Page 36 of Make You Mine This Christmas
“Ma’am, I understand you’re frustrated, but all the people in front of you and the sizable crowd now waiting behind you in the cold have reservations for today,” I say. My eyes look with purpose at the line of people behind her. She turns her head, and when she looks back, her cheeks are red—whether with embarrassment, renewed purpose, or anger, I’m not sure.
“I’ve never been treated this way in all my life,” she shouts, bringing the rest of the noise in the workshop to a stop for a second until an enterprising elf starts a sing-a-long of Jingle Bells to distract the kids in line. Renewed angry purpose, it is. “How can you keep kids from seeing Santa?” The kids in question are tugging on her hand. Even under the age of eight, they know Mom’s wrong.
“If you had explained the situation to my co-elves here, we would have been happy to see if we have space in the next little while for you.” I let my voice convey how her demanding to see Santa on a day when she doesn’t have a booking sounds about as ludicrous as being angry we don’t have a real life Rudolph to take people on flights in the sky. “But as it stands, we’ll be refunding your booking for tomorrow. Have a great day.”
I stand there with my arms crossed, waiting for her to turn and leave.
“I’ll blast this festival! I’ll ruin you...” Her voice wavers as she realizes people around us are recording.
“My boss probably wouldn’t love it if we went viral for the wrong reasons, but seeing as you forced your way into the workshop, and you signed a release saying you understood the risk of being photographed or recorded on official festival grounds when you booked your tickets, we can release any of these videos to the press and be sure the real story gets out.”
Jimmy appears at my side then, a cookie bag in each hand. As the woman storms away, leaving her children behind to follow, he stops the older one. “Allergies?” he asks, and she shakes her head no, not able to meet his eyes. Poor kids. Jimmy hands them each a cookie. “Merry Christmas,” he says, and they walk away hand in hand, their mother waiting for them twenty-five yards away from the door.
“Sorry about the delay, folks,” I say to everyone outside moving forward to check in now. Luckily, the overall atmosphere seems to be understanding. Before going back to my post next to Brody, I hide behind the false wall for a second and give Blaire a heads up. Her GIF response of George Michael fromArrested Developmentlaying down on the carpet tells me everything I need to know about how her day is going.
Back at the Santa station, a mom is standing off to the side, waiting for her son to finish with Brody. She looks vaguely familiar, like I’ve seen her around Winterberry Glen. Two more steps has her right next to me.
“Some people have all the nerve,” she says. “You handled her really well. I’m Victoria. You’re Austin, right?” I take her outstretched hand.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, do I?—”
“Oh, no. I’ve seen you around, though. Never had a chance to say hi before.” She puts her hand on my arm then and leaves it. “So, hi.”
A throat clears to our left, and I find Brody, looking much more murderous than Santa ever should. It’s pretty fucking sexy. “Excuse me, ma’am? Lillian needs to use the bathroom.”
“Duty calls,” she says. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say in response, biting back a smile as the pair walks away. I walk to Brody under the guise of handing him his water bottle. “Needed to pee, huh?” I ask under my breath.
He takes a gulp of water first. “What, she’s four, and this line is at least thirty minutes long. There’s a good chance she does,” he says, no shame in his voice.
“Careful, Brody. Santa doesn’t growl,” I echo back, leaning down to set his bottle on the ground.
“Under the right circumstances, this Santa might,” he breathes, before exclaiming, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” in greeting to his next visitor.
Five p.m. has never been so far away.
We’re down to the last family, and it’s clear this child has had too much time to think about sitting in a stranger’s lap and probably missed an afternoon nap. After Dad sets him in Brody’s lap, the kid looks into his face and starts to sob. I’ve seen Brody work some magic on criers over the past couple of weeks, but this one’s worked up a full head of steam, and I’m unsure. Still, Brody holds his hand up to Dad, asking him to give them a second.
“Hey there. It’s okay. I know meeting new people can be hard.” The kid nods through his tears, and again somehow, Brody hit right on what this child is struggling with. “I get scared sometimes, too. But I know finding something in common can help them feel a little more familiar. Tell me.” He pauses, looking up at Dad for a little help with the name. “Austin,” Dad mouths. Brody has to work not to laugh.
“Tell me, Austin, what’s your favorite Christmas carol?”
Austin whimpers but doesn’t say anything. Dad looks about ready to call it quits, but something in me wants to help this kindred Austin be brave. I take a step up and kneel next to Brody’s chair.
“Hi, Austin. What a great name. It’s my name too!” He sniffs and opens his eyes wide, his lip trembling like it wants to smile. “My favorite Christmas carol is Frosty.”
“Swanta Cwaus,” he mumbles, and Brody’s face breaks into a huge smile.
“Santa Claus is Coming to Town?” Brody asks, and little Austin nods, wiping his eye. “That’s my favorite, too. It talks about how I get to go to towns like this one and meet people like you.”
Austin breaks into a true smile then, his eyes still wet and red, but the tears have passed. His little hand grabs onto Brody’s, and he reaches across Brody’s lap to tug on my fingers from where they rest on the chair’s arm. I let him pull my hand closer to his body and exchange a look with Brody telling me I’m not the only one experiencing a storm of emotions. Working together to connect with this kid, have him accept us both, it’s overwhelming.
Brody recovers first. “So, Austin, what do you want for Christmas?”
“A puppy and a scooter,” he says matter-of-factly, nodding in satisfaction he got the job done. A look at the mirth on Dad’s face tells me they’ve been practicing.
“Well, all right, Austin, I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for coming to see me and Austin today. My friend Jimmy over there has a cookie for you, if Dad says it’s okay.”
