“The Proposal?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I pressed play and I decided to ignore the terrifying thought that crossed my mind: it was kind of nice having Oliver to talk to.

12.

I quickly developed a routine. After my visit with Mum in the morning, I’d either watch montage movies or hang out with Ruby in the afternoon. We decided to do at least one official montage thing every week, but in between, we went for coffee, got ice cream on the pier, or walked along the strand, dipping our toes into the water. Ruby stopped to pet every dog we saw. It was kind of sweet. Every time Dad asked me to do something for the wedding, I shrugged super apologetically and said I had plans with Ruby. I wasn’t going to pretend to have a vested interest in floral arrangements, the band versus DJ debate, or party favors (personalized mini bottles of artisanal gin—have you guessed my dad is a massive hipster yet?). Though I did helpfully suggest bottles of “fairy dust” for the children, which was a miniature corked bottle full of glitter.

They loved that.

They did not think ahead.

You see, there’s an evil little imp that lives inside me that rubbed its hands together in glee, imagining Dad and Beth trying to siphon iridescent glitter into tiny jars. They’d be covered in the stuff for weeks.

It’s the little things that make life worth living, you know?

I tried not to, but I couldn’t help comparing being with Ruby to being with Hannah. Hannah knew everything about me and although that sounds good in theory, in practice it meant there was no getting away from the mundane, crappy parts of life. We talked so often about Mum and her diagnosis and how I felt about possibly ending up like her. No wonder we never had sex. It was better this way. Even if sometimes I wanted to tell Ruby something real, I wouldn’t break my new rules; that would be like waving at the apocalypse and saying, sure, come on in, would you like some tea? Even the day Mum said my name. It was small and stupid because she’d forgotten again a few minutes later, but I had desperately wanted to tell someone who would know what it meant to me and there wasn’t anyone left in my life who would understand. But it was better this way.

I said that already, didn’t I?

Unfortunately, by the time we’d reached week three of me skipping out on everything wedding related, Dad started taking bookings for the Rob Clarke Guilt Trip Express and buying a ticket was not optional. So I agreed to the onerous task of cake tasting.