If I'm Supposed to Be Calm, This Is a Joke

Three Weeks LaterSeptember 12th; 2023Taylor Swift's Point of ViewThe walls are a soft, powdery blue the kind that's supposed to be calming but all it does is make me feel like I'm drowning slowly in a dentist's office. A stack of parenting magazines sits untouched on the side table. One of them has a smiling baby on the cover. I want to turn it over. I don't.

Travis is sitting next to me, close but not touching. His knee bounces sometimes. Then stops. Then starts again. He hasn't said anything since we checked in. Neither have I.

This isn't like last time.

Last time, I was seventeen and terrified and stupid in love. I remember clutching his hand in that tiny clinic in Hendersonville, the two of us whispering guesses about whether it was a boy or a girl, even though it was way too early. I remember crying after I saw June's heartbeat for the first time. I was terrified.

The baby inside me is smaller than a raspberry. I've had my head in a toilet most mornings. My chest hurts. My jeans already feel too tight. And I keep wondering if it's okay to hope for something good to come out of a decision made for all the wrong reasons.

The nurse calls my name.

I jolt like someone just called me out in class and I wasn't paying attention. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag as I stand. I don't look at Travis, but I feel him rise next to me, tall and quiet, just like always. I don't wait for him. But he follows. Of course he does.

The nurse walks a little too cheerfully, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum. She leads us down a narrow hallway lined with beige doors and soft motivational posters about maternal health and miracle babies. I look away from the one that says "Every heartbeat is a reason to believe."

She gestures us into a room. "You can change into this, hon. Just the bottom half off, and the gown opens in the front."

She hands me a folded bundle of thin cotton and plastic. It's stiffer than I expect. Like paper pretending to be fabric. I nod mutely and step into the little changing area in the corner, closing the curtain behind me.

The gown crinkles as I unfold it, and my hands shake a little as I shimmy out of my jeans. Everything feels too loud. My belt clinks against the chair. My bra strap snaps back when I adjust it. I catch my reflection in the metal panel above the sink — my face looks pale, eyes too wide, mouth too tight.

This wasn't how I thought it would feel, being here again.

I tug the gown closed around my stomach, tying the strings once, then again. My skin's cold. I've been nauseated all morning and the room smells faintly of antiseptic, which doesn't help.

Travis knocks gently on the doorframe.

"You done?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, not looking up.

He comes in slowly, cautiously, like he's not sure how much space he's allowed to take up in this moment. He glances at the table, the monitor, the gel bottle beside it. His eyes flick to me in the gown, then away again.

"Good?" he asks, nodding slightly.

I shrug. "As good as I can be with my ass hanging out in a paper dress."

He chuckles softly and leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs. "I mean — how's it been going? It's been a couple weeks since I last saw you."

I laugh quietly, but it catches in my throat. "Lots and lots of vomiting, I'm not going to lie. Like, I can't even smell toast without wanting to curl into a ball. I've been trying to eat, but everything tastes off. And I've been peeing like every five minutes."

He winces in sympathy. "Okay, okay—so not feeling too great."

"Not exactly glowing, if that's what you're asking," I say, cracking a smile. "But I'm pregnant. I try to remind myself that every time I feel like I'm dying. Hopefully everything looks good today."

He nods, his gaze flickering down to my belly like he might already see something there. "It will. It has to. You've already been through so much for this."

I swallow hard and glance at the door, waiting for the doctor. My fingers tighten around the edge of the table. "It's weird, you know? I thought this would feel more...clinical. But I'm starting to feel connected to it. Like something's really in there."

"Something is," Travis says gently. "Let's just hope it's healthy."

"Yeah," I whisper. "Let's hope."

I think back to a couple weeks ago—how terrified I was, how alone I felt when the weight of everything started closing in around me. Desperate for someone to talk to, someone who might understand, I'd made the call I'd been avoiding for weeks.

"I told my mom," I say quietly, my fingers pulling at a loose thread on the edge of the paper gown.

Travis's head lifts slightly. "You told her you're pregnant?"

I squint at him. "No, I told her I'm adopting a kitten. Yes, I told her I'm pregnant."

He exhales, amused and exasperated in equal measure. "Right. Sorry."

I let out a short laugh, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. "What did she say?" he asks, voice gentler now.

I hesitate. "Uh... basically that it's a terrible idea and what the hell was I thinking."

Travis's face softens. "She actually said that?"

"Not in those exact words," I admit, shaking my head. "But that was the tone. She thinks I'm reckless. Selfish. That I'm only doing this out of guilt."

