The postcard was unstamped and unaddressed—a simple rectangle of matte cardstock, with the Church of the Holy Saints' insignia on one side and a checkbox on the other:

[quote] 
 
 
 
 
☐    I hereby relinquish February 14, 1998 A.D., unto Saint Valentine.  Witnessed by the eyes of the Lord, blessed be His name.
 
 
 
 
 [/quote]

"It's good they do that," Gary said, lacing his fingers over his portly belly as he watched me from the porch of the adjacent apartment.  "A goddamn public service, if you ask me."

I frowned as I flipped through the rest of my mail.  Bills, circulars, holiday coupons.  A card from my mother; a thin envelope from Monica.  I threw that in the trash unopened. 

"Normally, yes, but this one is creepy," I said.  "How do they decide who gets one?  Where does your day go?"

Gary shrugged his shoulders.  "Saint Valentine, apparently."

"But it's not like the other holidays, where your time [i]does[/i] something.  Christmas, and the big donation drive for Saint Nicholas?  You wake up the next morning with a thank-you card from an orphan who got a gift.  And when I signed up with Saint Philemon for Thanksgiving, I got to read the newspaper article about the miraculous feast at the homeless encampment.  This, though?"  I brandished the card at him.  "Literally nothing happens."

"That's because on the other holidays, they're asking you for sacrifices.  This, Eddie, is a gift."

I scowled.  "What kind of 'gift' is stealing a day from you?"

"Easy, man.  You don't like it, don't check the box.  [i]Some[/i] of us appreciate the chance."

"… You got one too."

"Yeah, I did.  And I'm doing it."  He wiped his nose with the back of a finger, then pointed at me with it.  "You know how much it sucks to be single and looking on Valentine's Day?  For the past two weeks I've been working my ass off to avoid it.  I've written a hundred replies to personal ads and dating-site profiles.  Not one nibble.  So I could go down to a bar, trying to ignore giggles and kisses and marriage proposals for hours, and roll the dice on hooking up with some chick whose sole redeeming quality is that she's as desperate as I am—or I could skip the whole mess, wake up on the 15th, and get on with my life once the world isn't focused on love any more.  That's not a hard choice."

"But it's no gift," I snapped.  "[i]Helping[/i] is a gift.  This is a screw-you.  It's just… it's like police shooing homeless guys away from the mall because they're disturbing the shoppers."

"Hey," he said defensively.  "It's not [i]Valentine[/i] who decided I'm not dateable.  The world did that on its own.  Valentine's just letting me trade the worst day of the year for no day at all."  Gary leaned forward in his chair.  "And it's not Valentine who slept with your brother."

I felt my cheeks heat.  "Oh my God, Gary."

"It sucks that you're torturing yourself about it, but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me.  And don't blame the saint for giving you an alternative."

I stormed inside wordlessly and slammed the door behind me.

Then I ripped the postcard into pieces and flung it into the air, watching confetti shower around the living room.


[hr]


The 14th dawned cold and grey, clouds smothering the sky.  I balled up in a big, empty bed, staring out the window at the sparse holiday traffic on the interstate.

I finally dragged myself out of bed when my stomach rumbling grew too insistent to ignore.  On autopilot, I put four slices of toast in the toaster and cracked three eggs into the frying pan Monica had bought us.  The eggs were almost cooked when I realized what I'd done.  

I threw half the food away—then the other half, too, as my appetite fled.

I pulled on a sweater and lunged for the door, hoping a walk would take my thoughts off of the apartment's unnatural emptiness.  But as I left, I glanced through Gary's front window.  Apparently he had been watching the late shows when midnight hit.  His form was a statue on his couch—raised arm holding a remote control, unblinking eyes staring at his TV set as the glow from soap operas played over his frozen face. 

I turned around and went back to bed, then spent the morning counting cars as they passed my window.