“Nooooooo!” my sweet husband called, lunging toward us, arms outstretched. He made contact with one of the cakes face-first, knocking it off course.

  A light shower of pink crumbs rained down around me. A girl . . .

  Then the second cake hit my head, rattling my skull.

  Laurie’s whimpering sobs heightened to a shriek. I blinked, shaking off the cake, inspecting Laurie for injuries.

  “Are you okay?” I asked in a soothing voice.

  Much to my relief, Laurie was fine—a few flecks of frosting dotted her party dress, and one of her shoes was covered in pink crumbs, but she’d mostly avoided the disaster. My head pounded, and I reached up to touch my hair.

  I was covered in cake.

  I pulled my hand away, staring blankly at the white frosting and pink crumbs on my fingers.

  Pink. Again.

  Two pink cakes.

  I blinked a few times, trying to process what had just happened.

  “Two girls!” cried Jim.

  I glanced from person to person. Jim was fist-pumping the air, a mask of cake coating his face and the front of his button-up shirt. Everyone else in the room was deathly silent and wide-eyed, every mouth covered by a hand.

  I shifted Laurie onto my hip and reached up toward Jim. He leaned over and helped me to my feet. Laurie’s shrieks returned to soft whimpers, and she reached for her daddy with a choked sob.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Jim asked in concern.

  “I’m just fine,” I said, my hand drifting to my hair again. “A little bit of a headache, maybe. Are you all right?”

  “I’m great!” he exclaimed. “We’re having baby girls!”

  I looked around the living room at the explosion of pink. “You’re not disappointed that you’re not having a son?”

  “Not in the least. This is going to save us so much money.” He fist-pumped the air and started chanting, “Hand-me-downs! Hand-me-downs!”

  From the couch, my mom tittered, then burst into a fit of giggles. After a moment, Galigani followed suit, leaning forward with his face in his hands and chortling.

  Then the whole party dissolved into laughter—everyone except Paula and her husband, whose faces had paled to the same shade as the vanilla frosting that now adorned my hair. David stood a few steps away from me, shaking. Paula was at his side, tears brimming in her eyes.

  I grinned at them. “Well, this is certainly a gender reveal to remember!”

  My mom crowed. “One we’ll never forget!”

  I waddled a couple of steps toward Paula. “It’s a great party,” I said in a reassuring voice.

  A tear streamed down Paula’s face. “I ruined it!” she cried. “I should have just gotten the cakes from the bakery at the grocery store, so we had them in place before the party started! We should never have tried to bring them in partway through, amid all the chaos.”

  A pang seized my midsection, and I sucked in a gasp, lurched backward, and grabbed Jim’s arm.

  “What is it?” Jim asked.

  I let out a slow exhale, then carefully inhaled. Breathe through it.

  Then the pang released me, and I let out a shaky laugh. “Just a Braxton Hicks contraction—I feel fine now.”

  Jim studied me in concern, but I waved it away.

  “They’re perfectly normal at this stage of pregnancy,” I assured him. “I’ve already had a few this week.”

  I shuffled forward to grab Paula’s hand. “Don’t feel bad! You’re going to see how hysterical this was in a week!”

  I gestured at the other partygoers. My brother-in-law had fallen to the floor laughing, and tears of mirth streamed down Rachelle’s face, smudging her mascara. She wiped the tears away, then broke into another fit of guffaws.

  “See,” I added, “best party ever—the guests are having a great time.”

  Paula managed a shaky smile. “I guess they are.”

  “Now,” I said with a grin, “could you do us a favor and get Laurie changed into a new dress? Jim and I are both in dire need of a shower.”

  Paula nodded mournfully. “Let me rake the worst of that cake off your head and into the trash. We don’t want to clog your drain.”

  Chapter Three

  The hot water felt absolutely heavenly on my pounding head.

  Jim had chosen the guest bathroom, leaving the larger shower in our master for me. I took my time scrubbing away the remnants of the sticky frosting, secure in the knowledge that Paula would pull out all the stops to play hostess to our guests.

