Page 28 of Hacking the Holidays
I chuckled. “You’re pretty smart for five and three-quarters.”
“I know,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Can we take the photo now? I’ve got other stuff to do. Dad is going to buy me some good candy, and Mom will get me a pretty Christmas clip for my hair and a toy.”
Madison gave another fake smile for the camera—or maybe it was real since she knew she was conning everyone—then hopped down and marched back toward her parents like she’d just completed a successful business negotiation.
Rose approached with the next child, a girl about eight with earnest brown eyes and carefully braided hair.
“Santa, this is Emma,” Rose said.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Hello there, Emma!” I said.
The girl slid onto my lap and smiled. “Hi, Santa. I really need your help this year. I mean, really, really, really, a lot.”
This sounded like a potential family to add to my list. I could not wait to find out how I could help them.
“Well, this sounds very important,” I said. “What can Santa do for you?”
“I made it really easy for you.” Emma pulled out a neatly printed list from her pocket and unfolded it with the seriousness of someone presenting a legal document. “So, I would like a new iPad to replace the old one, some Squishmallows slippers—the unicorn ones are my favorite—a blanket hoodie with unicorns on it, a unicorn shower curtain for my bathroom, a karaoke machine, some Bluetooth unicorn headphones, and lots and lots of art supplies.” She pointed to the last thing on her list. “And you can’t forget a black puppy. Mom says that one is negotiable, which means you need to talk her into it.”
“That’s quite a comprehensive list,” I said, impressed by her organizational skills, then joked, “Why don’t you want a unicorn instead of a puppy?”
Emma sighed. “Because unicorns are not real, Santa.”
I nodded. “Yeah—I guess you’re right. Have you been good this year?”
“Very good,” Emma replied with conviction. “I even helped my little brother with his homework, even though Ididn’t want to. He always smells, just like Daddy, but I think it’s because they are always playing baseball in the yard, and they sweat much more than girls do. Plus, my brother still pees in his pants.”
“You certainly don’t leave out information—Ho! Ho! Ho!” I said. “You know what they say about good little girls like Emma?” I turned to the crowd and gave a dramatic pause before calling out, “They sleigh me!”
I caught Rose’s reaction immediately—first came the eye roll, a perfectly executed expression of someone who’d just witnessed the world’s corniest joke. But then something magical happened. The corners of her mouth twitched, fighting against her better judgment, and slowly transformed into the tiniest of smiles.
After Emma’s photo and enthusiastic hug, she skipped away clutching her candy cane like a victory trophy.
Coincidentally, the next few kids also had long lists of presents they were hoping for—although some sounded more like demands. Then there were the special children, the ones who talked about their hopes and dreams, their family, their struggles. There was Alina, whose parents struggled to pay for her asthma medication. A shy four-year-old girl named Sophie whispered that her dad’s truck had been stolen, and that he didn’t have the money for a new one. All she wanted for Christmas was a truck to give to her dad. And Alex, whose family’s home caught fire and who was sleeping on a friend’s couch, separated from his parents until they could find a place to be together. Those families had no idea I would help them all soon.
The last child bounced off my lap and raced toward his mortified parents like I had just tortured him with electrocution. I chuckled and stood from the red velvet chair, feeling every muscle in my back protest after hours of supporting an endless parade of excited children.
“Well,” I said, peeling off my Santa hat and running a hand through my hair, “that went better than expected. No more cookie incidents. No tears. One kid asked if reindeer taste like chicken, but overall, I’d call tonight a win.”
“The bar for success seems remarkably low in this establishment,” Rose smirked.
“You’d be surprised,” Eleanor said, appearing beside us with her coat already on. “Last year, we had three crying children, two parents who nearly came to blows over whose turn it was in line, and a kid who projectile vomited on Sam’s boots.”
“I have no recollection of that incident,” I said.
“Selective amnesia,” Eleanor replied.
“A perfectly valid survival mechanism,” Rose added, still adjusting her tunic—something she’d been doing all evening. “I use it regularly.”
I smiled. “Hey, seriously—thanks again for stepping in today. You really saved us.”
“You already thanked me,” Rose said. “Once is enough.”
“Multiple expressions of gratitude are never harmful,” I said.
“I agree, and it’s time to call it a night,” Eleanor said. “Ready to head out?”
“Actually, I need to get some work done,” I said. “Lock up, and I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
