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Weddings Everywhere!

My little sister is getting married today!  I’m in a weddingy mood. So, to celebrate the day, here’s a re-post STAND’s Alternate Epilogue (Leah and Drake’s wedding): 

I fidgeted with my earring once more, making sure it was hanging just right—making sure it hadn’t fallen out though there was no reasonable way it could have.

“They’re still there, Lee,” my Dad said.

I looked up and saw him in the mirror, behind me.

He smiled and crossed the room. He looked funny in a suit. “Touching them makes it feel like she’s here though, huh?”

I nodded with a smile. “But I should stop messing with them—lord knows how old they are.”

“Only Cecelia would own a pair of antique sapphire earrings and keep them in a random jewelry box in her room—not somewhere safe.”

It wasn’t worth explaining that she could have kept them on her kitchen counter and they would have been safe, given the middle-of-nowhere location of her house. My house. No, that didn’t feel right. I still hadn’t moved any of her furniture, though technically, I’d owned this place for years now.

Drake and I hadn’t been able to bring ourselves to live here at first. We’d said the reason we hadn’t moved in was because we needed to finish school—and that was true—but, the other reason was because, at first, it had been too hard to be here. It was better now though, the sorrow less acute. Now this house was full of memories, bittersweet and tangy like lime sherbet. But it was also sitting, waiting to be made full of new memories. At first, Samantha and Harris had kept an eye on the house, keeping it dust-free and in good repair. Then, when Harris retired, and they’d decided to move back to California, I’d paid a property management company to look after it while we finished our Bachelor’s degrees. Now, Drake and I were getting ready to move in. After today.

“You’re almost up,” Dad said as he glanced out the window. “Everybody’s seated and Yumi’s about to wet herself she’s so excited—you better get out there before she spins off into the aether and takes all the flower petals with her.”

I laughed and joined him at the window, my dress rustling softly as I went. Sure enough, Ferris and Collin’s daughter was spinning in place, watching her red-orange dress with the teal ribbon flare as she turned. Her black hair showed blue in the bright sunlight. Ferris crouched down in front of her to grab her attention.

Dad let the curtain fall back into place. “See what I mean?”

“We should probably get out there before everybody melts, regardless,” I agreed.

I took his arm though it wasn’t necessary just yet, and together we walked down the short hallway, then across the living room to the front door.

“So,” Dad said as we waited. “After today, Mrs. King, huh?”

I shook my head. “Ms. Brayton-King, Dad. I told you that.”

“That’s right.” He sighed theatrically. “Hyphenating…that’s very modern of you. How does Drake feel about that?”

“He’s fine with it.” Especially when I’d explained to him why I’d wanted to do it: to preserve the Brayton shifter lineage. I was the last Brayton shifter, after all.

“I know,” Dad replied. “I’m just diffusing the situation with humor—it’s a coping mechanism.”

I laughed quietly.

“See, it works every time.”

A knock on the door meant the flower girl was on her way down the aisle, which was my cue.

My eyes found Drake’s the second the door opened. And while I knew there were people sitting in the white chairs on either side of the aisle—Samantha and Harris, Mallory, Terry and Michael, Sol, Poi, Nina, Wyck, Gabriel, even Felix, an empty chair beside him in honor of my aunt—Drake was all I could see.

We couldn’t have known, when we met, all the things that would happen. Just like we couldn’t have known, standing there that day, that it would take five years before we would refer to our house as ours and not Cecelia’s. Or that, in that time, we would have a daughter named Cressida and a son named Joaquin. We had no way of knowing those things as we stood, staring at one another, exchanging the vows we had already been living for years on that sweltering, sunny day under the tree in my aunt’s front yard.

 

#GhostStories

Welcome to the first edition of #Ghoststories, where I tell/post everybody else’s stories of their brush with the supernatural–because I don’t have any ghost stories of my own. Yep, that’s right: all supernatural happenings cease in my presence. It’s a gift. -.-  

Below is the story of the closest I’ve come to a supernatural experience. Enjoy!

Got a #GhostStory to share? Message me and it might be featured on ellebeauregard.com! 

My family’s apartment was haunted.  I had long moved away from home by the time my Mom and two sisters started living there, but from the minute they moved in, weird stuff started happening. In fact, some of the weird stuff that had happened in their previous home followed them to this new apartment.

So, one night, my husband and I were visiting and decided to stay the night. I was asleep on an air mattress in the living room, with the hubby tucked in beside me. He was awake, watching television while I dozed when he heard someone in the small kitchen just across the way.  Assuming it was my mom, he turned to tell her about the cool thing he’d just seen on the T.V.

But there was nobody there.

He then watched the freezer door open, and the kitchen faucet turn on ALL BY THEMSELVES.

He turned off the T.V., sunk down beneath the covers, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to go to sleep.

He told us what had happened the next morning. My Mom just nodded and replied with a story of her own. Then my sister shared one of her stories–and my other sister shared hers.

My hubby never spent the night in that apartment again.

Growing Pains

I promised you a newsletter on February 1st.

Welp, those of you who signed up (thank you!) might have noticed that it’s February 3rd and you haven’t yet received the first edition of Elle News.

No, it’s not stuck in your spam filter or junk folder. You really didn’t receive it.

Here’s why:

It turns out that I am required by law to list a physical mailing address on the footer of each e-newsletter I send.

No problem; I have a mailing address. Oh yeah, wait: my mailing address is my home address.

Not exactly something I want to be sending out all over the internet every month.

Okay, so what are my other options?

So far, it looks like renting a P.O. Box is the only safe bet. But before I take the plunge, I need to do some research. (Believe it or not, there are mailbox options beyond just the traditional box through the Post Office.)

So, research is commencing (interrupted intermittently by work, sick kids–you know, life!)

The good news is that, if you haven’t yet signed up, there’s still time to sign up and receive the first edition of Elle News. The bad news is that I’m not yet sure what the exact date will be when I send that first edition.  But when I figure that out, you’ll all be the first to know.

Thank for your patience while I figure this whole thing out! And wish me luck as I navigate the exciting new world of P.O. Boxes 😉