Page 67 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“Yeah, but those are for myfunpills.” She nudges Mayor Nash and winks at him, and that lets me know I don’t need to press the subject.

Lyla Nell giggles, struggling with the ribbon on a particularly well-wrapped package. Her little face scrunches with determination, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth—an expression she’s definitely inherited from me. But other than that, her green eyes, that dark hair that turns red at the tips, and those deep-well dimples, she’s all Noah Fox.

“I help!” Josie, my sweet niece, dives in to assist, making the unwrapping process approximately seventeen times slower, while two-year-old Bear watches with the intensity of a sports commentator, clutching his own new toy truck like it might make a break for the door.

Noah and Everett hover around the chaos like helicopters with cameras. Noah holds the video camera as if he’s documenting a rare wildlife phenomenon forNational Geographic, while Everett snaps photos at a rate that suggests he’s afraid he’ll miss the shot of a lifetime.

“Get her from this angle,” Everett directs Noah while shifting positions. “The lighting is better.”

“I know how to film my own daughter,” Noah shoots back, but moves as suggested anyway. “This is my second birthday party.”

“And I’ve been documenting my daughter’s life each day for two years,” Everett counters. “Experience counts.”

Oh my goodness. These two. Always competing for Dad of the Year, even though technically they’re bothhers. And they’re both winning if you ask me.

Lainey bounces baby Mimi on her knee while keeping one eye on Josie, who’s now attempting to climb the gift pile as if it’s Mount Everest.

Meg sits nearby, cradling baby Piper who sleeps through the chaos like a champion.

Noah’s sister Sam watches with amusement as her daughter Willow Grace pulls at her mother’s dark locks. And Lily and Alex’s son Levi seems to be studying the proceedings with the serious expression of a tiny professor.

My sister Charlie and Everett’s sister Meghan are happily sipping a faux mimosa, and I can practically see the glee on their faces just knowing they’re one of the few people in the room that get to enjoy a night’s sleep without interruption.

Over by the window, Mom and Wiley share the loveseat, her hand resting comfortably in his. It still amazes me how life can take such unexpected turns. If anyone had told me years ago that my mother would end up with Noah’s father, I’d have laughed myself into a hernia. And then maybe have hired a good attorney who could draw up a decent restraining order.

Eliza, the picture of elegance even at a toddler’s birthday party, sips tea from an actual china cup she brought from home—British bone china. Because, of course, she brought her own. Actually, she just gifted Lyla Nell one of her coveted sets. That very one. And you can bet I’m far more excited about that gift than Lyla Nell might ever be.

Eliza brought Everett’s twin girls over, Ava and Olivia. And those two cute preteens flank Evie like white on rice, looking at their big sister with admiration while hanging on her every word as she helps Lyla Nell with the next gift.

It’s all so very lovely. And loud. So very,veryloud.

“Do you feel another year older, Lottie?” Keelie asks as Lyla Nell rips into another package and sends a shower of glitter-covered wrapping paper into the air that will probably still be turning up in the carpet when she goes to college.

“I feel exactly one Barbie cake and three cups of coffee older,” I tell her, patting my perpetually enormous belly. “These two have apparently decided to postpone their eviction notice indefinitely. I’m beginning to think they’ve installed a home theater system in there. I don’t see why they’d ever leave. After all, I’m giving them a steady stream of snacks—mostly donuts.”

One of the twins kicks as if they agreed with me. Or they want another donut. Probably the latter.

Lyla Nell squeals as she uncovers her next gift—a double stroller with two baby dolls, courtesy of Keelie and baby Bear.

“Look, Mommy,” she cries, holding up the dolls with a mixture of delight and suspicion. “Babies for me!”

“That’s right, sweetie.” Keelie smiles. “So you can be just like your mama and push your twins around Honey Hollow.”

“Only I’ll have a triple stroller,” I say with a dull laugh.

Lyla Nell’s face suddenly turns serious as she looks at the dolls, then at my belly, then back at the dolls. “Too many babies,” she declares with the conviction of someone who’s given the matter far too much serious thought, and the room erupts with laughter.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Carlotta says with a grunt.

Mayor Nash nods. “The kid makes a valid point, Lottie. You’re about to be outnumbered.”

“I already am,” I say, pushing myself up from the couch with the grace of a walrus. “Anyone need a coffee refill? I’m heading to the kitchen.”

Various murmurs ofyesandno thanksfollow as I navigate the obstacle course of toys, wrapping paper, and sugared-up toddlers. My back aches as if I’ve been carrying around a sack full of bowling balls—which come to think of it, isn’t far from the truth.

These twins feel like they’ve gained about ten pounds each in the last week alone. My little late-night donut habit isn’t exactly doing me any favors either.

I take three steps when I feel a warm gush between my legs, followed by a splat on the stone floor that silences the room faster than if I had announced the apocalypse. And in a way I had—thebabyapocalypse.

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