"And... are you?" he asks carefully.

I don't answer right away. I press my palm to my belly—not that there's anything to feel yet. It's still surreal, this idea of a life inside me. The only time I feel remotely connected to it is when I'm puking my guts out or crying at dog commercials.

"I don't know," I say finally. "Maybe it started as guilt. But it doesn't feel like that anymore."

Travis looks at me for a long moment. Then, quietly, he says, "Good. Because whatever this is, whoever they turn out to be... they deserve to be wanted for who they are. Not just what they can give."

There's a second knock, firmer this time. The ultrasound tech.

"Hi, I'm Julie. I'll be doing your scan today."

She's warm and efficient, middle-aged, with kind eyes and a voice that sounds like she's done this a thousand times before. Maybe she has.

"Go ahead and lie back for me, Taylor."

I lie back on the table, the paper underneath me crinkling obnoxiously loud. I try to settle back but can't quite get comfortable. Travis stands a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Have you ever done one of these before?" Julie asks as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

I nod, already bracing myself. "Unfortunately, yes. No need to explain the process." I sigh as I settle deeper onto the table, the paper crinkling under me like tinfoil.

She gives me a soft smile — not pitying, just professional. "Alright then. Let's just get started."

She turns to the machine, clicks a few things into place, and then wheels the tray closer. I stare at the ceiling. It's speckled with those little acoustic dots, the kind you could get lost in if you stare too long.

"This'll be a little cold," she warns as she applies the gel.

I know what comes next, but that doesn't make it easier. She prepares the probe and inserts it gently, but the pressure still makes me tense. It's not the most comfortable situation.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I've done this before — with June but I still hate it. The way it makes you feel exposed. How your body doesn't really feel like yours for a few minutes. Just something people work on.

"You alright?" Julie asks, glancing up.

"Yeah," I say, though my voice sounds flat. "Just hoping it's all there."

She nods and turns the monitor toward her. A few seconds pass as she moves the probe slightly, adjusting angles, scanning in silence.

Then—

"There it is. You're totally 100% pregnant."

I shift my eyes to the screen. It's small just a blip but there's a flicker right in the middle. A little blob.

"Really?" I ask, breath held.

"Yep."

"Yes!" Travis blurts, the word bouncing out of him like he couldn't hold it in if he tried.

I glance over, startled. He's grinning, eyes glassy. Like something in him just cracked open in the best possible way. I don't remember the last time I saw him look like that.

And I'm just starting to smile too when Julie leans in, squints at the monitor, and tilts the probe slightly.

"Oh," she says. "Look what we have here. Another sac."

My stomach flips. "Another sac?" I echo.

She doesn't answer immediately. Her hand moves carefully, adjusting angles. "Let me see if I can—here we go!"

"Wait, is that my like uterus or something?" I say.

Julie shakes her head, slowly.

"Taylor, uh—" Travis starts, scratching the back of his neck. He's standing straighter now, brows drawn, like he's trying to solve an equation in real time.

Julie keeps her eyes on the screen. Calm. Like this is just another Tuesday for her. "It looks like the embryo split," she says. "You're having identical twins."

I blink.

"What?"

She smiles gently, turning the screen a little more toward me. "Two amniotic sacs. Same placenta. Mono-di twins. It happens when the fertilized egg splits."

"But it wasn't an egg!" I say, sitting up as much as I can with the probe still in place. "It was like—an embryo when they put it in there! Wouldn't they have known?"

Julie gently eases the probe back and sets it aside. I don't move. I'm too busy panicking.

"They usually transfer a single embryo, yes," she says calmly. "But sometimes, very rarely, that embryo splits. It's spontaneous. Not something anyone can predict."

Spontaneous. Like a fire. Or a breakdown.

"Taylor," Travis says, stepping forward, hands up like he's talking me down from a ledge, "I think you're freaking out."

"JOIN ME?" I snap. "There's two of them!"

He opens his mouth, probably to say something like It'll be okay or We've done this before or We'll figure it out, but I throw the paper blanket off my lap and slide off the table before he can.

Julie steps back respectfully as I pace the small room, one hand over my stomach, the other clutching the edge of the counter for balance. My heart is pounding so loud I swear it's echoing in my ears louder than the machine was.

"This was supposed to be one baby," I say. "One baby. One match. One birth. Not—two cribs, two car seats, two college tuitions, two of everything!" My voice cracks. "I can't even do one. I didn't even do one right."

Travis steps closer. "Hey. Hey." His voice softens. "You're doing it now."

