Page 8 of Born to be Wilder

“To kicking cancer’s ass!” Marge shouted as our glasses rang through the room.

“To kicking cancer’s ass!” we shouted back, then took a swig of our whiskey.

With a long ahhhhh, Marge smacked her lips together, then grabbed the basket again.

“Okay, here we go!” She reached in, and we all leaned forward in anticipation. She pulled out the folded piece of paper, and when she read the words on it, her face lit up. “Oh, nice, Alice!”

Alice grinned in response.

“What is it?” I bounced in my seat.

Marge turned the paper around, saying out loud what I read: Go to Mardi Gras and earn my beads.

I burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

Alice laughed with me but shook her head. “Nope. Not kidding. Mardi Gras is next week, and this is my last chance to show my beautiful breasts to the world before they either get maimed or cut off. I want to go and earn some beads with them while I still can.”

“I freaking love it! Yes!” Marge punched a fist into the air.

“What does ‘earn her beads’ mean?” Doris asked, looking between us. “I don’t understand.”

I giggled softly. “Um, at Mardi Gras, it’s a known tradition to flash your breasts at people to get them to throw you the beads they wear.”

Doris’s eyes bulged so wide I thought they’d fall out of her head. “You want us to go flash people. Oh, Alice!”

“Yep. That’s my wish. It’s Mardi Gras.” Alice’s chin lifted, and just like that, she was entirely herself again—the posture, the gleam in her eye, all of it snapping back into place. “I want to go to Mardi Gras. I want to get dressed up, show my beautiful breasts to the world one last time, and go out and have the time of my life.”

Marge slapped the table with both hands and stood up. “It’s settled. We are going to Mardi Gras.” She was already moving like an unstoppable force the way she did when a plan had assembled itself inside her mind. “Okay, I’m on it. I’ve got an idea. I’ll be back.”

“Marge—” I started.

“Just leave it to me. Everyone be ready to go tomorrow.” She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair.

“Marge!” Alice called after her. “Whatever you’re doing, do NOT come back with a chainsaw!”

Marge’s hand was already on the door. She turned just enough to show us her grin. “It’s not a chainsaw.”

And then she was gone.

The three of us sat in the sudden quiet, staring at the door.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Doris asked.

“I have no idea,” I said. “I never do.”

“Should we be worried?”

“It’s Marge. Of course we should be worried,” Alice said, then she laughed.

And that made me laugh, and then Doris joined us, and soon our laughter built as we fed off each other. The three of us laughing in my living room with the knitting basket between us and Marge loose in the world with some terrifying idea.

Whatever Marge was out there cooking up, we were going to Mardi Gras. We would experience life together—adventure together, just like we always had.

I was so grateful for it. I was so grateful for all three of them.

They were my family, these widows, and cancer had picked the wrong family to mess with. But right now, before the fight of our lives, it was time to do what we did best and have the time of our lives.

Chapter Three