"They're also starting to look desperate," Joselyn says. "Come on. We're going to Hibiscus Harbor. There's an amazing maternity boutique."
"I have work?—"
"You just said you're transitioning to part-time," Sarah points out helpfully.
Traitor.
"Fine." I stand and grab my purse. "But I'm not spending a fortune on clothes I'll only wear for a few months."
"That's what you think," Candace says ominously.
The maternity boutique in Hibiscus Harbor is enormous and slightly overwhelming. Racks of clothes in every style imaginable, all designed to accommodate growing stomachs without looking like tents.
"Start here," Joselyn says, handing me several dresses. "Try these on."
I disappear into the fitting room, wrestling my way into the first dress—a blue wrap style that looks flattering.
"Let's see!" Candace calls.
I emerge, feeling self-conscious.
"You look amazing," Candace says immediately.
"I look like I'm smuggling watermelons."
"Beautiful watermelons," Joselyn corrects.
"The twins are really showing now," Candace observes. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm carrying bowling balls that occasionally kick me in the ribs."
"They're kicking?" Joselyn lights up. "That's so cool!"
"It's weird. And constant. At least one baby never stops moving. The other baby must be kicking the other baby, which makes the first baby kick harder. I think they're already fighting."
Candace laughs. "They're establishing dominance early."
"Great. Competitive twins."
I try on six more dresses. Three fit well and look professional enough for work. Candace insists I get all of them.
"You need options," she says firmly. "And comfortable pants. And pajamas that fit."
By the time we leave, I'm loaded down with bags and wondering how I'm going to explain this to Miles.
"Thank you," I tell them in the parking lot. "Both of you. For doing this."
"That's what sisters are for," Joselyn says, hugging me.
Candace joins in. "You're not alone in this. We're all here. The whole chaotic Murphy family."
My throat tightens. "Stop making me emotional in parking lots."
"Never," Candace says, grinning.
Thirty-three weeks… I’m ready and I’m not ready.
At home that evening, I find Miles in the nursery surrounded by organized chaos. Two cribs now flank the room—both assembled, both with matching bedding. A large changing table sits between them. Tiny clothes hang in the closet, organized by size and color.
