Page 144 of Clinically Bewitched
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.
