Page 2 of The Wedding Forecast

‘What is it?’

‘Something really nice.’

I stay silent, waiting for more.

‘Something I saw and thought you could use,’ she adds.

‘Why are you being mysterious and weird?’ I say.

‘Because I don’t want you to react or take it the wrong way,’ Mum says.

I don’t like where this is heading.

‘Okay. I won’t react. Just show me.’

Mum carefully unwraps the tissue paper and holds up a bra with a flourish. It’s pretty. No, it’s sexy. It has see-through, barely-there black lacy cups and a tiny satin bow in the middle. I glance at it, look back at the road, then back at the bra.

‘Oh. Wow. That’s very…’ I say. ‘Are you buying me lingerie now? Because that feels inappropriate.’

‘It’s just a simple black bra, darling.’

‘Where is it from?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘It looks expensive.’

‘It was. The lace is French.’

‘Well. Thank you, I appreciate it. But I’m thirty. I can buy my own bras.’

I can’t tell if this gift is about her concerns for my finances or her concern for my dating life. Probably both.

‘Have you bought any lately? Because the last time I was at your place, all I saw was old sports bras on the line.’

‘Mum,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to have this conversation.’

‘I just think you never know who you might meet this weekend. Or anytime. Lana’s daughter met someone the last time she went to the doctor.’

‘I’ll make sure to do a lap of the waiting room before my next appointment.’

‘All I am saying is maybe it’s time for you to get back out there. And it won’t hurt to have a nice bra on hand when you do.’

‘I have plenty of nice bras.’

I’ve never really been a sexy-lingerie person. I like plain and simple underwear. I like comfortable and functional. Or maybe I’m still stuck in long-term-relationship thinking. The ‘nice’ bra I packed for this weekend is beige and strapless and decidedly ugly, but it works under my bridesmaid dress so that doesn’t count.

‘Anna, sweetheart, I just want this weekend to be fun and stress-free for you,’ Mum says, putting the bra back into the tissue paper and balancing it on my overnight bag on the backseat.

‘It is. It will be. Look at me. Totally stress-free.’ I have sweat trickling down my back now.

‘But Joel—’

‘I don’t want to talk about him.’ She can have bras, but this is a boundary I am holding firm. I can’t talk about Joel. I need at least the rest of this car trip in a nice state of denial of his existence.

‘Honey, it’s okay to feel emotional about this weekend.’

‘I’m not emotional. Why would I be emotional? I’m extremely happy with my life.’