  Another pang ricocheted through my abdomen, the sickening, tightening sensation hitting me like a piano falling out of the sky. I slammed one hand against the wall and grabbed at the shower curtain with the other. The fabric jolted, a ripping sound telling me I’d pulled the curtain halfway off the hooks. I staggered to keep my balance, leaning forward with both my palms pressed against the fiberglass.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Just a Braxton Hicks.

  The seconds dragged on and on and on. Finally, the tightening sensation eased. I stood up straight, took a slow breath, and turned the knob to send a stream of cool water washing over me.

  I couldn’t be starting labor already, could I?

  But I dismissed the treacherous thought by pure force of will. The twins might come early, but not this early. We just have to get through this party and Laurie’s birthday, and then the twins can make their debut anytime.

  Squinting at the drooping curtain, I half-considered trying to reattach it to the hooks, but decided against it. I need to get back to Laurie’s party. Jim will fix it later.

  I shoved aside folds of fabric, toweled off, and scrunched my hair mostly dry, then picked out a cute maternity dress that flattered my bump.

  When I made my way back out to the party, my dad was sitting on the floor with Laurie, reading a board book to her. The other party guests milled around the living room and kitchen. When Jim saw me, he crossed the room and pulled me into an awkward over-the-bump hug.

  “Feeling better?” he murmured in my ear.

  “Much! Is Laurie having a good time?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at my baby girl on her grandpa’s lap.

  “She’s having a great time,” he said. “Her grandparents were positively fighting over her.”

  Galigani and Rhonda, my stepmom, walked out of the kitchen chatting and laughing. I smiled a little. I was glad everyone was starting to become friends. My dad had moved back to San Francisco a couple months earlier, eager to make up for lost time. While I’d been hesitant to accept his presence at first, it felt really nice to have a dad again.

  But speaking of Laurie’s grandparents . . .

  “Where is my mom?” I asked.

  Jim shrugged. “She left a few minutes ago.”

  “She left early?” I demanded, crossing my arms. “Her own granddaughter’s first birthday party? Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. She said she’d be right back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You know how your mom gets. She was on a mission. She takes an idea into her head and runs after it like the bulls in Pamplona.”

  “Olé!” Vicente cheered from across the room upon overhearing the word Pamplona.

  Truer words were never spoken. I chuckled. “Did she say what her mission was this time?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. We were mid-conversation when her face lit up and she declared she’d be back in fifteen minutes.” He glanced down at his watch. “Which means she should be back in ten or so?”

  My dad set down the board book and stood up, swinging Laurie high into the air. She let out a shriek of high-pitched toddler giggles, and a warm feeling filled my chest.

  I squeezed Jim’s hand. “I’m so glad we’re celebrating Laurie’s birthday before the twins arrive—that she gets to be the complete center of attention on her special day.”

  Except that we had the twins’ gender reveal and made her cry. Guilt—or acid reflux—burned my esophagus. I swallowed it back.

  “Me too,” said Jim. “Even if it is one day earlier than her actual birthday.”

  “Kate’s back!” cried Paula from behind me.

  I turned around with a grin. “Refreshed and ready for the rest of the party,” I declared.

  “Well, then,” said Paula, “if you haven’t already had too much cake, is it time to sing happy birthday to Laurie and let her eat her first piece of chocolate cake?”

  Holding up a hand, I said, “Yes—almost. I guess my mom stepped out for a few minutes. We should wait for her.”

  Paula glanced up at the clock in the living room and nodded, a frown on her face. “We’re behind schedule because of the disaster, but that’s my fault—I’ll make it work.”

  Where did Mom run off to? Annoyance coiled in my stomach. “If she’s not back in fifteen minutes, we’ll do it without her,” I said. I walked over to the hooks by the door and grabbed my phone out of my purse. “I’ll text her to let her know.”

  “Sounds good!” called Paula. “I’ll push the big surprise back a few minutes.”

  Paula had been talking about the big surprise for a whole week.

  “Is that too much trouble?” I asked, opening up my text messages with Mom.

