Over the past months, we’ve been inundated with entries in our second short story contest, and we’re thrilled to announce our winner. In her story, The Holobody, Becky Slate-Liu imagines how we may one day be able to spend time with a loved one who has died—and the consequences of such technology. Here’s what one of our judges, Cathi Hanauer, said of the story: “I’m not generally a fan of sci-fi or futuristic stuff, but I actually loved this story. It’s so well written, smart, funny, and fun, while also being sexy, sad, moving, and fascinating. (What if you could know everything about your husband after he died? Would that actually be a good thing?) The detail is exquisite.” Fellow judge Dawn Raffel agreed: “It is witty and has narrative drive. I breezed through it.” We think you’ll enjoy it as well. 

***

The lilies smell ripe, almost foul. Moira pushes the vases aside and collapses at the antique walnut table, head in hands.

How could her husband of 40 years just not exist anymore? Moira remembers the baking hot guestroom of their honeymoon, swimming together through the waterfall in La Fortuna, Ted’s slippery kisses under that dizzying torrent of water.

2073 was the year they were supposed to travel, finally see Thailand, volunteer at the Elephant Sanctuary. They were supposed to go on hikes, try new recipes, worry together over their daughter and son and grandkids. Ted wasn’t supposed to get diagnosed with cancer a year before retirement. She wasn’t supposed to quit her job at the Ediclinic to care for him, just to fail, just to lose him.

Did Moira ever tell Ted how much she loved his voice? She must have . . . yet she can’t recall.

Moira’s eyes burn; she reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. You’re so strong, everyone kept telling her over the past three weeks. You’re holding up so well. Now they’ve all flown home and there is nobody here to disappoint, nobody to hold up for. It’s just Moira in her Silvergleam kitchen, chilly white tiles underfoot. Everywhere are reminders of Ted, from his vintage hockey card collection on the coffee table to the wheelchair in the corner with his lobe-phones still hanging off the arm.

Moira double-blinks at the patio window, transforming it into a digital photo collage. It displays family photos spanning from their wedding day to their ruby anniversary, when Ted sang “Unforgettable” to her. She longs for the comfort of his voice, the deep tenor of it, how it cracked with emotion when he expressed love. It was warm, melodic. In better years, seductive.

Did Moira ever tell Ted how much she loved his voice? She must have . . . yet she can’t recall. She can barely remember what she said on those last days at his side, when the doctors weren’t sure if he could hear her or not.

“Malexa.” Moira is practically whispering, but she knows the minuscule apparatus in the corner is listening. “Did I ever tell Ted how much I love his voice?”

Malexa’s placid response hums through the speaker-walls. “Not in 2073. Would you like me to review earlier years and other locations?”

“Please, since 2032.” Moira holds her breath.

“No data to report.”

So Moira had never told him. Stupid. Stupid. And now her cheeks are wet, her body doubled in her chair.

PING!

‘We sync years of Malexa audiovideo to create a lifelike Hologram of your loved one for you to interact with!’

She dries her eyes and picks up her Omniglass. That’s probably a message from her children with news of their safe arrival in Toronto. But no, it’s a glossmail from Holobody Incorporated.

Someone laid to rest that you still want around? Stop feeling lonely and lost! Start your Free Trial today!

Moira sighs. Of course, these companies would know she was a recent widow; they would have seen her searches for aquamation burial, the black dress . . .

We sync years of Malexa audiovideo to create a lifelike Hologram of your loved one for you to interact with! Ready in only 12 hours! Don’t let the good times die!

Is this what she needs, a talking hologram of Ted? Her eyes scan the five-star reviews:

“Great at parties!”

“Handy! He told me where to find the shed key LOL.”

“The kids got to meet Grandma! She had always been in a coma!”

“No more meals alone.”

No more meals alone. Moira’s throat suddenly feels tight. She and Ted have shared countless meals at this sturdy table, even at the end when she rolled his wheelchair beside her and spoon-fed him.  To think of eating alone tonight, tomorrow, the day after that . . .

