Page 13 of Emma and the Elf Next Door

“I may have accidentally started a tiny war with my neighbour.”

They all look at each other in wonder and I get their confusion. I’m the most laid-back person they know, so this must be shocking to them.

“What happened?” Mum asks in a normal volume. She’s learning.

“It started about a week ago…” I go into the details, telling them all about the repeated movie watching, the quiet sobbing, the ear plugs, the cat lady paraphernalia, all leading to where I’m at right now. In my car, escaping the incessant sounds of The Beach Boys singing “God Only Knows.” It’s sad how intimately I now know each one of these songs.

“That is quite the situation,” my dad pipes up when I’m done, ever the king of the understatement.

“I know.” The more I think about it, the gloomier I feel.

Mum clears her throat. “You haven’t been very nice to the poor girl. She’s clearly going through a hard time.”

My stomach twists into more knots at the admonishment in her tone. She raised me to be a better man than this.

“But what about the ear plugs? And the incessant replaying of this soundtrack?” I try to defend myself. “I can’t even go into my house without my ears bleeding.”

They laugh at my pain and I consider hanging up.

“Why don’t you try to help her get over her heartbreak?” Gavin suggests.

“How?”

He waggles his eyebrows and my mum pinches him.

“I just mean by offering her ways to get over the ex,” he clarifies, rubbing his arm like he’d been injured.

Hmm. Not a bad idea.“But how can I do that?”

They’re silent for a moment. “I know!” Mum beams at me. “In the spirit of watching movies, you can suggest ones to help her move on.”

“I don’t know, Mum. Last time I did that, she wasn’t happy.”

“But this time, you couldbuyher the movies, like a peace offering. Nice, happy movies to raise her spirits and make her feel good.”

Buy her movies? Huh?

“How can he buy her movies?” My brother asks the obvious question.

Mum tsks while Dad laughs. “You kids these days. Buy her DVDs.”

DVDs? What are we? In the 1990s?

“Mum, there’s no way she’ll have a DVD player.”

“You don’t know that,” she argues. I guess I get my stubbornness from her. “And either way, it will be a gesture. You can walk back the ‘sad, cat lady’ sentiment—which we’ll be having words about another day—and show her you can be nice.”

I shrink back from the disappointment on her face. The cat lady stuff was not my finest moment. “OK, say I decide to do this. What sort of DVDs should I get for her?”

They all sigh together. “Just google ‘movies to get over a breakup’ or something,” Gavin says, clearly over this entire conversation. “And order a bunch. Bake some more cookies to go with it and your war is done.”

They make it sound so simple; I decide to take their advice. Anything to end the madness and the sounds ofLove Actuallythrough my wall.

“OK, thanks guys. I’m going to do it.”

They cheer and wish me good luck, and once we’ve hung up, I finally make the trip up my driveway, the music getting louder with every step. Along with my growing annoyance. When I get to my front door, I find another bottle of wine, along with aLove ActuallySoundtrack CD (where on Earth did she find this relic?) and a note.

Dear Christmas Elf,

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