Page 23 of The Grumpiest Elf

I frown. “But that’s why everyone around here drives trucks, right? With four-wheel drive? I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve overheard between dads in line talking about their four-wheel drive trucks and whatever, comparing the merits of an extended cab truck with a Suburban or a four-wheel drive minivan.”

Dylan chuckles. “I’m sure you have. And yeah, the truck should be fine. It’s not me that I’m necessarily worried about, though. Even if I can drive safely in the snow, I can’t stop someone else from running into us.”

Oh. I hadn’t thought about that, I guess. Frowning still, I look at Dylan again. He doesn’t seem to be struggling with the snow that’s falling now. There’s plenty piled up on the side of the road from previous snowfalls, and it’s getting a new white coat to cover the dirty top layer, but the roads are still clear—black in the headlights with the double yellow line going down the middle just as it should be.

“What is it about being here that irritates you so much?” I ask after a moment, curiosity getting the better of me.

He lets out another heavy sigh, and I wonder if he’ll actually talk, or just give me some rude answer to shut me up.

Not answering at all seems to be a possibility as the silence stretches between us, and I’m about to turn back to the window when he says, “I just feel like I’m stuck in a tiny box here, you know? Like I’ve grown into a different person the rest of the time, but when I’m home—especially at Christmas—I have to fulfill this prescribed role. Like I have to put on a costume and play this character, only the clothes don’t fit anymore. They dig in at the waist and are too short, and I feel stupid and wrong but no one believes me when I say I need something else.”

When he’s done, we both sit in silence for several minutes. I’m not sure how to respond to that at all. It’s such a vivid description, and it makes me think about my mom. Is that how she felt? And for how long?

Finally, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. That sounds difficult. No wonder you’re in a perpetual bad mood.”

A rueful smile twists his mouth, and he glances my way. “Thanks. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself around me the first day.”

“Oh, uh …”

He holds up a hand, though he returns it quickly to the steering wheel as we navigate another switchback. “I know I’ve been a jerk to you. I didn’t mean to tell you not to be yourself. I was just trying to say that you didn’t need to put on a happy show for me like you do with the kids and parents. But I realize it wasn’t a show. That youarejust being yourself with everyone, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be yourself with me. In that vein, I just want you to know that you don’t have to go out of your way to put distance between us. I mean you can if you still want to,” he adds quickly, though I hadn’t tried to say anything. “Obviously. Shit.” He shakes his head and taps the steering wheel with his hand. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?” A glance my way doesn’t seem to give him any direction though. “Look, just, I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying to not be an ass. And I’m sorry that I was. I’d like it if you could forgive me and we could be friends, but I know that Christmas is less than two weeks away, so it’s totally understandable if you don’t.”

“Dylan,” I say, needing to disrupt his rambling flow, because if he doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to start laughing, and it’s clear to me that he’s being sincere. He glances at me. “Thank you for your apology.”

His shoulders relax, and he sits up a little straighter. Then he gives me a side-eye look again, his mouth once again curving. “You’re very diplomatic, because I notice that you didn’t say you forgive me.”

Laughing, I relax into my seat. “Nope. I didn’t.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Dylan

Even though weride the last few minutes to Hudgins House in silence, it’s not uncomfortable. And I don’t know if we’ve reached some kind of truce, but I feel better for at least having apologized for my part. At this point, I guess it’s up to Lydia how she decides to proceed going forward.

Maybe she’ll stop acting like I have a traumatic brain injury for being nice to her, though, and that’s progress.

When we arrive, I unsnap the truck bed cover and we start unloading right away, with me passing the smaller pieces down to Lydia to take in, leaving only the large unwieldy pieces for us to carry in together. She’s efficient and quick to jump in where I need her while I’m assembling everything, which I appreciate.

Once everything’s put together, I stand and brush off my hands, offering her a smile. “Thanks.”

She ducks her head like she’s still not quite sure what to make of me—so maybe the apology isn’t enough to get us to at least a comfortably friendly place—and nods. “Sure. No problem.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder, still not meeting my eyes. “I’m just gonna grab my things so I can change.”

“Yeah, cool. I’ll come with you. Let me just grab …” But she’s already scurrying away. “The changing rooms are down the hall!” I call after her.

She waves and yells back. “I know! My mom works here! I got it!”

Kim, the event coordinator I met the other night when I was here helping Sarah decorate the space, approaches me, her hand held out for me to shake. She’s wearing a simple black sheath dress tonight, her dark hair pulled back on one side revealing a stripe of gray. “Dylan,” she says warmly when I take her hand. “So good to see you again.” She looks around. “And where’s Lydia? She said she’d be working here tonight too.”

And that’s when I finally put it together—Kim is Lydia’s mom. I know Lydia said her mom works at Hudgins House, but given the nature of our relationship so far, we haven’t exactly filled each other in on the details of our lives. She’s pieced together that my parents are Santa and Mrs. Claus and that Nora is my sister based more on context clues and things they’ve said than from any amount of conversation with me. And likewise, the things I know about her—that she’s from Seattle and goes to school there, that her parents are divorced, and her mom recently started working here—are gleaned more from conversations I’ve overheard her have with other people.

“Oh, uh …” I say like a moron, looking around as though Lydia will pop up out of the floor. Though apparently it works, because she just about does—coming through the door, though, since she’s human and not a real elf with magic. “There she is,” I say, indicating her with a nod of my head. “It’s good to see you too, but I need to get changed as well so I’m ready when the party starts.”

“Of course!” Kim says, releasing my hand and turning toward her daughter, arms extended for a hug.

Lydia glances at me before stepping into her mom’s arms, and I have to force myself to look away, annoyed that I’ve been caught ogling her. But that green stretch velvet dress she wears as an elf clings to all her curves, and it’s short enough that even her green and white striped tights do nothing to hide the fact that she has great legs.

Head down, I escape from the room in much the same way Lydia did a few minutes ago, heading out to the truck to retrieve my backpack. The cool air, the wind blowing snow around and making me hunch my shoulders against it, is as much of a wake up call as I need.

What am I even thinking? I offered one meager apology. She still thinks I’m brain damaged when I’m acting like a normal person because I’ve been a little shit the whole time she’s known me. It’s not like I can ask her out, no matter how attractive I might find her.

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