Mrs. Olivera A to Z Blogging Challenge

Blogging from A to Z Challenge
April 2015
This month I will be participating in the “Blogging from A-Z Challenge”

What is it?

I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z.   The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women.  Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.
All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.
I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Mrs. Olivera

She doodled in her fanciest script.  Mr. & Mrs Olivera.  
She leafed through stacks of magazines, dog earring her favorite pages.  
She pictured the bridal announcement, 
 “Adorned in an organza ball gown, the bride was stunning.  The ruched strapless bodice was enhanced with tear drop pearls.  Her floor length veil grazed the carpet as she was escorted by her brother down the aisle.” 
She practiced saying, “Mrs Olivera.” 
She imagined how exciting it would be as they waited for the MC to make the announcement…”Now may I present for the first time in public, Mr. and Mrs Olivera.”
The day would be perfect.  Everything would be perfect. 
He was going to surprise her with honeymoon plans.  Some place exotic, she was sure.   
Bali.  One of those thatched cottages, right on the water.   
They had talked about touring Paris or Rome. 
Before this, before him, she didn’t believe in fate or destiny.   
But their meeting could not have been accidental or by chance.  
She wasn’t supposed to be there that day.    But, one of the other women came down with the flu.  Her supervisor called and asked her to come in as soon as possible. 
He came hobbling into the ER.  An ice hockey accident.  
They talked about it later, how their attraction for one another was instant, electric and mutual.
 She hadn’t been looking for love.   
After her last relationship, she swore that she was going to spend time getting to know herself.  
She was going to practice the advice she had given to many of her friends.   “Figure out what you need.”
She knew now.  He was what she wanted, what she needed.  
He said he felt the same way.   
He told her that he wasn’t looking for love either.  Not now.  The time wasn’t right.
“The moment I saw you, though,  I knew I was in trouble,” he would joke.  
Today was the second anniversary of that night, the night they met. 
He promised they would do something special.  
“It might not top our first anniversary,” his text said.  “But I want you know that I haven’t forgotten.”
She decided that they could have a romantic evening, just the two of them.  She’d make shrimp parmesan.  It was his favorite.  Chocolate covered strawberries.  And of course champagne.
She was so happy.
“Mrs. Olivera,” she whispered to herself.
Her phone rang well past midnight.  She had fallen asleep on the sofa.
“Hon, I’m so sorry.”   His voice was low.  She could barely hear him.
“I couldn’t get away,” he said.  “It’s Abbie.”  She’s sick.”
“I’ll make it up to you, he said.  “I promise.”
She blew out the candles, once again.
She was reminded of the other advice she constantly gave to her friends.
“Do yourself a favor,” she’d tell them.
"Dump him.  He’ll never leave her.”