She can sense I am weakening.

“And,” she carries on, “think of how amazing we could make this wedding for you if we let all these people help.” She picks up her phone off the bed and flicks her finger down the screen.

“Offers of dresses, free hairstyling on the big day. Look, this old guy has even offered his beach house for your wedding night. Wait.” She frowns as she reads and then jabs at the screen. “OK, delete that one. Think he’s got the wrong idea. But, Ava, please. Let me let these people do this for you. Please? You’re my best friend—”

“Ahem.”

Kate shuffles into the room and I realize she’s been listening at the door. She sounds all choked up as if she has been crying.

“OK, one of my best friends,” Amanda corrects herself, reaching out to take one of Kate’s hands as well.

“I want this day to be everything you’ve dreamt of and more,” she says. “I want it to be amazing. Just like you.”

I look at Kate. She smiles through her tears. “I don’t see any harm in it. Like she said, people like to help other people.”

“OK.” I nod. “As long as I get to decide what we accept. No monetary donations. Just stuff that might help with the wedding.”

“Deal.” Amanda squeals, bouncing up and down on the bed.

There’s the ping of a new message and she picks up the phone and reads it. I see her eyebrows arch and she looks at me.

“What?”

“One of the largest magazines in the country has just messaged. They saw the page and want to do a story.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No way. Not happening.”

Chapter Twelve

Before my initial diagnosis, back when I was blissfully wading through life confident in the belief I could do anything I wanted and had all the time in the world left to do it in, I fought my morning wake-ups with all the determined grit of a bare-knuckled streetfighter.

The blaring alarm made me get up and face the day long before I was ever ready. I hated that thing with a passion, but it was a necessary evil. Without it I had no internal alarm to rely on. My love for sleep and the comfort of my bed were too strong, my pillow a siren call. The alarm’s raucous blaring made for a bad start to the day, and it often took a couple of hours, a few coffees, and a guiltily bought, instantly regretted, cream doughnut to awaken me to an acceptable level to deal with people and the world.

Now I regret those lost hours. I sleep now because my body tells me I have to, but my thoughts and fears often wake me while the rest of the world slumbers peacefully on. At least, those on the same side of the curve as me.

I had no idea how enchanting the pre-dawn world can be. How deliciously mischievous it feels to be up before anyone else. I don’t stay in bed anymore; it’s too easy to notice in the stillness every ache in my body, every twinge, and think, Is that more—? And then I picture it, the cancer a little malicious army of soldiers, identical in dress and appearance, marching in perfect unison through my bones and my blood, advancing to claim new territories.