Page 1 of A Breath of Fresh Air

PROLOGUE

TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO

Every time I step outside it’s like a wall of heat hitting me. The doors of the cool pharmacy slide open, but instead of the joy I usually feel when I exit into the warm air — an exhilarating reminder that I’m here enjoying a holiday in sunny Australia — I just feel even more sick.

I grip the paper bag in my hands tighter, the box inside crumpling a little bit in my fist. No one knows what I’m holding but I feel like they do, every glance my way as I pass people on the street making me want to shrink away and hide.

It’s a relief, and at the same time terrifying, when I get back to my hotel room. I go directly to the bathroom, dropping the paper bag on the way, tearing open the box with shaking hands, swearing as I realise I’ve torn through half the instructions. Piecing them back together is easy enough, and really, it’s pretty bloody simple anyway.

Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line is negative, two lines means it’s positive.

Not even a minute goes by before two pink lines start forming. By minute three, they’re so strong they look red.

I sit on the hotel bed in stunned silence for a long time, that nausea ever-present in my gut.

MARCH

PRESENT DAY

Igently brush back the hair from my daughter’s forehead, growing misty-eyed as I give her the once-over. She looks beautiful with her hair worn loose, a long white veil trailing down behind her, wearing the most stunning strapless wedding dress I’ve ever seen.

She rubs my arm, her big brown eyes searching my face. “You okay, Mum?”

“Yeah.” I give her a smile, though my heart feels like it’s being squeezed too hard in my chest. Twenty-eight years went by so bloody fast. “I was just remembering the day I found out I was pregnant with you. I was on holiday in Aussie, andfuckI was scared, but I just knew I wanted you. It feels like yesterday, and now you’re getting married.”

“I know Mum. I’m still your baby.”

“You are,” I agree, giving her a tight hug. “You’ll always be my little girl.”

“You may kiss the bride.”

I give up on trying to hold back my tears as my baby girl throws her arms around her new husband’s neck, standing on her tippy toes to reach him. Van picks her up by the waist, lifting her with ease, and the small crowd all whoop and cheer when they kiss.

And kiss.And kiss.

“Get a room!” the groom’s younger brother shouts, and laughter ripples through the crowd. I wipe at my wet cheeks. I hope my mascara hasn’t run; Ellie paid for all of us to have our makeup professionally done for the big day, and I could barely recognise myself in the mirror after the lady was done with me. My curly hair — freshly dyed dark brown to hide the strands of grey threading throughout — has been tamed into an up-do, I’ve got fake lashes on, and I’m in heels, which I’ve pretty much avoided ever since I found out I was pregnant with Ellie twenty-eight years ago. I feel like a million bucks. A very happy, overjoyed-but-filled-with-bittersweet-feelings, million bucks that is.

Ellie deserves her happily ever after. She had to wait a bloody long time for it, and when Evander walked back into her life, I was seriously worried things would go the other way and she’d end up heartbroken again. Instead they’remated, and while I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that my daughter willingly let her man bite her so hard it scarred her shoulder, and that she in turn bit him the same way, I’m glad that they have this bond between them. There’s no going back for them, and he is devoted to her, I can see that now.

She has the joy and security I wish I could have had myself.

Ellie grins at me as she waits her turn to sign her marriage certificate, looking absolutely stunning in her white dress, and I give her a little wave, fresh tears blurring my vision.

“She’s done good,” Dad says beside me, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Heshouldhave his walker, but he insisted onusing a cane instead, arguing that the outdoor venue — the new garden Ellie helped create at the vineyard she now owns thanks to this wedding to her millionaire husband — meant that a cane was easier to use on the grass. His white hair ruffles in the breeze coming off the ocean as he turns his dark brown eyes to me. “He’s a good man,” Dad adds.

“He is,” I reply.

“Now we just have to find you a good man.”

“Dad!Don’t start with that nonsense.”

“Amaia—”

“—Hemi,” I say, using the same stern tone I hear the retirement home nurses use with him when he’s being stubborn. He gives me the stink eye but shuts his mouth. “This is Ellie’s day. Not the day where we discuss how many years it’s been since I brought a man around.”

“And it’s a wedding, girl. It’s a great place to meet people. That’s where I met your mother, you know, at my cousin’s wedding at the Hikurangi Rugby Club.”

“Yeah, I know.” I’ve heard the story a hundred times before, but I’m feeling it more today, because Mum isn’t here with us to celebrate. She never even got to meet Ellie, and that’s part of the sadness I’m feeling. She would have loved today; with the late-summer sun shining and the beautiful views of grapevines and the bright blue ocean behind them… and she would have loved our beautiful Ellie.

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