Page 25 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
His jaw sets. But he nods and follows me out of the room.
Staff are rattling around the halls as I lead us up through the palace. Everywhere are people dedicated to making sure Christmas goes off without a hitch—toys being made, routes being organized, treats being prepped, lists being checked, decorations being hung. Meanwhile, Dad, Kris, and I lead the upper crust in events meant to celebrate our season, display its best qualities, put on the pageantry. And fake an engagement and wedding to my best friend, apparently.
It seemed so magical when I was younger. Before my grandfatherdied and Dad became Santa; before Mom decided she couldn’t handle being Mrs. Claus and bolted; before I woke up to the reality that this isn’taboutmaking the world happy, it’s ajob,abusiness.Joy is revenue, and revenue doesn’t do a damn thing to actually help anyone.
Toys left under trees or cocoa steaming in mugs or snowball fights or—or—anyof it, it doesn’t matter how much joy is brought in the moment, every single thing that comes out of our Holiday is only important as long as it brings more joy backintoour Holiday. It isn’t meant to last; it’s meant to turn a profit.
I shove into my room and Kris shuts the door behind him with a quiet click.
“Yell at me,” I tell him as I rip off my suit coat.
“What?”
“Yell at me.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“But you’re pissed at me.”
He considers. He looks exhausted. And he’s still got that candy cane in his hair.
“Why would I be pissed at you?” he asks.
“Because I’m now courting—fuck, I sound like I tumbled out ofBridgerton.I’m now forced to pretend to date the girl you’ve been in love with for more than half your life.”
He buckles against the door. “Honestly, I thought she was in love withyouuntil about ten minutes ago.”
“I’m glad that at least got cleared up for you.Yell at me.”
“I’m not helping your weird flagellation tendencies. Yell at yourself.”
I drop to sit on my bed. “God, you and Iris know me too well. I need new friends.”
Kris laughs, but it’s empty. We go silent.
“I hate that he did this,” I whisper. “To Iris. To you.”
“Not toyou?”
“I expect him to manipulate my life. He doesn’t have any idea he hurt you.”And I can’t do a damn thing to help you.
With Dad. With Mom.
Kris straightens, a resolve similar to Iris’s settling over him. “Well, he did. And we have to live with it like everything else they fucking do.”
I stand. “Kris—”
“I’m going to bed.”
He leaves before I can find anything to say. There is nothingtosay. As always. Just me and him and the broken pieces of this messed-up family-slash-duty we share.
I stay up for a while, door cracked, hoping Iris will come and talk. About what, I don’t know.
My phone’s white screen is the only source of light in my room as I pull up her text thread.
IRIS
you okay?
