Usually on Valentine’s Day I post a comprehensive list of extremely useful and meticulously researched Flirting Tips for Human People. You’ve probably heard of the series. It is widely acclaimed.

However, I’ve decided to go in a different direction this year—and this year only—by touching on what comes AFTER a fruitful flirt. As the great poet once said,

“First comes love / Then comes marriage.”

(That’s not the rhyming bit. Just so you know. I didn’t want you to think it was just like…a bad poem.)

You might have noticed the poet neglected to mention flirting, which you may think was a mere oversight, but not so. I suspect this poet was an agent of the State. Which State? Doesn’t matter. They’ve all got the same objective: MARRIAGE. MARRIAGE FOR EVERY CITIZEN. The agents want everyone matched up and paired off and hitched away because they love the Cha-Cha Slide and aside from a seventh-grade school dance the only place they can hear it is at a WEDDING.

And do you really think that a State agent whose favorite song is the Cha-Cha Slide knows anything about flirting? Of course not. They haven’t even made the connection between flirting and marriage. That’s why I’m here (but more on that subject next year). I lay the foundation of flirtation. Excavate the site. Dig footings. Install rebar. Mix the banter up with water in the banter mixer until it’s smooth and ready to pour. Let it harden for a good 48 hours. You’re familiar with the process.

But that’s where my job ends. After I clear out, a one-woman crew comes in to build the bridge from flirtation…to love…to marriage. (It’s one of those rare bridges that has a stop in the middle.) And the name of the woman who makes up that one-woman crew is AUNT EDNA.

I can personally attest to her skills. Ten years ago, after I got engaged, right around the time the shadowy agents of the State started leaving vaguely threatening bolts of tulle outside my door, it was Aunt Enda who showed up and sorted me out. She guided me down the aisle with grace and wisdom and a line of little colorful sweets like a witch in a fairy tale. And here I am, a decade later, fully hitched and slingin’ flirting tips to the next generation of human people. And the cycle continues.

So if you happen to find yourself this Valentine’s Day WAY past the sweetly temperate realm of flirtation and well along the shaky bridge to MARRIAGEVILLE, I invite you to bask in the comforting (if musty) presence of Aunt Edna.

AUNT EDNA’S GUIDE TO WEDDINGS AND FALCONRY
(an excerpt)

When I first saw her, I thought she was a corpse. All slumped in a pile next to a massive steamer trunk just outside my apartment door. Exactly where I hadn’t left a corpse that morning.

Just as I got a good loud shriek worked up, the pile stirred, which cut the shriek off in my throat.

“Whooo are you?!” I shouted. I tried to assume a fighting stance, which for me meant jumping in the air and bicycling my legs.

“Whoa, whoa—whoa, girl! Hold it!” The bundle coughed raspily and lurched up to a seat.

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF!” I cried.

She tipped back a dusty green felt hat and I saw her face. It had been six years since I’d seen her last, but she looked the same. Her pale blue eyes were red-rimmed and droopy with sleep, her frown little more than a puddle of wrinkles above her collar.

“Aunt Edna!” I nearly dropped to the ground with relief. “I thought you were dead!” (I realize now this was not a polite thing to say to an elderly woman.)

“Not yet!” she mumbled. “They haven’t got me yet.”

“How long have you been waiting here?” I asked.

“Oh, not long, dear, not long.”

“Well, what—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, it’s just—”

As she stretched her limbs, they popped with a sound like a thumb running over a comb’s teeth, and I took in how thin she was under her layers of clothing.

“Just passing through,” she said.

“Well,” I said dazedly, “come inside.”

Together, we shoved her steamer trunk just past the door frame, and I managed to close the door behind it. She gazed around with a critical eye.

“Can I take your coat?”

She handed me her hat and shrugged out of the oversized military coat she wore. Thick, curly hair, the sort of color they call dun, spilled off her head like scrambled eggs. Her eyes darted warily in their sunken sockets. While I made coffee, she prowled around the place, silently scrutinizing pictures on the wall and peering behind furniture and running her fingers across every book on the shelves. She perked up a bit, though, after I settled her down on the sofa and placed a mug of coffee directly into her hand.

“Tell me about your young man,” she mumbled as her face sank into the cup.

“Bill? Oh, well, we met at college, and—”

She waved her hand. “Not that. Tell me about him.”

“He works as a numisma…”

“Not his job.” She spat on the ground in frustration. “When was he born?”

