Don’t worry, Papa. I’m going to find myself a husband so you can walk me down the aisle on my wedding day before you leave this earth . . . if it’s the last thing I do.

Violet

“I still can’t believe it!” I squeal, wiggling my fingers and watching my engagement ring flash as the overhead lights reflect on the diamond’s faceted surface.

Having already heard this once, or maybe two dozen times, my two best friends sigh but rally with the appropriate oohs and ahhs, even throwing me a bone of another “Congratulations, girl!”

My lifelong bestie, Abigail Andrews, and Archie Hornee, my interior design assistant, are basically saints for putting up with me at this point. “Colin and I are getting married!”

Archie arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and presses a palm to his black T-shirt-covered chest, which is most definitely manscaped. Ever the sarcastic ball of sass, he deadpans, “Dear, we know.” He continues the performance by pulling a Vanna White, slapping a big fake smile on his face and gesturing widely to the roomful of wedding gowns surrounding us. When he finishes, his face goes right back to his usual blank ‘fuck off’ mode.

As if we’d be at a wedding dress shop for any other reason. Lord knows, Abigail and Archie aren’t looking to get married, and obviously not to each other since Abigail lacks a rather important piece of the perfection that Archie is looking for, a never-ending appreciation of his special brand of hilarious, off-the-cuff, don’t-care-about-being-politically-correct, catty-bitchiness.

So nope, not for them, for sure. We’re here for me! I can’t believe it’s really happening.

It’s been five months since Papa’s diagnosis, and what a busy five months it’s been.

Initially, I thought there’d be no way I’d ever get married before his heart gave out. After all, his doctor had painted a grim picture with no happy ending.

But despite the odds, Papa has miraculously held on long enough for me to reconnect with an old high school fling and get engaged after a whirlwind romance where we both said we wanted the whole nine yards—wedding, marriage, kids. Luckily, since Colin and I already had a history, it wasn’t starting at ground zero, and instead, we moved quickly after a short get-to-know-you-now phase. He’s a really good man, and I think we can be happy together.

Serious relationship, party of two . . . here! I think, adding a shimmy to my ass as I raise my hand, peering at the weighty sparkle resting there again.

But despite my excitement, the rows of gorgeous gowns, and two friends with a sharp eye for fashion, I’m currently trying on what has to be my twentieth wedding dress. Ride or Die Bride, an edgy bridal shop that calls itself the Number One Bridal Shop for the Modern Badass Chick, is failing to deliver a dress that is The One.