What a (fabulously) horrific story.
Just trying to imagine myself in Mira's place made my skin crawl; I decided a few minutes in that if I were to wake up as a bridesicle, I'd opt for death on the spot. (But was she even *allowed* that option?) This one absolutely wins on an emotional level. Panic, desperation, hope . . . really well-done.
I did have two quibbles, but neither of them was strong enough to really detract from the story. First, I felt like Mira came to terms with her situation too rapidly: "you died! Eighty years ago! And now your only way out of this circle of hell is to prostitute yourself to a stranger!" I kind of felt like she should have gone straight into a hysterical screaming fit, before starting to process her situation and think strategically. But given that she was only able to think while awake, that would have seriously derailed the story's forward progress, so I let it slide. Second, as others have said, there could have been more sense of society having changed in the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth centuries, but aside from hitchers and the orange lawyer (and the bridesicle thing itself), nothing seemed very different. There are still excruciatingly boring company parties, the mother still didn't approve of the gay daughter, and fat people still go to Weight Watchers meetings. I don't want a lot of exposition about what the world is like outside Mira's extremely limited perspective, but as it stood, those touches made it feel like if Mira could just turn her head, she'd see the early twenty-first century past the edges of the frame.
As I said, though, neither of those kept me from enjoying the story. It echoed a wide variety of topics: mail-order brides, prostitution, horrible dating services, parental care, health insurance nightmares, etc, all without reducing itself to a SFnal allegory of any single thing. Excellent work, and I absolutely ditto those who say this has been the best of the Hugo stories so far.