Dr. Martinez prints out ultrasound photos—multiple copies showing both babies. She explains that I'll need more frequent monitoring now, that twin pregnancies require closer observation but everything looks great so far.
I'm not really listening. I'm staring at the images in my hands.
Two babies.
We're having twins.
Miles hasn't let go of my hand. His eyes are locked on the ultrasound photos like they might disappear if he looks away.
"Any questions?" Dr. Martinez asks gently.
"All the questions," Miles says. "Every question. Starting with: how did this happen?"
"Well, when two people love each other very much?—"
"I mean the twins part."
"Fraternal twins—two separate eggs fertilized at the same time. Sometimes it runs in families, sometimes it's just chance."
"Chance," I repeat faintly.
Dr. Martinez hands us more pamphlets about twin pregnancy, dietary requirements, what to expect.
I'm clutching the ultrasound photos when we leave, Miles guiding me through the parking lot like I might forget how to walk.
In his car, we sit in silence, staring at the photos.
"Twins," I finally say.
"Twins."
"A boy and a girl."
"One of each."
"Miles."
"Yeah?"
"We need two of everything."
He starts laughing. Actually laughing, head dropping back against the seat. "Two cribs. Two car seats. Two of every single baby item I researched at 3am."
"We are so screwed.”
"We are."
He's still laughing, and now I'm laughing too, slightly hysterical in the medical office parking lot.
"We're having twins," I say again, like repetition will make it real.
"We're having twins." Miles takes my hand. "Are you okay?"
"I have no idea. Are you okay?"
"Also no idea." He studies the ultrasound photos. "But I'm excited. Terrified, but excited."
"Same."