I shake my head, eyes stinging. "I'm trying to save our daughter. Not accidentally make a two-for-one deal."

He almost laughs, but swallows it. "You didn't screw anything up. We didn't plan for this, okay, but this isn't bad."

I glare at him, breathing hard. "You're saying twins isn't bad?"

"I'm saying it's not your fault." He lowers his voice, careful, almost tender. "And it might be more than we expected, but it's also more hope than we had yesterday. That's not nothing, Tay."

"Does twins mean more cord blood?" I ask, whipping my head toward Julie. My voice is too sharp, too loud, but I don't care.

She hesitates, just for a second. "Each baby will have slightly less cord blood individually, but..." she folds her hands gently in front of her, "if both babies are healthy, and stay in long enough, there will be more volume overall than if you were carrying one."

"So..." I blink. "You're saying twins gives us a better chance of saving June?"

Her lips press together. Carefully. Cautiously. Like she's calculating how honest she can afford to be.

"I mean," she says slowly, "maybe you should remember these are going to be children. And maybe don't try and think of them just as donors to your daughter."

That stings. It hits something raw in me. "Answer the question, woman!" I snap.

Travis groans under his breath. "Taylor—"

"No," I say, cutting him off. I'm staring at Julie now. "Don't sugarcoat it. Don't moralize. Just tell me the truth."

Julie holds my gaze. Steady.

"Yes," she says quietly. "Twins will likely give you more cord blood, therefore making it more likely to save your daughter."

The room goes silent. I exhale like I've been punched. I don't say thank you. I don't apologize. I just nod, once, and look back down at the ultrasound photo in my hands now knowing it's not a baby. It's two.

"These babies..." Julie's voice softens, but there's a steady certainty in it that makes my stomach twist. She leans over, pointing at the two tiny sacs on the picture she printed. "We implanted only one embryo. It means these babies are identical."

I blink, trying to wrap my head around it. Identical. Two lives growing from one. Two futures spun out of the same fragile thread.

"Eye color, facial features, hair, body structure..." she continues, her tone clinical but somehow tender. "They'll look the same — almost exactly alike. Their thumbprint is the only thing that's realistically different."

Two little flickers of light, two heartbeats dancing side by side. The idea of their faces, their tiny noses, their hair curling the same way, makes my chest ache. Like looking into a mirror, but seeing double. And yet, knowing they'll be the same the same DNA, the same blueprint — it's a strange comfort.

I blurt out, "Wait — are we seriously going to have to do the Parent Trap thing? Like, you take one twin and I take the other? Split custody from birth?"

Travis throws his hands up like I just suggested a hostage exchange. "What?! No! Absolutely not!"

"Well, someone's gotta handle the diaper explosions, right? I'm not changing two sets of poopy diapers in one night!"

He groans, pacing like he's trying to run the math in his head. "Diapers, bottles, midnight feedings... You're basically signing us up for double the chaos."

"Oh yeah, because our lives weren't chaotic enough," I say, sarcasm dripping off every word.

"God, I'm going to need a vacation. Or a new liver," he mutters.

I laugh, but it sounds shaky. "Or maybe a clone."

Travis stops pacing and looks at me, dead serious. "Please don't get me started on cloning. That's how science fiction happens."

"I can't take care of two babies at once as a single mother!" I snap, pacing like I'm about to lose my mind.

Travis throws his hands up. "What makes you think I can do it? I've got June, too! At least you have a gazillion dollars for a nanny or some shit."

I stop and glare at him. "Yeah, well, money doesn't change the fact I'll be exhausted and crying into a bottle of wine at 3 a.m."

"You can't drink when you're breastfeeding," Travis says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I throw up my hands and glare at him. "YOU WANT ME TO FEED TWINS WITH THESE?" I gesture wildly to my breasts. "They're already in pain!"

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, that's part of the job."

I roll my eyes so hard I'm pretty sure they might get stuck. "Great. So no wine, saggy boobs, and double the crying. Sounds like a dream."

He smirks. "Welcome to parenthood, Swift."

"I—look at these things, Travis!" I practically shout, motioning to my chest like I'm presenting an award. "My boobs are fucking flawless! I'm not gonna let some kid try and take that beauty from me!"

Travis stares at me, blinking slowly like I've just announced I'm joining a cult.

"They're babies, Taylor."

"Exactly!" I wave both hands in the air. "Two tiny milk-sucking destroyers of perfection!"

He chokes on a laugh. "You sound insane."

