Something Blue

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 diamnionic monochorionic twins,' he said. 'Which means your fertilized egg divided between four and seven days postconception.'

'Shhhit,' I whispered.

He pushed a button, explaining that he was taking an ultrasound picture for me. He then moved the probe, snapped again. He handed me the two photographs, one labeled Baby A and the other Baby B. I reluctantly took them from him. Mr. Moore asked if I would like to get dressed and share a soothing cup of mint tea with Beatrix, who inched her way toward the table and smiled down at me.

'No. No, thank you. I have to go,' I said, standing and dressing as quickly as I could.

Mr. Moore tried to coax me back on the table for further discussion, but I had to get out of there, irrationally believing that his office and its imposing Victorian formality had transformed my girl baby into a boy baby and then multiplied her by two. If I escaped, maybe it would all fix itself. I would go seek a second opinion. Surely there was a good American physician in London. One who had the title doctor, for heaven's sake.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Moore,' I stammered. 'But I have to go.'

Mr. Moore and Beatrix watched as I finished dressing, collected my purse, and said, as I headed out the door, that he should bill me for the visit, and thank you very much. Then I made my way back to Harley Street, where I felt numbed by Mr. Moore's news and the biting London drizzle.

I walked all over town in a daze, the word twins drumming in my skull. I walked down to Bond Street, then over to Marble Arch, then across to Knightsbridge. I walked until my lower back ached and my hands and toes grew numb. I did not stop in a single store, no matter how tempting the window display. I didn't stop at all except for a few minutes at a Starbucks during the worst of the rain. I thought the familiar burnt- orange-and-purple decor would offer me some sort of solace. It didn't. Nor did the hot chocolate and bagel I hungrily swallowed. The thought of having one baby was intimidating. Now I was full-on scared. How would I be able to take care of twins-or even tell them apart? It felt surreal.

Around three o'clock, just as it was getting dark, I arrived home, frozen and exhausted.

'Darcy? Is that you?' I heard Ethan call from his bedroom.

'Yeah,' I yelled back as I took off my jacket and kicked off my boots.

'Come on back!'

I walked down the hall and opened Ethan's door. He was stretched out on his bed with an open book resting on his chest. The lamp next to his bed cast a warm, soft glow on his blond hair, creating a halo effect.

'Can I sit down? I'm kind of wet,' I said.

'Of course you can.'

I sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, rubbed the soles of my feet, and shivered.

'Did you get caught in the rain?' he asked.

'Yeah. Sort of. I've been walking in it all day,' I said pitifully. 'I left my umbrella at home.'

'Not a good thing to leave behind in London.'

'So. You'll never believe what happened to me today…'

'Were you mugged?' he asked, drumming his fingers on the spine of his book.

'No. Worse.'

Ethan snickered. 'Worse than someone stealing your Gucci bag?'

'This isn't funny, Ethan.' My voice trembled.

His smile disappeared as he closed his book and tossed it on the bed next to him. 'What happened?'

'I went to the doctor this morning…'

He sat up, a concerned look on his face. 'Is everything okay with the baby?'

I uncrossed my legs and brought them up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. 'Everything is fine… with the ba-bies.'

Ethan's eyes widened. 'Babies?'

I nodded. Twins?

'Yes. Twins. Identical twin boys.'

Ethan stared at me for a few seconds. 'Are you kidding?'

'Do I look amused?'

The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to laugh.

'It's not funny, Ethan… And please don't tell me that I deserve this either. Because, believe me, I've already considered that I'm being punished. Maybe I was engaging in some frivolous behavior in Manhattan. Maybe shopping too much,' I said. 'Or railing on someone's appearance. Or having sex with Marcus behind Dexter's back… And God frowned down upon me and wbazzam split my embryo… giving me identical twin boys.' I started to cry. It was really sinking in. Twins. Twins. Twins.

'Darcy. Chill, hon. I wasn't going to say anything like that.'

'Then why are you smiling?'

'I'm smiling because… I'm happy.'

'Happy that I'm getting screwed?'

'No, Darce. I'm happy for you. If one baby is a blessing, then you have twice the good fortune. Two babies! It's a small miracle. Not a punishment.' His words were convincing, his tone and