Page 54 of Sassy & Sixty

Rosie sighed, cradling her mug. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Part of me remembers the good times, the life we built together. But another part..."

"Wants to see where this new chapter might lead?" Catherine finished gently.

Rosie nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and relief at having her feelings understood. "Is that terribly selfish of me?"

"Not at all," Trisha said firmly. "You're allowed to prioritise your own happiness, Rosie. It's not selfish to want to explore this new side of yourself."

As her friends offered words of support and encouragement, Rosie felt the knot of tension in her chest begin to loosen. They didn't push her towards any particular decision, didn't judge herfor her uncertainty. They simply listened, offered comfort, and reminded her of her own strength.

"You know," Julie mused, looking thoughtfully at her painting, "life rarely gives us clear-cut paths. Sometimes we have to forge our own way."

"THE LAST HURRAH"

Rosie stood in the middle of her living room, surveying the chaos around her with a mixture of amusement and mild horror. Streamers hung from every available surface, balloons bobbed gently against the ceiling, and a banner proclaiming "Goodbye House, Hello Adventure!" stretched across the fireplace. The banner, lovingly crafted by Julie, featured what appeared to be a house with legs running towards a sunset made entirely of glitter – Emma's contribution, naturally.

"Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea?" Rosie muttered to herself as she adjusted a slightly lopsided flower arrangement.

"Because, darling," Emma's voice rang out as she swept into the room carrying what looked suspiciously like a punch bowl, "you can't leave this house without giving it a proper send-off. Now, where shall we put the libations?"

Rosie eyed the punch bowl warily. "Emma, please tell me that's not your infamous 'Sensational Sixty' cocktail. I still haven't recovered from the last time."

Emma's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Of course not! This is my new creation – 'The House Warmer.' Or should that be'House Cooler' since we're leaving? Either way, I promise it's only slightly lethal."

Before Rosie could protest, the doorbell rang. She opened it to find Lisa on the doorstep, looking uncharacteristically flustered and carrying an enormous cake box.

"Rosie, thank goodness," Lisa said, bustling past her. "You won't believe what happened. The bakery mixed up our order. Instead of 'Farewell to Rosie's House,' the cake says 'Congratulations on Your Vasectomy, Ross.'"

Rosie blinked, trying to process this information. "I... what?"

Lisa set the box down on the dining table, lifting the lid to reveal a truly impressive cake adorned with anatomically incorrect decorations that Rosie decided she'd rather not examine too closely. "I tried to explain the mistake, but the baker just kept insisting that this was the only cake they had there."

Emma, who had wandered over to inspect the cake, burst into laughter. "Oh, this is perfect! Nothing says 'new beginnings' quite like celebrating the end of someone else's fertility. Ross, whoever he is, will just have to find another cake."

As Rosie and Lisa debated the merits of trying to scrape off the more questionable decorations, the house gradually filled with guests. Julie arrived with an easel and art supplies, declaring her intention to create a "living memory" of the party. Catherine brought enough food to feed a small army, explaining that she wasn't sure what kind of snacks were appropriate for a "house funeral."

Trisha, ever the organiser, had taken it upon herself to create a schedule for the evening. "I've allotted time for mingling, reminiscing, and a brief period for Emma to teach everyone the dance routine she's been threatening us with," she explained, brandishing a colour-coded chart.

"Dance routine?" Rosie asked weakly, but her question was drowned out by the arrival of more guests.

Soon, the house was buzzing with conversation and laughter. Neighbours Rosie had known for years mingled with newer friends, all sharing stories and memories of the house that had been Rosie's home for so long.

Mrs. Fitzgerald from next door cornered Rosie by the punch bowl, her eyes slightly glazed from Emma's concoction. "I'll never forget the time your cat got stuck in our chimney," she reminisced. "Took three firemen and a very confused pizza delivery boy to get him out!"

Rosie nodded politely, trying to remember if she'd ever owned a cat. She made a mental note to cut Mrs. Fitzgerald off from the punch.

The evening wore on and Rosie found herself swept up in a whirlwind of emotions. Every room held a memory – some joyful, some bittersweet. In the kitchen, she remembered teaching Mary to bake cookies, flour covering every surface and giggles filling the air. In the study, she recalled long nights working on her novel, fuelled by tea and determination.

She was lost in thought, staring at a family photo on the mantelpiece, when a familiar voice made her heart skip a beat.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Rosie turned to find Mike standing behind her, a warm smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand. "Mike! You came," she said, unable to keep the pleasure out of her voice.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little concerned about the cake. Is there something you haven't told me about a 'Ross' in your life?"

Rosie laughed, feeling some of the melancholy of the evening lift. "Oh, that. It's a long story involving a mix-up at the bakery and possibly the end of someone's genetic line. But never mind that – I'm so glad you're here."

As they chatted, Emma's voice came thundering through the room, amplified by what appeared to be a megaphonefashioned out of a wine bottle and a rolled-up magazine. "Ladies and gentlemen, and those who are fabulously neither," she announced, "it's time for the main event of the evening – the House Memory Tour!"

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