Taking a breath, Moira presses FREE TRIAL and gives the app permission to access 40 years of data collected by Malexa. Thankfully, she won’t need to sort through the thousands of videos, photos, and voice messages on her Omniglass. The app will take care of everything.

***

Malexa’s early alarm propels Moira from restless dreams. As she bustles to ready the house, chucking wilted flowers in the compost and folding the wheelchair into a closet, Moira’s Omniglass sounds.

PING!

She steadies herself, sits at the table, smooths her dark curls. Her quivering finger presses the red dot.

Your Holobody is ready to download! After 24 hours, your account will be charged $799.99/month for the BASIC PACKAGE, which includes—

Skipping ahead, Moira touches AGREE TO ALL after the thousands of terms and conditions. Then she breathlessly watches as waves of light flicker and solidify, beams and dots merge and dance, until suddenly appears a hologram of Ted. Her husband sits at the table upright and still, a pleasant, neutral look on his face.

“Ted?” Moira says, and with that he pivots his head and makes eye contact with her.

She breathlessly watches as waves of light flicker and solidify, beams and dots merge and dance, until suddenly appears a hologram of Ted.

“Moira,” he says, and her heart jumps at the pleasure of hearing her name in his mouth. It’s as though he knows she needs to hear it, so he says it again: “Moira.”

She savors him, smiling. God, Ted looks good. He was ordered at age 55, still healthy with that salt-and-pepper hair and athletic body.

“I love you, Moira,” Ted says. “Everything is going to be okay.” And now Moira’s heart is bursting, and she reaches her hand across the table to his as she has done thousands of times before. But her fingers sweep through his Holobody hand as if he isn’t there at all.

“I have an idea,” she says, standing and pulling his Husband, Father, Physiotherapist mug from the cupboard.

“What are you up to?” Ted laughs, the lines around his eyes crinkling as hot water from Wasserpronto fills the mug. Moira sets it where his hand rests on the table, then places her hand over his, feeling the warmth of the cup through his Holobody fingers, a warmth that travels her whole body.

“Oh Ted, I’m so­—”

A knock on the patio door makes Moira jump in her chair; her best friend Angie is standing on the back deck in her gray winter parka. Angie is a tall woman who wears sensible shoes, colors her bobbed hair a sensible brown, and holds sensible opinions. She also has a heart big enough to hold the whole neighborhood.

“Ted, I’ll be right back,” Moira says, quickly closing the Holobody app. She hopes Angie hasn’t seen anything. There are constant jokes on late-night TV about pathetic people who spend time with Holobodies instead of LPs, or live people. She doesn’t want Angie to think she is pathetic. Or rather, she doesn’t want Angie to know she is pathetic.

“I thought you might need a hug,” Angie says, embracing Moira while glancing around the room. “Did I just see a Holobody through the window?”

Ted and I were married for 40 years. We haven’t had an original conversation in decades!

It’s impossible to hide anything from Angie; they’ve been best friends since the kids were small. “It’s just a free trial,” Moira tells her.

“Careful, that company has new ownership, and the reviews are mixed,” Angie says. “You know that, right?”

Moira does not know that, nor does she care. “Would you like to say hi to Ted? If you talked to him, you’d totally understand. He’s healthy again!”

Angie’s voice is gentle. “Moira, that’s not Ted. It’s just a Hologram with recycled bits he used to say. You can’t have an original conversation.”

“Ted and I were married for 40 years. We haven’t had an original conversation in decades!”

Angie gives up a small smile. “But Moira, how are you supposed to mourn like this? Think about it.”

“I . . . I just don’t want to eat alone,” Moira admits. “I know that sounds pathetic, but I just want Ted at the table.”

“I can eat with you. I’m right across the street!”

Moira shakes her head. “You still have Harry to eat with.”

