"Ryan will start calculating college tuition."
"For both of them."
"Simultaneously."
I turn to face him. "Are we ready for this?"
"Absolutely not. But we're doing it anyway."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest." He glances at the single crib. "We've got four months. Maybe less if they come early."
"FOUR MONTHS, Miles. For TWO BABIES."
"I'll update my spreadsheets."
"Your spreadsheets aren't going to help when we have two screaming infants."
"My spreadsheets help with everything."
"You're insane."
"I prefer 'thoroughly prepared.'" He looks at the crib again. "We need another one of those."
"And another car seat. And double the diapers."
"I'm already making a list."
"Of course you are."
We stand in the partially painted nursery staring at the single crib that's now woefully insufficient. Miles pulls out his phone, presumably to start ordering duplicate everything.
"Friday," I say, watching him type. "We tell everyone about the twins."
"Friday," Miles agrees, still typing. "But first, I need to revise approximately twelve spreadsheets and order another crib."
"And I need to eat pickles while having an existential crisis."
"That's very on-brand for you."
"I'm nothing if not consistent."
He's already pulling up baby furniture websites. I head downstairs to stress-eat pickles straight from the jar.
Twins.
We're having twins.
Friday's going to be a disaster.
Chapter 12
Miles
Emma's been walking around the house all day holding the ultrasound pictures and occasionally whispering "twins" like she's testing if the word sounds real. I've been doing the same thing. We're both slightly unhinged.
It's been twenty-four hours since Dr. Martinez delivered the news that fundamentally changed our preparation timeline. One baby became two. Our carefully researched plans became instantly obsolete.
