Something Blue - Emily Giffin [92]
"Yes. Yes. It's all terribly, beautifully normal."
At that moment, normal was the most wonderful word in the English language. My daughter didn't have to be a beauty like me. She didn't have to be extraordinary in any way. I just wanted her to be healthy.
"So. Are you ready to hear the big news?" Mr. Moore asked me.
"Oh, I know it's a girl," I said. "I've never had a moment's doubt, but I'm dying for confirmation so I can start buying pink things."
Mr. Moore made a clucking sound, and said, "Ahhh. Well, now. I should warn you that pink might not be the best choice."
"What?" I asked, straining to make out the image on the screen. "It's not a. girl?"
"No. You are not having a girl," he said, turning to me with the proud smile of a man who assumes that a boy is always the preferred gender.
"It's a boyi Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure. You're having a boy…" he said, pointing to the screen with his right index finger, the other hand still holding the probe against my stomach. "And another boy."
He turned away from the screen and beamed down at me, waiting for a reaction.
My mind churned wildly, landing on a once common word now infused with a crazy, new meaning: twin. I managed to spit out a question. "Two babies?"
"Yes, Darcy. You're pregnant with twin boys." Mr. Moore's smile grew wider. "Congratulations!"
"There must be some mistake. Look again," I said. He had to be wrong. Twins didn't run in my family. I hadn't taken any fertility drugs. I didn't want twins. And certainly not twin boys!
Mr. Moore and Beatrix exchanged a knowing glance and then chuckled their restrained English chuckles. That's when I thought maybe they were just pulling my chain. Playing some cruel little trick on me. Tell the unmarried Yank she's having twins. Good one. Ethan had told me that the sense of humor is different in England.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked, completely stunned.
"No," Mr. Moore said. "I'm quite serious. You are having two boys. Congratulations, Darcy."
I sat upright, my paper cover slipping off me and floating to the floor. "But I wanted a girl. One girl. Not two boys," I said, not caring that I was completely exposed from the waist down.
"Well. These things can't be ordered up like a mince pie," Mr. Moore said wryly, as he stooped to retrieve my covering and handed it to me.
I glared at him. In no way did I appreciate his analogy or his apparent amusement.
"Are you ever wrong about these things?" I asked desperately. "I've heard of that happening. I mean, have you ever made a mistake?"
Mr. Moore said he was quite sure I was having twins. Then he explained that occasionally girls are mistaken for boys, but rarely does it happen the other way.
"So you're positive?"
With the patience of Annie Sullivan teaching Helen Keller the alphabet, he pointed to the floating images on the screen. Two heartbeats. Two heads. And two penises.
I started to cry, as my visions of sugar and spice and all things pink and nice evaporated, replaced by horrid remembrances of my little brother, Jeremy. His lips vibrating together as he made endless, monotonous bulldozer sounds. I was about to have that times two. It was inconceivable.
Sensing my mounting despair, Mr. Moore switched into sympathetic mode, explaining that the news of twins is often met with something less than enthusiasm.
I fought back tears. "That is a gross understatement."
"It will just take some getting used to," he said.
"Two boys?" I asked again.
"Two boys," he said. "Identical twins."
"How in the world did this happen?"
Mr. Moore took the question literally because he gave me a quick biology lesson, pointing to the screen and explaining that my babies appeared to be sharing one placenta, but two sacs. "Or