Like me. She grinned at the thought.
Taking pity on the sad flowers, she bought a bunch before continuing on her journey home. She commiserated with the brown-tinged blossoms left behind by other customers who didn't want to be so close to death. The petals were like silk, their scent strong and sweet.
"You're still beautiful to me," she told them. "Logan won't agree. What a jerk. Maybe you all can go with me to the beach and we'll leave him at home."
Entertained by her pep talk with the flowers, Deidre reached her towering apartment building a short time later and paused to collect the mail. Her gaze fell to the envelope from South Peachtree Mortuary Services. She'd bought her casket months ago and was on a payment plan. Holding the bill made her hands sweat and her heart beat faster. She wanted to burn or shred the sign of her impending demise. How many twenty-six-year-olds planned their own funerals?
"Don't worry, flowers," she murmured as she entered the elevator. "We've got a better plan, right?"
The other occupant of the elevator glanced at her. She smiled and shoved the bill into her purse. She could pay it this month or put the three hundred dollars towards a one-way ticket to wherever she wanted to be when she died.
She liked the latter plan much better.
The apartment was quiet when she entered a few minutes later. She tossed her keys on the counter and set down the flowers. She dug out the envelope from the funeral home and tore it in half. The sight of it lying in two pieces was gratifying. Unable to outmaneuver death, she could at least take out her grief and anger on a poor little piece of mail.
Bottle of wine in one hand, Deidre retreated to her bedroom to pack. She caught her reflection in the mirror and admired her hair. Naturally white-blonde, she'd dyed it pink on a whim last weekend. Logan hated it, but she loved it.
She drank straight from the bottle as she moved around the room, gathering and piling clothing into a small suitcase. She left out the shirt bearing Logan's initials as he requested then glared at it.
"Sorry, Logan," she told the shirt. "We're through after this weekend. I got too many things on my bucket list."
Deidre wiped away more tears and went to her messy desk, where a red-covered notebook sat on a pile of paper. She opened it and reviewed the to-do list of things she wanted to experience before she died. Some of them were crossed out. Most were not. She added yet another item to the growing queue.