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Everything’s happening too fast for either of us to process.
“Ah,” she says. “Here we go. Here’s our little peanut.”
She dials up the volume until a steady swishing sound fills the small room.
“Good strong heartbeat,” the tech says. “One hundred fifty beats per minute. See this black space? That’s the amniotic sac. And then see this flicker here? That’s the baby’s heart. You can even see baby’s little arms and legs if you look closer.”
Margaux’s eyes are glued to the screen, but mine are glued to her.
She’s as white as a ghost. Unblinking. I’m not even sure she’s breathing.
Seeing the baby moving inside of her probably makes it much more real than two lines on a pregnancy test.
A single tear slides down her cheek, though it’s impossible to know if it’s a happy tear or something else. Now is not the time to ask.
“How . . . how far along am I?” Margaux breaks her silence. Her voice is small, a jarring contrast against her larger-than-life persona.
“Let’s see here . . . ,” the tech says. “You are measuring—wait. Wait a minute. Hold on here.”
“What? What is it?” Margaux asks. She begins to sit up, then stops herself. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, well, well.” A lopsided grin fills the tech’s face. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a stowaway.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
My sister and I exchange confused looks.
“There are two babies in here,” she says, moving the transducer until the screen shows two separate sacs and two distinct flickering heartbeats. “Twins.”
Margaux wipes the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I—I’m going to throw up, I think.”
I grab the nearest trash can, and the tech scrambles to hand her a warm washcloth to wipe her belly with before flicking on the light.
Standing, I rub circles into Margaux’s back while simultaneously holding the trash can close in case she vomits.
“You want some water, sweetheart?” the tech asks.
“No, thank you.” Margaux closes her eyes and draws in a lungful of sterile air. “I . . . I think I’m going to be okay.”
“You sure?” The tech hovers by the light switch, her steel-blue eyes heavy with concern. “I just need to measure baby B really quick, and then I can send the doctor in. Do you think you’re feeling like you can lay back again so I can do that?”
Her voice is soft and comforting, like a preschool teacher convincing a scared child to cooperate.
Margaux nods, leaning back against the exam table.
A moment later, the room is dark, and the tech returns to her machine.
“Looks like they’re both measuring twelve weeks and three days,” she says before finishing up. She hands Margaux another damp washcloth before printing out a stream of photos longer than a CVS receipt. “These will go in your file. But these three are for you to keep.”
She hands Margaux two grainy black-and-white images: one of baby A, one of baby B, and one showing the two of them together.
“Congratulations on the twins,” she says with a genuine gleam in her eye. “I’ll send Dr. Bitner in shortly.”
The door closes with a heavy clunk, and a deafening silence falls over the room.
Margaux begins to speak, only instead of words, they’re sobs. Hunched over, she buries her head in her hands. The thin paper covering her lower half crinkles, growing more speckled with tears by the second. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze her as hard as I can.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
“I was just starting to wrap my head around one baby,” she says between sniffs. “But two? Two? Sloane, two babies . . .”
“I know, I know . . .” I hug her close.
“What am I going to do?” she asks.
“Do you know who the father is?” I’m guessing it’s her friend with benefits, Ethan. They met on a dating app years ago and quickly realized they were a terrible match in all areas outside of the bedroom. He’s a charismatic charmer with a blue-blooded pedigree, but he’s not exactly fatherhood material.
“It’s Ethan,” she says without hesitation. I hand her a Kleenex from a nearby box, and she blows her nose. “Can you believe this? Twins. With Ethan of all people.”
A knock at the door interrupts her pity party, and a moment later, a lanky woman with midnight-black hair pulled into a low bun enters.
“Hi, Margaux,” she says with a warm smile as she heads to the sink to wash her hands. “Good to see you again.”
Margaux mutters an emotional “Hello.”
“Looks like we have ourselves a little surprise, don’t we?” Dr. Bitner takes a seat on a rolling stool and scoots close to the exam table. “Or should I say, two little surprises.”
“I don’t understand how this happened . . . I have an IUD . . . I was getting my period. I mean, I think I was? Last time it was pretty light, but that’s normal for me,” Margaux rambles on as her doctor nods, listening intently, pitched forward like she’s waiting for the perfect time to interject.