As Moira watches Angie walk home, she pivots her wrist to darken the window. She doesn’t want Angie to worry, and she doesn’t want to get caught again. With a touch on her Omniglass, Ted’s Holobody reappears at the table, smiling at her knowingly as if they share an inside joke. He looks handsome and luminescent in the dim room. I can see you’re suffering, Angie had said as she left. But that’s where her friend is wrong. Moira hasn’t felt this happy in ages.

***

The day passes like old times, with Ted’s entertaining stories about the clinic. “I’ll just grab my sweater,” Moira tells him as snow hits the window. Suddenly the fireplace ignites. “Did you just turn that on?” she asks.

“Yes, my love,” Ted says. “I can ignite the oven, too, and keep you safe by locking the doors.”

“Oh, Ted,” Moira says, tears springing up. It had been so long since anyone had taken care of her.

***

“Honey, I’m home!” Moira calls out. After a week, Ted’s Holobody sits at the table on default. “I got everything for that massaman curry.” She stirs at the Inglesmith as they chat, then serves them each a small bowl. “I wish you could try this.”

“Bon Appetit,” Ted’s Holobody says as she digs in. “I’m enjoying watching you eat that.” She laughs and starts on his bowl, too.

PING!

It’s a notification from the Holobody app.

Add the FUN FACTS package for only $149.99/month! FUN FACTS gives access to rarely spoken phrases from your Holobody! Have FUN!

What the hell. Moira scrolls the endless pages, touches AGREE TO ALL. Ted’s Holobody flickers as it updates; he reappears with his good-natured smile.

“Ted, tell me something you’ve never told me,” Moira says playfully. She fully expects Ted to say, “but I’ve told you everything, my love,” which will give her a certain pleasure, and to that she will respond, “then just tell me a fun fact about yourself.”

“I can think of something,” Ted says.

“Really?” She bites into a peanut. “You have a fun fact for me?”

“Yep. I actually bet against the Canucks when they won the Stanley Cup in 2047.”

Moira laughs so hard she almost chokes. “Seriously, Ted? But you’re a lifelong fan!”

“I know,” Ted chuckles. “It’s terrible.”

“Anything else to confess?” Moira asks.

“Anything else to confess?” she says, forking a curry potato.

Ted nods. “I had sex with Angela.”

Moira’s stomach turns; she puts down her fork. Don’t overreact. The Holobody must be glitching. Or maybe it’s lying. But no, it can’t lie. It can only say things Ted has said before, right?

“No, Ted.” Moira’s head is shaking. “We never cheated on each other.”

“I had sex with Angela,” Ted repeats, as if his words aren’t making her want to throw up. Moira points her trembling Omniglass at him and closes the app.

She looks around the cold, empty room. What should she do? Should she call her daughter? No, she can’t. She’d have to explain about the Holobody.

And suddenly it’s like her legs have a mind of their own, and she finds herself walking out of her house, marching across the street, and knocking on Angie’s door.

“Moira, so good to see you!” Angie pulls her into the house and sits her on the navy plaid sofa in her comfortable, cluttered living room. She takes Moira’s hand. “Tell me how you’re doing.”

Moira pulls her hand away. “Is Harry home?”

“No.” Angie’s head wobbles. “Is something wr—”

“Did you sleep with Ted?”

Angie’s face turns crimson.

“How many times?”

“Only once, I swear!” Angie bursts into tears. “On the night of the 2040 earthquake.”

The 2040 earthquake. Moira was trapped for three nights at the Oakland Conference Center. She flew back to Kamloops as soon as the airport reopened.

“The kids were panicked,” Angie explains through sobs. “We had no heat or electricity. Harry was stationed in Guam, so Ted invited me and the kids to sleep at your place. I’m not making excuses, Moira, but we weren’t ourselves. It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Moira remembers the chaos. The elementary school had collapsed, burned to ashes. The kids had been so traumatized they slept with her and Ted for a year.

Now Angie is doubled over, wracked with shame.

“Does Harry know?” Moira asks.

“No,” Angie whispers through tears. “It would only hurt him.”

Moira offers the tissue box from the coffee table. Finally, Angie’s weeping subsides.

