Written by: Audrey Francis-Plante
They say the twin gene skips a generation, but in my family, it’s everywhere. My grandmother had a twin sister. My mother has a twin brother. I have a twin sister. And I’m pregnant of triplets.
“You’re not ready to be a mother,” my mom gently said when I announced it on Sunday brunch. “Especially not of three at once.”
I glanced at Sam for support; he’d just told me that morning I’d be the greatest mother, but then something weird happened. He wouldn’t look at me. He fixed my sister’s shoes. “Three’s a little overwhelming,” he mumbled.
“Very overwhelming,” my mother chimed in.
“Pardon me?” A silence followed my words.
I turned to my sister for help, but she was quiet too, holding a cushion to her belly.
The way Sam avoided my gaze hinted that he was ashamed. “Who is she?” Something broke inside of me when he didn’t defend himself.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “But she’s pregnant too. Twins.”
Who is she? I suddenly hated our genes for making the answer so obvious.