  She waved a hand. “It’s not ideal, but it is what it is. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” With a half-sigh, she swept out of the living room into the kitchen.

  I bit my lip and tapped out a text to Mom: Can you come back now? We need to serve Laurie’s cake.

  “I think this girl wants her mama!” called my dad.

  I glanced up, and Dad handed Laurie to me. I tucked my phone in the dress pocket and took my baby girl. She cuddled up against me, and a wave of maternal feeling pulsed through my core.

  And then I smelled it—the telltale stench of an especially gnarly poopy diaper.

  I wrinkled my nose and locked eyes with my dad.

  He shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, and I think she’s got something in her diaper. You might want to take care of that.”

  “You don’t say?” I replied with a laugh. “I’ll change her and be right back.”

  Another contraction hit me, and I sucked in a gasp.

  “Kate?” Dad asked, but it sounded like he was speaking through water. “Kate? Are you all right?”

  I sank back a couple steps, and Dad took Laurie from me.

  “Jim!” he called. “Jim, I think Kate might be in labor!”

  “What?” gasped Deb, my policewoman friend. “Kate, do you need a ride to the hospital?”

  “No. Fine,” I hissed. “Just Braxton Hicks.”

  I sank back against the wall to steady myself, focusing on breathing in and out. When the contraction finally eased, I looked up to find the whole party staring at me. Jim stood at my side, resting a protective hand on my shoulder.

  “Honey, are you in labor?” he asked.

  “No,” I exclaimed breathlessly, though doubt nibbled at my insides. My eyes rested on Laurie.

  If I started labor now, the twins would be born on her birthday. She’d have to go the whole rest of her life sharing her birthday with her little sisters. That couldn’t happen.

  Which meant I couldn’t be in labor. Not yet.

  “I’m so sorry to alarm everyone,” I said, trying to look as calm and unruffled as possible. “Braxton Hicks contractions get really strong. I need to change Laurie’s diaper now.”

  I snatched Laurie from my dad and marched down the hall, determination flooding me with each step.

  This isn’t labor. I absolutely, positively am not going into labor.

  I made faces at Laurie to make her giggle as I changed her diaper. By the time we rejoined the party, I felt normal again. Except my feet were killing me.

  False alarm, thank goodness.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I sank down to sit on the couch with Laurie, then fished the phone out.

  The message was from my mom: Sorry, darling. Back in a jiffy!

  Laurie squirmed. I set her down on the carpet so she could run after little Danny.

  The police contingent—Sergeant McNearny, Officer Deb, and Nick the medical examiner—approached and sat on the floor across from me.

  “You good, Connolly?” McNearny asked.

  Was that concern on his face? I cracked a grin. “Feeling great,” I replied. “Well, as great as anyone feels while this pregnant.”

  “Can’t be that great, then,” deadpanned Deb, raising her can of beer in the air.

  Nick’s wife Denise sat on the couch next to me. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  “You guys are so sweet,” I said. “But really, I’m fine. I promise.”

  The door opened, and my mom hurried in, carrying two pink gift bags. “I’m baaaaack!” she sang. “I didn’t miss the cake-cutting, did I?”

  “You did not!” I said. “Shall we sing happy birthday?”

  She held up the bags. “I just ran out to Baby Emporium to pick up a couple little gifts for the twins!”

  My mouth fell open, and I stared at her.

  But Mom continued on, seeming not to notice my abrupt shift in mood. “It’s not every day you find out your daughter is having twin girls!”

  “This is supposed to be Laurie’s party,” I said, “can we set the baby gifts aside to open later?”

  Paula darted around the corner, waving a hand wildly. “Oh, good! Vera’s here! Everyone come into the kitchen! I have Laurie’s cake set up! We need to hurry!”

  Denise helped me to my feet, and I followed everyone into the kitchen. My jaw dropped. Laurie’s high chair sat by the kitchen counter, next to the fanciest birthday cake I’d ever seen.

  Paula had outdone herself with this cake.