Moira offers the tissue box from the coffee table. Finally, Angie’s weeping subsides, and she looks at Moira through red, puffy eyes. “Moira, I am so, so sorry. I don’t blame you if you never speak to me again.”

Moira sighs. The truth is, now that she understands, she has already forgiven her friend. “It was 33 years ago, Angie. I think I can let it go.”

As the two women embrace, a question worms into Moira’s mind. “Angie, can I ask you something?” she says, pulling back.

“Of course, anything,” Angie says as she wipes her eyes.

“Was it good?”

Angie gasps. “Seriously, Moira?”

“Because . . . I kind of like that you got to experience Ted. Like maybe . . . maybe you can understand a little.”

“Oh, Moira,” Angie says, offering Moira the tissue box now. “I do understand; I do.”

As Moira wipes her eyes, she feels closer to her friend than she ever has. And now she wants to go home and feel closer to Ted’s Holobody, too.

***

At home, Moira pours two glasses of wine. Then she starts to get her money’s worth from the FUN FACTS package. Ted admits that in their first week of marriage, he lost his wedding ring at the pool and spent five hours deep diving until he found it in his locker. Moira reveals that the ancient sitcom Friends is what actually inspired her to become a dietician after watching the episode about Rachel’s trifle disaster. She confesses that even before they met, she had requested to transfer onto his beach volleyball team.

“And your voice,” she tells him. “It’s incredibly seductive.”

“Really?” Ted flirts, looking deep into her eyes. “Tell me more.”

And suddenly Moira’s mouth is wet with longing; heat pulses between her legs. She didn’t even know her body was still capable of these sensations. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” she says, and Ted follows as she passes from the kitchen to the hallway. At the door frame, his Holobody shudders and stops.

PING!

Moira grabs her Omniglass.

The BASIC PACKAGE includes use of your Holobody in the primary location only. Add ROAMING for only $299.99/month!

She doesn’t hesitate; she presses AGREE TO ALL, and now Ted follows her, igniting the bedroom fireplace as they enter the room.

He lies on the bed and watches her undress, and she takes her time with it.

He lies on the bed and watches her undress, and she takes her time with it. She slowly removes her sweater, pulls down her skirt and gradually slips off her underthings. Naked, she lies beside him, and they look into each other’s eyes. There are things Ted used to say in these moments, but now he is oddly silent. “Tell me how I turn you on,” she prompts him, but Ted’s Holobody glitches and stops.

PING!

Oh, what now? Moira opens the notification.

Upgrade your package to include SEXY-TIMES content for only $69.99/month! And bonus—sign today and receive JOKES content free for one month ($49.99 value!) Enjoy SEXY-TIMES and JOKES with your Holobody today!

Oh God, how could she say no to this? She touches AGREE TO ALL, and soon Ted’s Holobody fades, then pops back.

“I upgraded your package,” Moira tells him.

“I thought you liked my package,” he belly laughs, pointing to his crotch.

What a cheesy joke. But what did she expect from the bonus content she just signed up for? Moira quickly opens the Holobody app and toggles the JOKES function to zero. The SEXY-TIMES function she toggles all the way up.

She turns back to Ted’s Holobody. He is lying on his side now, his eyes eating her up. “Moira,” he breathes, teasing her by simply saying her name. “Touch yourself.” She moves her hands down her body as he watches. “Show me,” he tells her, and she does, panting, open, never breaking eye contact. “Now come for me,” he says in a mildly British accent. “Dirty whore.”

Moira freezes. Sits up. “Ted, what’s going on? You’ve never called me that.”

Ted laughs, throws his head back at an angle Moira doesn’t recognize. “Just get on with it.” His accent is fully British now. “Don’t be a fucking cunt.”

Moira’s stomach twists. Her trembling fingers close the Holobody app and pull the blanket over her naked body. Something must be terribly wrong—no way would her Ted say those things. She calls 1-800-HOL-BODY. A singsong recording answers on the first ring.

