Page 9 of The Grumpiest Elf

I wave a hand, taking in the decorations dripping from every available surface. Mom decorates for Christmas as soon as the Halloween decorations come down. She says Canadians don’t wait until late November, so why should she? “All of it. The constant Christmas, the elf costumes, the stupid elf names she gave us as babies …”

Nora makes amehface. “Not really. It’s just how Mom is. She likes Christmas, and she has fun with decorating and naming things. I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet,” I repeat flatly.

Rolling her eyes, Nora grins and stands up, walking to a line of ornaments hanging off the edge of a cabinet. Our family has so many that even the biggest tree would be overwhelmed, so Mom hangs them everywhere. “Like these.” She touches a few of the ornaments. “I made these in elementary school. Mom still keeps and displays them. And these”—she touches a Christmas tree made of painted popsicle sticks and colorful pompoms then a cinnamon stick reindeer—“are ones you made. You don’t think that’s a good thing?” Propping herself against a clear spot on the counter, she lifts her mug to her lips, her eyebrows once again arching inquisitively.

I shrug a shoulder. “I mean, sure. That’s nice. I guess that’s not the part I’m tired of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nora grouses. “We all know you hate being called Elfie. But seriously, man. You need to get over yourself. No one thinks you’re less masculine because Mom gave you a stupid elf name when you were a baby. We all have them.”

“Right, but did you get mocked mercilessly in middle school for your elf name, Sugarplum?”

Her brow creases. “Well, no. Though the Tinselbottom part did get a few snickers when people heard that.”

“Exactly.” I point a finger at her. “But you’re a girl, and you love all that cutesy, girly shit.

She mouths the words, “cutesy, girly shit,” but I ignore her and keep right on going.

“And guys drooled over you, probably making gross puns about the Tinselbottom part.” In fact, I know they did. I heard some of them and even had to threaten a few guys to quit saying disgusting things about my little sister.

She frowns, but I still don’t stop.

“But I’m a guy.” I jab my thumb into my chest. “AndElfie Tinselbottomdoesn’t exactly inspire thoughts of masculinity and athletic prowess.”

Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. “Right, and sexual harassment issomuch better than some assholes making fun of you.”

It’s my turn to frown. “I protected you, though. I made sure everyone knew that harassing you like that wouldn’t end well for them.”

She resumes her seat at the table, sighing. “And you think that ended it?” She shakes her head. “They just made sure it was sneaky enough that they couldn’t get caught. And what about after you left?” Another shake of her head.

A wave of anger roils through me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She raises a hand, palm up. “And what would you have done? Driven all the way here multiple times a week to beat up some jackass who thinks sexual harassment and flirting are the same thing?”

Grinding my teeth, I clench my hands into fists. “Maybe? Who was it? I want names.”

Shaking her head, she flicks her hand at me. “It was years ago, Dylan. I’m over it. You should be too.”

I force myself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. “Fine. But doesn’t that just prove my point? You dealt with that for years, hell, maybe you still do and you just don’t say anything anymore because you’ve realized it won’t change. Doesn’t that make you want to stop altogether? Resent the fact that you still have to?”

“Do you think,” she says slowly, “that I wouldn’t have to deal with that from any customer facing job? Or from just … existing? That’s part of the deal of being a woman, Dylan. It has nothing to do with being an elf every Christmas. If I worked retail or as a waitress or basically anywhere a teenager could get a part time or seasonal job, I’d still have to deal with it. Maybe not gross guys offering to put tinsel on my bottom or whatever, but only the specifics would change, not the substance.”

That brings me up short, and I let out a sigh. “Do you think Lydia deals with that too?”

Her eyes twinkle, her eyebrows lifting and her lips pressing together in suppressed amusement, though she tries to hide that behind her coffee cup. “I doubt anyone offers to tinsel her bottom, but given that she’s young and pretty and exists in public places, yeah, I’m sure she’s dealt with guys saying gross things to her before. Pretty much everyone I know has.”

My fists clench involuntarily, and Nora sets her coffee down again, her amusement plain on her face. “I didn’t think you liked Lydia.”

“Who said that?”

She laughs. “Uh, you? She told me you asked her to tone herself down while you guys are on break.”

“No I didn’t.”

Another chuckle from my sister. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say.”

“I didn’t!” I protest again, running every interaction we’ve had through my brain. Did I?

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