Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll wait.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The universe is testing me.
The universe is absolutely testing me.
Three days later, I cracked and bought the paint. Soft sage green. Calming. Gender-neutral. Perfectly reasonable.
Athena found the cans in the closet.
“Julien.”
“I was just... preparing. In case we decided on green.”
“You bought four gallons.”
“I calculated the square footage. We’ll need three and a half gallons for two coats, plus extra for touch-ups.”
She stared at me.
“I’m trying,” I said weakly.
“I know you are.” She kissed me. “And I love you for it. But maybe... try a little less hard?”
Try less hard at trying?
That’s not even logically coherent.
But I nodded anyway.
Because I was trying.
Week Twenty:
The ultrasound appointment.
I’d been preparing for this for weeks. Had read every piece of literature on fetal development. Had memorized normal measurements and developmental milestones. Had created a list of questions for the technician.
I was ready.
“Excited?” Athena asked as we sat in the waiting room.
“Nervous,” I admitted.
“Why? Everything’s been fine.”
“I know. But there’s always a chance.”
“Julien.” She took my hand. “The universe has this handled.”
The universe, I thought, has been actively sabotaging me for months.
But I didn’t say that.
Because I was trying.
“Dr. and Mrs. Darcy?” The technician appeared in the doorway. Young, cheerful, completely unaware that she was about to deliver news that would fundamentally alter my existence.
We followed her into the examination room as Athena lay down on the table. I sat in the chair beside her, my hand gripping hers, my heart rate elevated, my breathing carefully controlled.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
This is routine.
The technician squeezed gel onto Athena’s stomach and pressed the transducer against her skin, and the screen flickered to life.
“Okay,” the technician said, moving the wand slowly. “Let’s see what we’ve got here...”
I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the grainy black and white image.
There! That was the head.
And there was the spine.
Everything looked normal.
Everything looked...
“Oh!” the technician said.
My heart stopped.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” She was smiling. “I just... hold on. Let me get a better angle.”
She moved the wand.
Pressed harder.
Adjusted the screen.
“Okay,” she drawled. “So... this is interesting.”
“Interesting?” I repeated. “What does interesting mean? Interesting good or interesting bad? Interesting concerning or interesting—”
“Julien,” Athena said gently. “Breathe.”
I was breathing.
I was breathing too much.
The technician was still moving the wand, her expression shifting from curious to surprised to something that looked almost like amusement.
“So,” she said finally. “I’m seeing... well. I’m seeing three distinct heartbeats.”
Silence.
Complete, absolute silence.
“Three?” I asked carefully.
“Three,” she confirmed.
“Three heartbeats?”
“Yes.”
“In one baby?”
“No,” she turned the screen toward us. “In three babies.”
My world tilted.
Three.
Three babies.
Three separate, individual human babies.
“Triplets!” Athena gasped. “Oh my Goddess, Julien, we’re having triplets!”
She was smiling.
Smiling. Like this was good news.
Like this was something to be happy about.
“I need...” I started.
The room was spinning.
“I need to...”
Three babies. Three cribs. Three car seats. Three college funds.
“Julien?” Athena’s voice sounded very far away. “Are you okay?”
“I’m...”
Three babies crying at once. Three diapers to change. Three feeding schedules.
“He’s going to faint again,” the technician said.
“I’m not going to faint,” I huffed.
“You’re very pale.”
“I’m fine.” I groaned, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Your hand is shaking.”
I looked down. She was right. My hand was shaking.
Both hands were shaking.
My entire body was shaking.
Stars? Am I seeing stars?
“Julien,” Athena said, squeezing my hand. “This is wonderful!”
“Wonderful,” I repeated numbly.
“The universe is blessing us!”
The universe, I thought with perfect clarity, is not blessing us.
The universe is LAUGHING at us.
The universe has declared WAR.
“I need...” I stood up. Sat back down. Stood up again. “I need to make a phone call.”
“Now?” Athena asked.
“Now.”
“But the ultrasound.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I walked out of the room on legs that didn’t feel entirely stable and found an empty hallway. I pulled out my phone and called Nathan. He answered on the second ring. “Julien? Aren’t you at your ultrasound?”
“I need help,” I whispered, too afraid to say it louder because it might make it real.
“What’s wrong? Is Athena okay?”
“She’s fine. The babies are fine.”
“Babies?” Nathan repeated. “Plural?”
“Three.”
Silence.
“Three,” Nathan said slowly.
“Three.”
“As in... triplets?”
“As in triplets.”
“Holy shit.”
“I need help,” I repeated.
“What kind of help?”
