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It doesn’t take long for me to register where I am. St. Mary’s. I recognize the pale green walls and the gray linoleum. There’s a clamp on my index finger—it’s connected to the monitor, keeping track of my vitals—and an IV running from what is probably a saline and vitamin bag right into my left arm. I do feel better. Brighter. Fuller, even. As if I’ve slept for days.
“There she is,” I hear Callie say.
Turning my head slowly, I find her standing by the window. She puts her phone away and calmly walks over, still in her green hospital scrubs. “How are you feeling?” she asks, smiling gently.
“I’m okay. Okay-ish. Not as bad as… What happened?”
“Oh, honey,” she chuckles nervously, pulling up a chair. “You fainted.”
“Right, yeah…”
“Because you’re pregnant.”
“Yeah, I was gonna talk to you about that,” I mumble, staring at my hands resting in my lap. I don’t know why I feel so ashamed over any of this—or maybe it’s not shame; it’s just disappointment because I’ve gone and done it again, this time with the man of my dreams who’s about to leave my life forever. “I just found out. How long have I been here?”
“A few hours. Vincent brought you in,” she says. “You were dehydrated and stressed out of your mind, Becky. It takes a toll…”
“I know. I’m sorry…”
“Let me guess—Todd?”
I give her a sad look and exhale deeply. “I’m an idiot.”
“A hopeful idiot, I’ll give you that. At least you aimed higher up the food chain this time around.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t even pay attention; I thought I was out of my fertile window,” I reply. “But then again, I only thought about that the next day. Well, more like hoped. I hoped I was out of my fertile window. I guess I wasn’t.”
“Does he know?”
“No, and he can’t know. He’s selling the company and going away, and I have no intention of holding him back. He’s already been so kind and generous to Elliot and me,” I say, holding back tears.
Callie nods slowly, a smile still testing her lips. She’s got something to say but she is holding back; I know that look on her face, I know it too well.
“What? What’s going on?” I ask.
She bursts into laughter. “Oh, honey, you are screwed six ways from Sunday and I don’t know how to tell you that.”
“What do you mean?”
“They did an ultrasound while you were asleep because your tests came out a little bit hinky. Like, multiple-pregnancy hinky.”
“Wait—what?” I manage, my breath already sliding away from me.
Callie inhales deeply. “You’re having quintuplets, honey. There’s no doubt about it.”
“Quintu—whatnow?”
My blood runs cold. The world tumbles and falls apart into giant, unmanageable chunks as I struggle not to faint again. This can’t be happening. This simply cannot be happening.
I shake my head, a gesture of refusal of my fate, as Callie nods in amused contradiction.
“The egg has split in five,” she says. “Five different embryos. Polyzygotic. Exceptionally rare.”
“No way…”
“Yes, way. I’m sorry, Becky, I know it’s not what you were hoping to hear, but I double-checked every single result before coming to you with this. You’re going to have not one, not two, but five mini Todds. Elliot’s gonna have five little brothers and his hands full when he grows up. Not to mention you. You’ll have your hands full and then some…”
“Oh, God…”
