Page 5 of The Grumpiest Elf

According to Mom, it’s been a good ChristmasFest so far. For some people, my family included, they make the majority of their income from this one event, from Black Friday to Christmas Eve while ChristmasFest runs. The Christmas Emporium, our store that anchors the event, is open year round, but even so it’s no surprise that the bulk of our sales happen in the lead up to Christmas.

I survey my fellow elf coolly. What did she say her name was? Lila? Lilly? Something that starts with an L. “How long have you been working here?”

“I started over the weekend,” she answers, her tone crisp, her gaze as cool as mine as she stands by the camera.

“Have you worked the camera yet?” God, I hope so. I’m fine with dealing with parents and can put on enough of a polite face to fool them, but I’m pissy enough about being here at all that there’s no way I’ll be able to make a screaming toddler smile.

Sarah was always the best at that. She’d coo and make silly faces and wave the stuffed animals and puppets around, and if she couldn’t always get a smile, she usually at least got them distracted enough to stop screaming so she could get a few shots.

Dad helps too, of course. He’s always been amazing with kids. Dogs, too, but kids have always flocked to my dad. We had the hangout house growing up, and my parents never minded. All my friends loved my dad as much as their own. My siblings’ friends too, as far as I can tell. Sarah’s friend Olivia is proof enough of that. She was always at our house, and now even more so since she and Ty are together. When they got together last year, Mom sighed with happy tears in her eyes and said, “She’s always been part of the family. Now it’s official.”

Never mind that they were barely dating at that point. They were together, and that was enough for Mom to consider Olivia her daughter-in-law, in spirit if not in fact. I’m not entirely sure what the deal is with Olivia’s parents, but Olivia seems perfectly happy to spend all their holidays with us with fairly minimal visits to her parents while they’re in town. A vast difference from Ty’s last girlfriend, who’d barely deigned to visit at all, and when she did, made sure the visit was as short and unpleasant as possible for all concerned.

I could see Mom wanting to adopt this new elf too. She has that lost, sad, waifish quality that makes Mom’s radar perk up.

L-name elf nods in answer to my question. “Yes. I’ve done the camera the last couple of days. Nora showed me.” She lifts her chin a fraction. “She says I’m a natural, and Mrs. Claus has loved all the photos of mine that she’s seen.”

I jerk my chin in a quick gesture of acceptance. I don’t need a full resume of her photo taking abilities. “Cool. You do camera, then. I’ll deal with the parents, take the payments, and manage the line.”

She stares at me for another beat before swallowing and clearing her throat. “Okay.”

We both turn to busy ourselves with getting things ready for the day—it’s not much and it goes a lot faster with both of us, so we’re finding things to do. Sarah’s straightening the storybooks in the basket next to Santa’s bench inside the fake gingerbread house. I’m dusting off the already clean counter, then examining all the decorations to make sure nothing’s coming loose or falling off. We have a hot glue gun and super glue stashed under the counter to make quick repairs if needed, but it’s still early enough in the season that everything’s fine.

L-name elf’s mention of Nora tells me that they’ve likely been working together the whole time she’s been working here. Which explains why she likes to get here even earlier than me to make sure everything’s ready. For all I know, Nora told her that was her job when she opens or works a full shift. Of course, I’m used to working with Nora or with random people who don’t care that much, so I’m usually the one coming in and making sure everything’s ready to go. I hate scrambling to find stuff or being unprepared when parents or kids are around.

I might not enjoy being an elf the way my older sister did—probably still would if she weren’t so busy running the Christmas Emporium—but I’m not going to do a shit job. And, at least on my shifts, I’m not letting anyone else do a shit job either.

The conversation with my parents on Thanksgiving floats through my head where I complained that the reason I still have to do it is because I do a good job, but even I know that I was just bitching and wouldn’t follow through on the veiled threat to do poorly. I don’t have it in me to do a half-assed job of anything. Even when Sarah dragged me to her now-husband’s house a couple years ago and told me he’d asked her to hang Christmas lights for him, I made sure it looked perfect even after he came stomping up demanding to know what we were doing, making it clear that he hadnot, in fact, asked Sarah to do any such thing. And while I did abandon the job before I’d finished, it’d killed me to do it, and even then, I only managed it because I was certain I’d be forced to take it all down whether I finished hanging all the lights or not.

Apparently Sarah finished—and when we drove by after, it wasn’t super obvious where my work ended and hers began—and Shane left them up the rest of the season. Of course, by the time it was time to take them down, I was back at school in Seattle, and Sarah and Shane were a real couple, not just her antagonizing the next door neighbor who apparently wasn’t displaying enough Christmas cheer for her liking.

To be fair, there was a lot more to it than that, what with it being his first Christmas as Sophie’s guardian. And Sarah had decided to take them on as a special project to make it a great Christmas despite the recent loss of their parents in the car accident the summer prior, but I knew none of that when she hijacked my evening and made me put Christmas lights on the guy’s house.

After my newest coworker and I straighten everything and double and triple check all the supplies in Santa’s Workshop, we’re saved from standing around in awkward silence by the ChristmasFest manager announcing the doors opening. It doesn’t matter that it’s a weekday and the public schools don’t let out for Christmas break for two more weeks, there’s an immediate flood of people with several families making a beeline for Santa’s Workshop.

Of course, Santa and Mrs. Claus haven’t made it to the throne yet. They like to make a grand entrance. I’m sure they’re somewhere nearby, though.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Dad’s voice booms, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” from somewhere behind Santa’s Workshop.

Preschoolers look around, a few letting out excited squeals, and parents jiggle their babies higher in their arms, fluffing dresses and straightening shirts in preparation for Santa’s arrival.

I glance at my fellow elf, and she’s looking around at the kids and families who’re already in our line, beaming at all of them. She’s as thrilled to be here as I am annoyed at being forced to be an elf for another Christmas, and despite the contagious excitement surrounding us, something about that realization makes me even more irrationally annoyed.

Why can’t they hire someone who’s as disaffected as I am who’s still willing to play the part and do a good job?

I’m not out here trying to piss on everyone’s Christmas or anything. I think if Christmas weren’t the family business, I’d enjoy it as much as anyone else. But I’ve never had the chance to put that theory to the test, and from where I’m standing, I don’t know when I’ll be able to.

I mean, I should be a few months into my paid internship next Christmas, so I’ll be meeting the requirements that I pay for myself to get out of working the Fest. And in that future reality, I won’t have a whole month off like I do now. I’ll probably have a week at most to spend with my family. Surely they wouldn’t make me work then …

Ty doesn’t when he comes home, though he has started painting a mural in the Christmas Emporium again, which he does for free. But Sarahaskedhim to, not ordered, and he enjoys that kind of thing.

I’d happily design a new Santa’s Workshop for them whenever they want, though there’s nothing wrong with the current one. It’s just, there’s not much call for architectural planning in our family’s line of business.

But that’s all assuming things go as planned. What if they don’t? What if I end up moving home and working with Sarah?

I barely suppress the shudder that runs through me as Dad finally appears, Mom on his arm, both of them waving broadly to everyone in their red velvet costumes. Dad makes a show of taking off his leather mittens, letting out another, “Ho, ho, ho!” as he takes his seat. Mom hands him a book from the basket.

“Before we get started,” Dad booms, “how would everyone like a story?”

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