“All of it. Any of it. I need—” My voice cracked. “I need a plan. I need backup. I need—”
“Okay. Okay,” Nathan said, his voice shifting into the calm, professional tone he used with panicking patients. “Okay. We’ll figure this out.”
“The universe is out to get me.”
“The universe is not—”
“It IS! It’s been testing me for months and now it’s just... it’s just LAUGHING! Three babies, Nathan. THREE!”
“I know.”
“At the same time.”
“That’s generally how triplets work.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I CAN’T! I don’t have enough hands. I don’t have enough—” I was spiraling. I could feel it happening. “I need to make a spreadsheet. Multiple spreadsheets. I need to calculate costs and space requirements and—”
“Julien,” Nathan interrupted. “Come back to the hospital after your appointment. We’ll talk. All of us.”
“All of you?”
“I’ll gather the troops. We’ll help you figure this out.”
“You will?”
“Of course we will. You’re our friend. And this is—” He paused. “This is hilarious, but we’ll help, anyway.”
“It’s not hilarious.”
“It’s a little hilarious.”
“Nathan—”
“We’ll see you in an hour.”
He hung up.
I stood there in the empty hallway, my phone still pressed to my ear, my heart racing, my mind spinning through calculations and contingencies and the absolute certainty that my life had just become completely, utterly unmanageable.
Three babies.
The universe is not funny.
The universe is a MENACE!
I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before I walked back into the exam room. Athena was still on the table, still smiling, still looking at the ultrasound screen like it showed something beautiful instead of something terrifying.
“There you are!” she said. “Look! You can see all three of them now. Baby A, Baby B, and Baby C.”
I looked at the screen.
Three tiny forms. Three separate heartbeats.
Three lives that were going to depend on me for everything.
“They’re perfect,” Athena said softly.
“They’re terrifying,” I corrected.
“They’re both.”
“How are you so calm about this?”
“Because the universe—”
“If you say, ‘The universe has a plan,’ I’m going to lose my mind.”
She laughed. “The universe has a plan.”
“Athena—”
“And so do you. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already planning.”
She was right.
I was already planning.
Three cribs—convertible, with adjustable mattress heights.
Three car seats—rear-facing, highest safety ratings.
Nursery layout—optimal traffic flow, organized by function.
Feeding schedule—staggered to maximize sleep.
Diaper station—multiple locations throughout the apartment.
Budget—Oh God, the budget!
“Julien?” Athena said gently.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re doing the thing where you mentally organize everything.”
“I am not.”
“You are. I can tell. Your eyes get this distant look and your jaw clenches and—”
“Okay, fine. I’m organizing. Because someone has to organize. Because we’re having THREE BABIES and that requires SIGNIFICANT organization.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you really? Because three babies mean three times the chaos, and I’m barely handling the current level of chaos and—”
She kissed me. Just leaned up from the table and kissed me, cutting off my spiral mid-sentence.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said when she pulled back. “Together.”
“Together,” I repeated.
“With help.”
“I already called Nathan.”
“Good.”
“I’m meeting with everyone after this.”
“Even better.”
“I’m going to make a plan.”
“I know you are.”
“A detailed plan. With contingencies.”
“Obviously.”
“And backup contingencies.”
“Naturally.”
“And—”
“Julien?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
I looked at her—my beautiful wife, my chaos, the woman who turned my entire life upside down and somehow made it better—and felt something settle in my chest.
Three babies. We’re having three babies.
The universe is absolutely out to get me.
But maybe, just maybe, I would survive it.
With help.
And planning.
And possibly several more spreadsheets.
“I love you too,” I said.
“Even though the universe is testing you?”
“Because the universe is testing me.”
She smiled, and despite everything, despite the terror and the chaos and the absolute certainty that my life was about to become exponentially more complicated, I smiled back.
The universe wanted war?
Fine.
I’d give it war. But I would do it with color-coded spreadsheets and laminated emergency protocols and a support system of colleagues who would mock me relentlessly but help me anyway.
The universe had declared war.
But Julien Darcy didn’t lose.
An hour later, I walked into the conference room at the hospital.
Nathan, Hayden, Gabriel, Quinton, Fitz, and Winnie were already there, sitting around the table, looking at me with expressions ranging from amusement to concern.
“So,” Hayden began. “Triplets.”
“Triplets,” I confirmed.
“Three babies.”
“Yes.”
“At the same time.”
“That’s how triplets work.”
“Just wanted to clarify.” He was grinning. “Because this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” Fitz said. “The universe looked at you, Mr. Control, Mr. Organization, Mr. Color-Coded-Socks, and said, ‘You know what this man needs? THREE BABIES AT ONCE.’”
“The universe,” I said flatly, “is a sadist.”