"Your brothers are going to lose their minds."
"Ryan's going to start building a trust fund immediately. Brennen's going to cry."
"Sophie and Julie are going to plan two baby showers."
"That's excessive."
"That's our life now. Excessive."
We sit there for another few minutes, processing. Two babies. One boy, one girl. Due in March—probably earlier, since twins typically come early.
My phone buzzes. Ryan.
Ryan:Dinner Friday at my place. Just family. Celebrate your Shadow Strike victory properly now that you're not nauseous. Can't take no for an answer.
I show Miles the text.
"Friday dinner," he says. "Perfect time to tell them about the twins."
"They're going to freak out."
"Completely freak out." He grins. "It'll be hilarious."
"You're terrible."
"I prefer 'entertaining.'" He starts his car. "Come on. We need to go home and stare at these ultrasound photos while having simultaneous panic attacks."
"That's romantic."
"That's realistic."
At home, Miles immediately disappears into his office, muttering something about updating spreadsheets for twin quantities. I hear him on the phone with someone—probably ordering every baby book ever written about twins.
I head upstairs to the nursery—the room we started painting last week. Soft yellow walls, white trim, one crib already assembled in the corner. We were so proud of ourselves for being prepared.
Now we need two cribs. Two car seats. Two of everything.
I stand in the doorway, hand on my stomach where two babies are currently growing. A boy and a girl. Twins.
Miles appears behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You okay?"
"I'm pregnant with twins."
"We established that."
"TWINS, Miles."
"I'm aware."
"How are we going to handle twins?"
"The same way we handle everything else. Together. Probably with significantly less sleep and more pickles."
I lean back against him. "Friday dinner. We tell everyone."
"Friday dinner," he confirms. "Your brothers' heads will explode."
"Brennen will definitely cry."
