Page 1 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
Prologue
Winnifred
I don’t haveanything against Christmas unless I’m in Winterberry Cove at my parents’ home.That’s when everything turns from merry and bright to—what’s the opposite?Oh, right.Holiday hellscape.
My mother insists on dressing the dogs in matching velvet bowties, my father starts spiking the eggnog at breakfast, and my siblings revert to the emotional maturity of sock-stealing toddlers.Add in unsolicited questions about my nonexistent love life, the annual rewatch ofThe Family Stone,where I’m expected to cry at the same moments, and the cursed mistletoe ambushes from my matchmaking aunts.
Yeah.Cue Kelly Clarkson’sHave a Not So Bitter Christmas—it would fit.Yes, I know, I know, that’s not even a song with that name, but wouldn’t it be delightful if it were?
All I have left is the shrill sound of my sanity unraveling.
I lost Christmas again.
Next year, I’ll be the one gliding into the holidays like a walking holiday catalog.I’ll have a boyfriend who wears plaid shirts because he owns an axe, not because it’s a trend.He’ll know how to string lights without turning it into a five-stage meltdown.
I’ll show up with perfectly wrapped gifts, not a single bow mangled in transit.I’ll radiate the effortless joy of someone who did not cry in the public restroom at the gas station just outside town because her nerves were shot right before arriving at her parents.
But for now?
I’m alone, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel, leaving Winterberry Freaking Cove while the local carolers across the street launch into a five-part harmony like it’s opening night.Do I want to yell, “It’s not Christmas anymore”?Sure, but if I do, it will get back to my parents.You know, small towns communicate telepathically.I can’t find any other explanation as to how you play hooky, and two seconds later, your mother is dragging you back home like you’re a delinquent.
And I’m the Grinch.Not the redeemed one.The full-cape, sneering-on-the-mountain version.I’m heading back to Colorado and won’t come back ...until next year, of course.
It’s fine.Totally fine.
Next year, I’m winning Christmas.
ChapterOne
Winnifred
There’s alwaysa black sheep in the family.
Always.
The one who somehow still manages to trip over the bar—even when it’s basically a speed bump?Yeah, that’s me.The human equivalent of a group text typo.The walking “we still love you, sweetie” at family dinners.
Yeah, I’m that person in the Wolfcraft family.They love me, sure.They also pity me.The worst part is that they try to fix me—all the time.As if I’m some sort of community service project wrapped in glitter glue and too many stories they don’t want to hear.
I’m the cautionary tale for my nieces and nephews.My siblings?They are out there achieving great things and collecting accolades like Pokémon.Me?I’m still trying to figure out how to file my taxes without crying because I hate numbers.
According to my accountant, it’d be so much easier if I had a system to pay my bills—and maybe fewer jobs.
I’m a consultant.A baker.A caterer.A freelance pet psychic once, but that was a weird week.I’m ...versatile.That’s what my résumé says—in Comic Sans.
Look, I don’t want to blame my parents for my so-called life—but they definitely nudged me in that direction.Don’t believe me?
Who calls their child Winnifred Wendolynn Wolfcraft?
That’s triple alliteration.Triple trauma.
I was called the World Wide Web in middle school—WWW for short.It wasn’t funny—not to me.Instead of Winnie, everyone calls me Fred or Freddy.Why?Because there are way too many Winnies in the world.Why can’t they call me Winnifred?Win?
Nope, let’s call her Fred.
Why do people have to use nicknames to shorten every name?That’s just my pet peeve, of course.
But it’s fine.I’m in my early thirties.I’m...thriving-adjacent and this year?This is my year to win the holidays at the Wolfcraft family get-together.