"I feel insane!" I snap. "I haven't had caffeine in a week, I gag every time I brush my teeth, and now I'm being told I might have to sacrifice the one part of my body that hasn't been wrecked by fame, heartbreak, or emotional trauma!"

He's trying not to laugh. He's failing. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm being honest!"

He holds up both hands in surrender, grin creeping across his face. "Okay. Fine. You win. You have flawless boobs. I'm in full support of preserving them."

"Damn right you are."

Travis mutters under his breath as he turns toward the counter, "Things are probably made of plastic anyway."

It's so quiet I almost miss it. Almost.

But apparently, pregnancy has turned me into a damn bloodhound because my ears perk up like a hawk on a mouse.

I freeze. Blink. Then slowly, slowly turn to look at him.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" I practically screech, my voice echoing off the walls like a fire alarm.

Travis flinches like he just stepped on a landmine. "Nothing— I said nothing!"

"No, no, no, don't 'nothing' me, Kelce." I'm already storming toward him, one hand on my hip, the other dramatically gesturing to my chest. "Did you just imply my tits are FAKE?"

He holds up both hands, eyes wide, very much realizing he's stepped into the danger zone. "I didn't say they are—I said they could be! Hypothetically!"

"Oh, hypothetically!" I snap. "Well hypothetically, I could kick your ass right now and blame it on hormones."

He backs up a step. "I didn't mean it! You know I didn't mean it. I—Taylor! Come on, I admire them! I respect them!"

I narrow my eyes. "You better. They're national treasures."

"Yes. Yes, ma'am. Smithsonian-worthy." He nods like his life depends on it. Which it kinda does.

I let him squirm for one more second, then sit back down with a dramatic sigh. "That's what I thought."

He exhales, hands on his knees. "You are absolutely terrifying right now."

I glance at him. "Good. I'm growing two humans. I should be feared."

"I'll just... excuse myself," the technician says, carefully gathering the ultrasound printouts and edging toward the door like she's escaping a wildfire.

"Thanks," I say, out of breath, waving halfheartedly as she leaves.

The second the door shuts, Travis drags a hand down his face and mutters, "Oh god... what are we gonna tell June?"

I snort. "She's a big girl. She can deal with it."

"Taylor—" he starts, voice heavy with please don't make this worse.

I cut him off, throwing my arms up. "She's gonna have two brothers or sisters whether she likes it or not!"

He stares at me, blinking. "You don't think maybe we should be a little more... I don't know, gentle about it?"

"Oh, gentle?" I ask, already halfway to losing it again. "You want me to knit a Build-A-Bear and hide the ultrasound photo in its stomach like a gender reveal scavenger hunt? 'Surprise! Mom went in for a medical favor and came out with twins!'"

He sighs. "I'm just saying—June's already dealing with a lot. She's sick. She's scared. Maybe we don't bulldoze her with this."

I pause. The air shifts slightly. That lands. Right in the gut. But I'm too overwhelmed to admit he's probably right. I fold my arms, sitting back against the edge of the table. "Look, I'm not saying I'll be cruel about it. But I'm not going to lie to her, either. These babies exist now. They're not hypothetical. They're not abstract. They're—" I glance at the photos again, then down at my still-flat stomach. "They're real."

He's quiet for a second. "Yeah. They are."

I swallow hard. "And she's going to have to live with that. Same as us."

"She was expecting... one, you know," Travis says quietly, like he's trying not to poke the bear but can't help himself.

I snap my head toward him so fast I swear I hear my neck pop. "WELL SO WAS I, TRAVIS!"

He takes a small step back, hands slightly raised like he's trying to keep the bomb from going off. Too late.

"She begged us to do this! She begged for a sibling, for a chance, for something to save her!" My voice cracks, too loud, too sharp. I can feel the tears at the edges, but I'm too angry to let them fall. "Sorry I can't control my embryos!"

Travis exhales, long and slow. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"Oh really?" I cut him off, pacing now, one hand over my forehead. "You think I wanted this to be more complicated? You think I wanted to walk into a routine appointment and be told, 'Congrats! Surprise twins from one embryo!' Like I'm running some kind of miracle giveaway?!"

He doesn't answer. Just watches me with that look — the one where he's worried but doesn't know how to help without setting me off again.

I press a hand over my stomach, my voice dropping. "I didn't plan for this, Travis. I planned for one. One baby. One match. One chance to make this right."

There's a long, quiet beat.

Then he says, softer, "And now you have two."

I look up at him, and for a second I can't decide if I want to kiss him or throw a chair.

Hormones...what a bitch.

—————Author's Note:

Surprise!