “We have a consultation with an agency on Friday, and my mom's putting us in touch with someone she knows who specializes in surrogacy and reproductive law, so we haven't really gotten that far into the process yet.”

Paris didn't ask the obvious “why.” She assumed Olivia's question would be a common one the more people found out about it.

There was a brief moment of silence in which Olivia seemed to expect a question in return. When Paris said nothing else, Olivia spoke up again.

“I'd like to help you,” she said.

“Help?” Paris wondered. “How?”

Olivia laughed awkwardly but continued to smile. “I don't know how else to word it except to come right out and say it,” she said, “so here goes. I'd be happy to be your surrogate.”

With that, Paris sat for a few moments gaping. Olivia laughed again, but it sounded amused this time. Nevertheless, she seemed compelled to explain herself.

“I really admire you,” she said, and Paris thought that was odd because she didn't see herself as someone to admire. “You're ambitious but kind and hardworking, and you're extremely talented. You pick up on things so quickly. If I had your sort of talent, I would have been made principal last year instead of finally making it to soloist.”

Paris's cheeks warmed in an uncharacteristic blush at the compliment, and at the insinuation that she'd rise through the ranks quicker than Olivia had. She felt pride in herself, of course, but it wasn't often that she received these sorts of compliments from a senior dancer.

“But you'll be principal soon,” Paris said.

Olivia shook her head. She didn't seem distressed by the denial at all. Rather, she said kindly, “Carolyn will get it before I do. She's First Soloist and the better dancer.”

“You'll be First Soloist then.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Paris stared in disbelief. She couldn't imagine herself being so blasé about such a thing.

“Don't you care about your career at all?” she asked.

“Of course I do,” Olivia said. She gave another chuckle at the aghast look Paris was showing her. “But I'm also practical and realistic. I'm also not as ambitious as you or Carolyn. For now, I'm happy right where I am, and if I happen to stay at Soloist for a few more years I'm okay with that.”

“And you... you want to do this for me?”

“When I heard that you and Chris were looking into it, I wanted to do something to help. And I thought this would be more of a help than anything else.”

“But... that's an awful lot,” Paris said. “I couldn't ask you to do that.”

“You're not asking,” Olivia told her. “I'm offering. Jacoby's fine with it. We've already discussed it. He says as long as he gets a few copies of Chris's autograph out of it, that's enough for him.”

She laughed at her own joke. Paris found herself laughing with her, even if she still felt a bit out of sorts over the offer.

It wasn't that Paris didn't want to accept, she just hadn't expected anything like this to happen. She'd already mentally prepared herself for the exhaustive and lengthy process of screening potential surrogates and working with the agency and the lawyer to find the perfect match. None of her friends were suitable, and she couldn't have asked it of them if they were. It was too big of a responsibility to expect of someone she knew.

Yet here was Olivia Battaglia offering to help as if it would make her the happiest woman in the world to do something so kind and generous for an apprentice dancer and a rookie pitcher she didn't even know all that well. Paris couldn't imagine having been able to offer so easily had she been in Olivia's place.

“I... I'll talk to Chris,” Paris said. It was as much of an agreement as she could muster through her shock and gratitude.

Olivia smiled again. “Take your time. The offer stands whenever you're ready.”

Paris nodded her acceptance quietly, overwhelmed as she was by how quickly things were coming together.

For most of her life she'd considered herself to be quite unlucky. These days, she was beginning to realize that that wasn't entirely the case.