En Bref (Short Stories)

Ghosted on Valentine's Day (romance, paranormal)

Anna glances at the ancient clock—the only heirloom Grand Aunt Enid insisted on taking with her to the retirement home. It's 2:26 pm.

"Count Valentine looks very handsome here," Anna says. "Some men are just born to wear a tux."

She says this exact same thing every Saturday, at almost exactly the same time, after Great Aunt Enid rustled through the same yellowed photographs.

There are Saturdays when it rains, or the credit card bill is due, or when Anna stands in front of the flower rack in the grocery store wanting to splurge on roses... on those Saturdays, she is on the verge of telling Great Aunt Enid that every picture has a girl in a fancy dress—still recognizable as Enid minus fifty years—and a chair. Or Enid and a tree. Or Enid and the fabulous Canlis after it had just opened in 1950.

"Very, very handsome..."

Yet again, the absence of Count Valentine, handsome, average-looking or ugly, from those pictures remains Anna's secret.

Great Aunt Enid's cheeks blush with the hot-pink hue, as she strokes the velvet spine of the album. "I showed you mine," the old lady produces a naughty giggle. "Why don't you show me yours?"

"Let me see what I have for you this week." Her manicured nail makes a comforting tap as she wakes up her phone.

Great Aunt Enid's bird-like hand grips the phone. With her other, she pats her chest to find the glasses. Unhurriedly, she establishes them on her nose, while Anna blinks away the mirage of Great Aunt Enid smacking her lips.

Gosh, could anyone's life be so desolate that they would anticipate the selfies of Anna's life? Her biggest distinction—an awesome sister. Her highest passion—binge watching Netflix. Her prettiest dress—a bridesmaid's gown.

"Oh, my!" Great Aunt Enid shoots a mischievous look above her glasses. "It appears we have the same taste in men, my dear."

Anna snorts. "You got that right, Auntie Enid." They both fall the hardest for perfect men who don't exist.

Great Aunt Enid holds the phone at an arm's distance from her, no longer awkward with technology. The velvet-clad album slips between her frail hip and the armrest, temporarily forgotten.

"Your young man is the spitting image of Count Valentine. Just change him into proper clothes.... I don't know what it is with clothes nowadays." She shakes her head ruefully.

Anna suppresses a sigh. Maybe if she didn't go along with Great Aunt Enid's fantasies, she wouldn't be seeing some slouch in Anna's pictures. Then again, if Great Aunt Enid spotted a guy in a tux with luxurious side-burns instead, it would have been worse.

Gently, she takes the phone away from the old lady. Her eyes slip across the screen. Sure enough, it's a selfie of Anna in a cafe she tried for lunch on her quest to sample Seattle's best. It's not legendary Canlis by any means, but a rare February ray of sunshine cheerfully plays on the checkered tablecloth. And the sandwich was great. Anna 100% would eat there again—but she is alone at the table.

Of course, she is alone. She always is.

"So, what's the young man's name?" Great Aunt Enid asks with a conspirator's wink. "If it's not a secret?"

Before Anna could think better of it, she blurts out, "It's Val."

The old lady clutches her fluffy sweater. "Short for Valentine?"

This childish delight totally exonerates Anna's white lie. Nothing is easier than following it up with another. "I'll ask him next time, I promise."

"You should tell me everything about him!"