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I texted Albert the address, and he arrived fifteen minutes later.
“Thanks, Albert,” I said as we climbed into the back seat.
“Anytime. I was nearby anyway. I hope you’re well, Ms. Rebecca,” Albert said, noting the signage.
“I’m great, actually. I’m pregnant,” I said, passing him the ultrasound photo.
He looked at the photo and beamed. “Twins? Wow. Did you know I’m a twin?” Albert asked.
“I didn’t even know you had siblings!” Sebastian piped up from the back.
“Contrary to your belief, there are quite a few things you don’t know about me. Congratulations to both of you. And dibs on teaching them how to drive.”
I laughed. “Way to plan ahead!”
“Hey, I was going to do that!” Sebastian huffed.
“Sir, we want them to be able to obey traffic laws,” Albert shot back.
“Good one, Albert,” I said. My phone buzzed; it was a text from Jasmine asking me how my appointment went. After I took the test at Olivia’s, Jasmine and I stayed up until midnight. She also updated the plans for my bachelorette party from a bar crawl to a slumber party, combining my most recent passions: sleeping and sweets.
I called Jasmine. “It’s twins!” I blurted out, unable to keep the secret.
“As in two of them?!” Jasmine cried.
“That’s exactly what Sebastian said. Then he passed out.”
“I don’t blame him. Here, put me on speaker.”
I pressed speaker, and the sound of Jasmine’s laughter filled the car. “You two have really done it now! Becks, your mom’s going to kill you. You’ve got that fitting on Friday.”
“I know,” I groaned.
“Well, she’ll have to find out soon enough.”
“She’ll find out when my boobs crush the corset,” I said.
“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” Jasmine said, trying to reassure me.
“Jasmine! It barely fit the first time.”
“I’ll try and sneak some elastic into the boning,” Jasmine suggested. My mother had recently hired Jasmine after she fired a third tailor in one week.
“But even if it fits now, there’s no way in hell it’ll fit by my wedding day! You’ll need like three spools of elastic, Jas. There’s two of them!”
“I don’t know; I’m spit balling. Sebastian, do you have any ideas? Congrats, by the way.”
“You could say you’re sick?”
“That won’t work,” Jasmine and I said in unison.
“My mother made me go to my piano recital when I had a fever when I was seven. She didn’t want me to ‘disappoint’ anyone,” I explained.
“She doesn’t believe in sick days,” Jasmine added.
“She thinks it makes you look weak.”
Sebastian shook his head. “Okay, another ground rule: our kids get sick days.”
