Preparations began like spring cleaning. Perfume retired. He suggested a pale lilac dress—“softness is grace”—and smaller portions “so you’ll feel light.” She let him choose the bakery gift because choosing became easier when someone else made decisions for you. She watched the ribbon being flattened to perfection.
They practiced her hello: the words, pause; hands visible, shoulders level. “Not too bright, nor too soft,” he repeated, the Goldilocks of greetings. She tried versions of herself in the mirror until they all sounded like public service announcements. He smiled. She hid a sigh behind it.