I wonder if she realizes how ridiculous she sounds.

“I know I sound ridiculous,” she says. “But I’m old and I’m tired. I’m not going to start denying myself the only pleasure I have left.”

With some effort, she gets to her feet and stands still, lifting her face to the sky and closing her eyes. “Ironic, isn’t it?” she says after a minute, “that the air always tastes sweeter to me after a cigarette.”

I don’t answer. I don’t really know what to say. She opens her eyes and looks down at me with sympathy. “It’s rotten luck, getting it at your age. It really is. Sometimes the lack of justice in these things really pisses me off, and if there is some old guy in a white robe and dodgy sandals up there he’ll be getting words from me, you better believe it. I have some questions I need answered.”

She pauses to cough a few times, and I notice her hands and fingers are curled with arthritis.

“Listen to me. Don’t make the mistake so many people in our position do,” she says once she’s cleared her chest. “I’ve seen it so many times. People just give up when they get the diagnosis, like their time is already gone.” She looks me up and down speculatively. “You’re young and, from the look of you, still physically capable. Don’t spend your last days here on earth dying. If you have something you want to do, make sure you do it. You hear me?”

I nod.

“Good.” She straightens up as much as her back will allow and shuffles off.

She doesn’t look back.

I look at the sky again. The wind has shifted, coming in from the east, rolling the clouds across the hills like cresting waves. There is one rebellious one, though, larger than the rest. It blooms upward, gloriously white against the sky, billowing out like a meringue.

If you have something you want to do, make sure you do it.

Her words echo in my head as I watch that cloud. I’ve never been a big believer in signs. To me, you can find a reason to do anything if you look hard enough. But on a day when I have been given the worst possible news, I throw reasoning to the wind and I seize it. The cloud like a meringue. Or a dress. It’s a sign.

Do what you want to do.

I want to get married.

Chapter Two

Surprise!”

I feign shock as the lights come on and an assortment of family and friends materializes from behind door frames and up from behind couches.

“What’s this? What’s going on?” I ask, hand on heart theatrically, arranging my features into a quizzical frown.

My mother steps forward and rolls her eyes.

“You can drop the act,” she says. “We know you knew.”

“Sorry? I…What? Oh, fine. What gave me away?”

“Your father confessed that he forgot it was a surprise and phoned to ask you what time you’d be arriving.” She turns to frown at my father, who looks sheepish.