Page 135 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I have to go.
We're not working today, but we make one stop on Christmas morning.
Maya—Eve's bright-eyed third grader with the sparkly pink glasses and determination that could move mountains—fell in love with Santa two months ago.The scruffy terrier with the white beard had stolen her heart during a class visit to the shelter, but then she broke her arm falling off the monkey bars.And Santa got sick.
Her parents had already been approved to adopt him.They'd filled out all the paperwork, paid the fees, even bought supplies.They told Maya they adopted him, but when they didn't bring him home and said Santa wasn't feeling well, everyone was devastated.
When I offered to treat Santa under our clinic's care program, they agreed immediately.And Santa is ready to go home.
The clinic is transformed for the holiday.Evergreen garlands drape the reception desk, twinkling lights reflect off the polished floors, and the air smells like pine and peppermint.
When Maya walks in with both her parents, my veterinary students are waiting.A small group who volunteered to help, despite it being Christmas morning.
"Everything set?"Eve asks me quietly, her professional efficiency seamlessly blending with genuine warmth.
"Ready when you are," I confirm.
Maya spots Eve and her face lights up."Ms.Foster!Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Maya," Eve responds, her smile reaching her eyes in that way reserved for the select few she truly connects with."I hear Santa might have a special delivery today."
Maya's mother puts her hands on her daughter's shoulders."We have a surprise for you, sweetie."
At my signal, Marco opens the exam room door.
There, looking healthier than ever, sits Santa with his white "beard" freshly groomed, his eyes bright and alert, so different from the lethargic pup who'd been fighting for his life just weeks ago.
Maya freezes, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Santa?"she whispers, voice quivering with hope.
The dog, who's been waiting patiently like he somehow knew this moment was important, lets out a single joyful bark and rushes toward Maya, tail whipping back and forth with such force it seems likely to propel him airborne.
Eve kneels beside Maya, hand steady on the girl's back.
"He's been waiting for you," Eve tells her softly.
"But I thought… He's okay?"Maya says, tears streaming down her face as Santa covers her cheeks with enthusiastic licks.
"He is," her mother says gently."And he's part of our family."
"Santa was very sick," her father explains, kneeling down next to her."Dr.Harrison has been helping him get better so he could come home with us."
"He's...ours?"Maya asks, looking from her parents to me, then to Eve, disbelief and hope warring on her face.
"All yours," Eve confirms, her clinical precision giving way to genuine emotion."Your mom and dad arranged everything."
As Maya throws her arms around her parents, then around Santa again, I notice Eve step back slightly, not disconnecting, but creating the space she knows the family needs for their moment.
When she catches my eye across the room, her look says everything: this is why we do what we do, but also, we should go soon.So that I don’t get roped into doing more for more pets and people.But I know better, now.I’ve got a support system.
I’ve got her.
And myself.
Back home, Dorothy is tangled in Christmas tinsel, Blanche has claimed the guest bed adorned with holiday pillows as her own throne, and LoverBoy is actively trying to unwrap presents with his teeth while "White Christmas" plays softly from the speaker in the corner.
My students and a few surprised guests will be arriving later for Christmas dinner, a tradition we're starting this year for those who couldn't be home.Or don't have anyone to celebrate with.Eve has prepared everything with her trademark efficiency: name cards at each place setting, a schedule for serving that accounts for dietary restrictions, and a quiet corner set up where she or anyone else can retreat when the social battery runs low.
