Three weeks after Evelyn's revelation, we're gathered for what she called "a celebration, not a funeral."
She planned everything. Selected the venue, a restaurant overlooking the harbor. Chose the guest list, just twelve people. Wrote instructions: champagne, not tears. Stories, not eulogies. Life, not death.
"I want to be celebrated before I'm gone," she wrote in her invitation. "While I can still hear it. While I can still appreciate it. Consider this my living funeral. But fun."
So here we are. Me, Liam, Harper, Marcus, Sofia, Jordan, Melissa, and a few of Evelyn's close friends. Celebrating a woman who has maybe six weeks left.
She arrives last. Deliberately. Wants a grand entrance. She's wearing red. Bold, defiant red. Makeup perfect. Head high despite the pain I know she's in.
"