“Um…” I laughed nervously. “He’s a Pisces if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh, he’s a Pisces, is he? Of course that’s not what I mean! Use your head, girl. What day of the week was he born?”

“I don’t…you know, Aunt Edna, off the top of my head, I’m not sure.”

She scoffed. “And this is the man you’re supposedly going to marry, hmm?”

“I’ll have to look it up,” I said. “But why do you ask?”

“The old rhyme,” she said. “You know it. Monday’s child, fair of face, Tuesday’s child full of grace…and so on. By the way, you’re a Monday child, so you oughta start acting like it and put on some sunscreen once in a while. Monday’s child freckle-faced, more like.”

I smiled stiffly.

“Thursday!” I announced after consulting my phone’s calendar. “He’s a Thursday child.”

“Thursday, hey?” She raised her chin imperiously. “Thursday’s child has far to go.”

“What day of the week were you born, Aunt Edna?”

She barked out a laugh. “Impertinent.”

“Oh, come on. Are you a Saturday child, curls and bows? Or a Sunday child…knobbly…toes?”

A slow smile parted the wrinkles on either side of her mouth like a curtain. “I’ll never tell.”

Probably she was born before days of week were invented and couldn’t tell me.

“Oh, fine,” I said. “At least tell me where you’ve been all this time.”

“All this time? When was the last time I visited? Was it this century? Yes, I think…it’s only been a few years, dear. I saw you before you went off to college.”

“That was six years ago, Aunt Edna.”

“Right. Hardly any time at all. This is good coffee, dear.” She seemed mildly surprised.

We sat sharing silence for a moment, until I worked up the nerve to say, “I hope this doesn’t seem rude—because I am very happy to see you, of course—but can you tell me again what you’re doing here?”

She smacked her lips and gave me a long stare. “I heard about your wedding, and I wanted to congratulate you.”

“Who…I mean, how did you hear about it?” As far as I knew, no one in my family had a reliable way to contact Aunt Edna. She showed up when she pleased, and between-times she made herself a mystery.

She chortled. “O-ho, thought you could keep it a secret from me, hey? Well, girl, you have to wake up pretty early in the morning to fool old Edna. I’ve had this visit marked on my calendar for years. Now—” She set her mug down so forcefully some coffee sloshed over the side. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

“Oh, that’s—”

“How much do you have planned already?”

I looked at her, trying to pick some words from the ether to string together into an answer. But I couldn’t. I opened my mouth, but instead of words, this squeaky wailing sound came out.

“Carrie?” she said.

The noise went on and on. I felt my cheeks with my fingertips, but my eyes were dry. If I wasn’t crying, I didn’t know what this outburst was. Hunger? Was it the sound of abject appetite?

“Oh—my girl…now, that’s not a good noise.”

She moved over to sit next to me. Pulling me into a crushing hug, she patted my hair and made small cooing noises. She smelled like pipe tobacco and tumbleweeds.

Once I quieted down, she said, “Now, tell me what’s going on, dear. Tell me true. Don’t try to placate me with pretty lies and excuses. Just lay it on me, no matter how shameful or embarrassing it is.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s nothing, really—” Aunt Edna raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s just that I feel so…so…”

“Skeered?”

I nodded. “Yes. I am scared. It’s just…it’s like…I mean, you know? Like, it’s forever. Forever-ever.”

She gave my elbow a stiff pat. “You’ll be alright, dear. Everyone gets nervous before they get married. I’d think you a simpleton if you weren’t frightened.” She pressed her lips into a pitying smile. “Why don’t you go take a nap, dear?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Don’t argue with me, girl,” she said. “And don’t worry about keeping me entertained. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”

She steered me into the bedroom, guided me under the covers, and tucked me in. I closed my eyes. A faint breeze met my face.

“Aunt Edna,” I said, “what’re you doing?”

The breeze stopped for a moment. “It’s easier to sleep when you’re cool.” Then the breeze resumed. It smelled of coffee and moth balls.

She was right.

There’s more. Much more. You haven’t even met the falcon yet.

But all that will have to wait. I tell the whole story in a little-lauded Wedding Book that’s been forthcoming for a decade now. It’ll probably still be forthcoming in another decade, so in the meantime we’ll get back to what we human people do best:

A GREAT AND TERRIBLE FLIRT.

See you next Valentine’s Day.