  Three tiers of perfectly sculpted cake rose from a platter, each layer different. The bottom layer was cloaked in pastel piping, the icing in soft shades of pink and green and duck yellow. Sprinkles covered the middle layer, in a comparable color palette. The top tier was plain white, with chocolate drizzles melting down the sides and topped by a beautiful pink bow.

  It looked more like a wedding cake than a first-birthday cake, except for the pastel colors.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up for the birthday girl, Miss Laurie!” cried Paula.

  Everyone clapped and cheered, and Galigani gave a whooping yell.

  My mom held up the gift bags and said, “I picked up a couple gifts for the twins. Where should I put them?”

  I opened my mouth to object, but Paula pointed at the far end of the kitchen table and said, “Why don’t you just set them there, with Laurie’s birthday gifts?”

  Can’t this wait? I made eye contact with Jim, but he didn’t seem perturbed.

  Paula set a small portable speaker next to the cake and tapped her phone screen. The tune of “Happy Birthday,” with a decidedly polka flair, poured out of the speaker.

  Is that . . . accordion music?

  “All together!” Paula cried.

  On cue, the partygoers sang, “Happy birthday to you!”

  Laurie raised her little hand high in the air and giggled, and I lifted my phone to snap a picture of her.

  “Happy birthday to you!” everyone sang. “Happy biiiiirthday, dear Laurie! Happy birthday to you!”

  We all clapped, and Laurie imitated us with a happy squeal. Paula cut the cake while I plopped Laurie in her high chair and gave her a high five.

  “First piece for the birthday girl!” Paula cried, setting a small piece of chocolate cake, covered in sprinkles, on Laurie’s tray.

  Laurie’s eyes widened as she stared at the delectable treat. She plunged her fist into the sprinkles and stuffed a handful in her mouth. Chocolate crumbs flew off the side of her tray.

  Then it happened again.

  My midsection convulsed and tightened. Another Braxton Hicks contraction.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly exhaled, taking two steps back and sinking onto a dining chair.

  As I leaned forward and breathed through the contraction, a simple refrain echoed in my head: This isn’t labor. This isn’t labor. This isn’t labor.

  I sensed someone’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look up. I just waited for the pain and pressure to ease.

  This contraction seemed to last longer than the others had. A warning bell rang in my head, but I quieted it.

  This isn’t labor.

  When it finally ceased, I let out a shaky breath and looked up. Most of the attendees were focused on Laurie, who was shoveling cake into her mouth like her life depended on it. But three people had noticed my contraction: Jim, my dad, and Denise.

  Denise weaved through the crowd and sat in the chair next to mine. “This isn’t normal, Kate,” she whispered urgently. “You’re in labor.”

  “I can’t be in labor,” I hissed. “Laurie’s birthday is tomorrow. If the babies steal her birthday, she’ll grow up resenting them!”

  She scowled at me, but sisterly concern shone in her eyes. “The twins will have to share their birthday with each other no matter what,” she said. “And they’ll grow up used to that. If Laurie happens to share that birthday, too, she’ll grow up used to it, too. You’ll find ways to make it special for all of them.”

  Then another horrifying thought hit me. “My OBGYN is in Rome!” I exclaimed. “She doesn’t get back until Tuesday! I can’t have the babies without a doctor there.”

  “I’m sure there’s more than one doctor at the hospital,” she replied placidly. “Giving birth isn’t usually something you can just reschedule to fit a doctor’s vacation plans.” With a crooked smile, she added, “Unless there have been some big advancements in modern medicine that I don’t know about.”

  She was right. I groaned under my breath. Why does she have to be right?

  But I was determined. Surely I could delay the inevitable by sheer force of will . . .

  Just until Tuesday.

  The doorbell rang, and Paula jolted.

  “Did the duck not get my texts?” she hissed.

  My forehead crinkled as I tried to make sense of that sentence. “The duck?” I asked. “What are you—”

  But Paula had already whisked out of the kitchen. I tilted my head and tried to listen for her voice, but I couldn’t make it out over the animated conversations going on around me.