“Thank you for calling Holobody Incorporated! Your call is important to us, so please stay on the line.” Finally, a human comes through. It sounds like he is speaking inside an airline hanger with a networking convention behind him.

“Hello, Ms. Taylor. Would you like to upgrade your subscription?”

I think my Holobody is broken. He just said something he would never say in an accent that I have never heard come out of his mouth.

“No, listen. I think my Holobody is broken. He just said something he would never say in an accent that I have never heard come out of his mouth.”

The agent clicks the keyboard at superspeed. “Ma’am, I can see from your account that you recently upgraded to the SEXY-TIMES package, and for that you have my congratulations, but please remember that your Holobody repeats things recorded when living, so there is a chance your husband said words . . . when not in your presence, if you know what I mean.”

“Look, I know my husband, and there is zero percent chance that he ever said those words! And he was speaking in a British accent! How do you explain that?”

“Please hold the line. I’m just going to speak to my supervisor.” And once again Moira is on hold, listening to some Muzak edition of a song that was annoying even 50 years ago. What is this song called again? Oh right, “Shivers.”

The agent is back. “So ma’am, I spoke to my supervisor, and we truly do apologize for the inconvenience, but there may be an explanation for your Holobody’s uncharacteristic behavior. We have experienced a small data breach—you may have heard about it in the news—in any case there are two Holobodies with the name Ted Taylor, both born on March 10, 2010. Your Holobody was born in Merritt, Canada, while the other Ted Taylor was born in Merriott, England. The two profiles have likely meshed, so your Holobody is probably expressing data from the other Ted Taylor.”

“Oh no,” Moira says. “Who is the other Ted Taylor?”

“Well, that’s just the thing, and we do apologize, but the file says that the other Ted Taylor was quote ‘a convicted felon with sociopathic tendencies’ end quote.”

“A convicted felon?” Moira grows cold under her blanket. “On what charge?”

“Arson.”

Moira is shouting now. “Who the hell would want a Holobody of an arsonist with sociopathic tendencies?”

The agent clears his throat. “We make no judgments about our customers’ personal preferences.”

“Well can you fix it?” Moira asks, heart thumping. What if they can’t bring her Ted back? What if this other horrible Ted Taylor has ruined him forever?

“Of course, of course we can fix it, ma’am.” More clicking on the keyboard. “The good news is that within 72 hours your Holobody will be restored to 80 percent original data.”

“Are you telling me that my Ted will be part sociopathic arsonist?”

‘The good news is that within 72 hours your Holobody will be restored to 80 percent original data.’

“Only 20 percent, ma’am,” the agent says. “And to compensate you for the inconvenience, and to show our appreciation for your business, we would like to extend the JOKES package free of charge for three months.”

Moira’s heart sinks. Ted’s Holobody is damaged, irreparably damaged . . . but can Moira live without it? She thinks of her lonely table, day after day of solitary meals. Her life suddenly feels like a cracked, empty vase. But—

“Ma’am, are you still there?”

“I’m here.” Moira’s voice is breaking. “I want to cancel my Holobody subscription.”

“We recommend you take 24 hours to think—”

“No. There’s no replacing my Ted,” Moira manages to say before disconnecting.

Moira’s finger hovers over the Holobody icon on her Omniglass, her eyes blurry, and presses DELETE.

It’s done.

He’s gone.

Through wet eyes, she looks around the bedroom she shared with Ted, the antique cherrywood dresser, the plush golden loveseat by the window, the warming fireplace, the bedside table with its old, printed photo of her and Ted at the waterfall, their faces glowing.

My love, I’ll never forget.

Moira dries her eyes with the blanket, then tucks it around her shoulders and hips. Her body warms as she remembers Ted’s inviting smile, the sound of her name in his mouth, the look of desire on his face. She imagines his Holobody reaching beneath the blanket and tracing her body with an electrifying touch, his hands on her breasts, her thighs, pulling her close. Blood courses through her, she is burning, alive. In her mind, she hears Ted’s seductive voice. Moira, touch yourself. And so she does.

***