Page 68 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

Every adult stares my way with a frozen look on their face. Every toddler continues playing, oblivious to the medical event unfolding in the middle of the party.

Lyla Nell points at the puddle. “Mommy needs potty,” she announces with the authority of a tiny drill sergeant—a slightly terrified one at that. “Gonow, Mommy!Run!”

Chaos erupts like someone hit the panic button. Everett drops his phone. Noah nearly trips over a stuffed unicorn. Mom starts shouting instructions no one can hear over Keelie’s excited shrieking about“birthday babies!”

“Well”—I say to no one in particular as Everett and Noah converge on me from opposite directions—“looks like the twins got the memo. If they can arrive in time, we might be sharing a birthday after all.”

“The bag is the truck,” Everett shouts and his face is an equal mix of both excitement and terror.

“The truck is already running,” Noah calls out, somehow having teleported outside and back in the span of ten seconds.

“I’ll watch Lyla Nell,” at least six people volunteer simultaneously.

“And I’ll clean up the cake,” Carlotta adds, already helping herself to another slice by way of her fingers.

Before I can process what’s happening, I’m being whisked out the door between my two favorite men in the world, leaving behind a birthday party that’s now evolved into so much more.

And as we pull out of the driveway, I catch one last glimpse of my pink-festooned house, filled with the people I love most in this world, and I can’t help but smile despite the contraction that’s already building.

Some women get roses on their birthdays. Some get jewelry.

But me? I get the ultimate gift—a day when the entire world seems to celebrate not just the day I was born, but the days my daughter and my twins chose to make their grand entrances, too.

And as another contraction hits with the force of a freight train, I realize that sometimes the most painful gifts are the ones that change your life forever.

Another one bears down on me on top of that and it’s ten times as painful.

“Drive faster,” I shout at decibels loud enough to shatter a window.

And just like that, we’re flying through Honey Hollow.

LOTTIE

The room is a flurry of far too much commotion, lots of cheerleading, and lots of blood, sweat, and tears.

Bright hospital lights blind me overhead.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clashes with the comforting whiff of lavender or whatever essential oil my mother insisted on dousing my pillow with.

The hum of machines beeping steadily, monitoring the twin occupants of my abdomen who, after nine long months, have finally decided to make their grand debut.

“Push, Lottie! You got this!” Keelie cheers from my left, sounding a lot like the sideline coach she is.

“I am pushing!” I shout back, gripping Everett’s hand like a lifeline. He winces but doesn’t complain, although I’m positive his bones will never be the same. And I’m betting certain parts of my body won’t be either.

“You’re doing amazing, Lemon,” Everett murmurs, pressing a kiss to my sweaty forehead. “We’re almost there.”

Noah is on my other side, equally doting, although looking slightly green himself. “Yeah, Lot, just—oh wow, that’s—” He clamps his mouth shut as Dr. Barnette, my OB-GYN, and a redheaded one at that—and have I mentioned that she’sEverett’s ex? (but we’re not talking about that right now)— gives one final instruction.

“One more push, Lottie! Here we go!”

I push with everything I have, and suddenly, a sharp cry fills the room.

Dr. Barnette lifts a tiny, squirming, perfect human into the air. “It’s a boy!”

The room erupts in cheers. Mom lets out an excited squeal. Keelie and Meg high-five as if I had just won a medal. Lainey is already dabbing at her eyes, and even Charlie looks suspiciously misty-eyed.

Both Everett and Noah stare at our son in complete, dumbfounded awe.

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