The backyard buzzed with anticipation. Both families were crowded under strings of lights, the smell of barbecue hanging in the warm air. Kids darted between chairs, uncles nursed beers, and everyone kept sneaking glances at the row of oversized confetti cannons lined up on the lawn.

Soap had barely been back for twenty-four hours. Deployment still clung to him. The leaner frame, the faint exhaustion around his eyes, the gear bag abandoned by the door. But when he walked into the backyard, he was grinning like he owned the place, accepting hugs, claps on the back, a steady stream of jokes from his cousins, and your father’s too-firm handshake.

“Aye,” he said loudly, eyeing the cannons, “let’s get this circus started. Am I havin’ a wee lassie or a lad to train up?”

Your heart thundered as you handed him the string to the biggest confetti cannon. The families counted down together. “Three… two… one!”

Soap yanked. The cannons erupted with a boom, and a hurricane of color exploded into the night, the sky raining pink and blue paper confetti.

For a heartbeat, Soap just stood there, slack-jawed, staring as the colors rained down over him. His head turned slowly, eyes wide as he looked at you. Everyone waited.

“...Why’s there two colors? Did—did it misfire?”

You bit your lip, fighting a smile. “No mistake, Johnny. Twins.”

The yard erupted in cheers, clapping, whistles, laughter. Your mother dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Soap, meanwhile, looked like someone had just told him he’d been redeployed to Mars.

“Twins?!” he barked finally, voice cracking. “As in—two? Double? Multipack weans?!” He clutched his head, pacing in frantic circles, confetti sticking in his hair. “I leave for a few months and ye double it on me?! One wasn’t chaotic enough, aye? Nooo, had to go for twins!”

Your uncles nearly doubled over laughing, his grandmother called it “divine justice,” and you just stood there, laughing through tears, watching him spiral.

He was rambling when he stopped suddenly, chest rising and falling hard, confetti clinging to his shirt. But even in his shock, he leaned down and gave you a rough kiss on the temple.

“God help us all—they’ll be just like their da.”