Page 9 of All I Wank for Christmas

He puts his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to calm a wild bear. Is he as afraid of me as I am of him? That seems weird. He’s the stalker. “Whoa. I can explain, Holly.”

I pick up a nearby Time magazine I borrowed from the library and roll it up. Logically, I know hitting his nose with a magazine like he’s a dog that pissed on the carpet isn’t much of a defense plan, but it’ll have to do. I hold it in front of me like a sword. “Start talking, asshole. How do you know where I live?”

He bites his lip and keeps his hands out in front of him. “I’ve always known where you live. I was born with the ability to find anyone.”

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m Santa!” he yells, matching my voice pitch and volume.

Silence fills the room, and my vision tunnels. I drop the rolled-up magazine, and it flops to the floor like a dead fish. My hands scrabble against the wall, looking for something to hold on to, but I have no idea why. Is this a dream?

He blows out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Technically, I’m not Santa yet. Not until my father dies. The first-born son is always born with a mental list of who’s naughty and who’s nice. We can find anyone to deliver gifts. That’s why Santa can find children on vacation to deliver their toys.”

My mouth won’t move. I feel it hanging open, and I’d catch flies if it was this open at a picnic in July. My eyes are dry from not blinking, and they feel like they’re popping out of my skull.

“You’re Santa’s son?” I ask in a whisper. “Santa’s real?”

“Glad you could join the conversation. Yes to both.”

“The Easter Bunny?”

He shakes his head. “Not real. Just the candy companies wanting a Santa-like gimmick in the spring to increase quarterly earnings during a slow period of the year.”

“The tooth fairy?”

“Just your parents trying to sweeten the pot for kids to get it over with and pull the loose tooth.”

“Why are you here if you’re Santa’s son? Shouldn’t your father be sliding down the chimney? I don’t understand,” I say. “This is wild. It’s insane! I’m not even a child. I haven’t received gifts from Santa in years.”

“We still track adults on the naughty and nice list. Technically, I can track a person after childhood, even if they don’t get a gift. I mean, you don’t just drop out of my head once you hit eighteen. Some adults still get gifts if they specifically write to us. We’re in the business of bringing happiness to anyone that asks.”

“Am I on the naughty list?”

“Not really. Sure, you do some naughty things. I mean, your job is naughty, but it gets overwritten by the fact that you pay for Helena’s tuition and you take care of your mother like a saint. To be honest, your job isn’t nearly as naughty as some of the hedge fund managers. It’s definitely nicer than politicians.”

“I feel violated. This is worse than a data breach. Can you read my mind? What am I thinking right now?” I ask, focusing on the first thing that pops into my head. Hotdogs. Why I think about hotdogs, I have no idea.

“I can’t read your mind. We only see actions after they happen.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief that he couldn’t read my thoughts from this afternoon. It’d be embarrassing for him to hear my internal monologue on his gorgeous thighs. Not to mention I’ve thought a lot about his dick since he left the parlor. “Good because I have no idea why I was thinking about hotdogs.”

“I can explain everything if you sit down with me,” he says, gesturing to the couch.

I shuffle to the couch and sit, hands stiffly at my side. “Talk. Explain.”

He sits next to me and puts his arm around me like we’re on a date at the movies. He turns his body a little toward me and tries to meet my eyes. I stare straight ahead, though. I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept everything here.

“I’m Santa’s son.”

“Got that.”

“My dad is sick and has been for a few years. It was a mild illness at first. He was still able to do most of everything required to be Santa. He maintained the list, worried over the stock, and instructed the elves.”

I put my face in my hands. “Fuck! The elves are real too?”

“Yep. But they’re not little. I don’t know where that idea came from. It’s kind of offensive. Most of them are even taller than me.”

“Do they wear green tights and shit?”

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