My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories (20 page)

“Don’t stop believing,” I tell her.

She looks at me quizzically. “Like the song?”

I chortle out a “ho ho ho!” and then say, “Yes.
Exactly
like the song.”

I am bending over so I can look her in the eye as I say this. Before I can rise up, she reaches out for my beard. I flinch, expecting the yank, the unmasking. But instead she reaches past it to pat me on the shoulder.

“You’re doing a very good job,” she says.

I have no idea if she’s talking to me or to Santa. In order for the former to continue to do a good job, I have to act as if it’s the latter.

“
Ho ho ho!
Thank you, Riley!”

She’s happily surprised. “You know my name!”

“Of course! How else would I know which presents to bring?”

This statement pleases her. She nods and takes a step back.

I smile.

She smiles.

I smile some more. Shuffle a little.

She smiles back. Doesn’t move.

I wonder if it would be rude for Santa to glance at his watch.

She keeps looking at me.

“So … um … I’m not supposed to deliver the presents while you’re in the room. It’s against the Santa rules.”

“But you’re the only Santa. Don’t you make rules?”

I shake my head. “Nope. It’s passed down from Santa to Santa.”

“And who was the Santa before you?”

I think for a second before I say, “My mom.”

She giggles at that.

I smile.

She smiles.

She will not leave the room.

I imagine Connor watching us, thoroughly amused.

You’re so bad at good-byes,
he whispers in my ear. Which is true. There is an average of about forty-seven minutes between the time we first type “goodnight” and the moment we actually stop sending our words back and forth.

“The reindeer need me,” I say. “Other kids need me. This is actually near the start of my route.”

I know that six-year-olds are rarely moved by an appeal to the greater good. But Riley seems to get it. She backs up a little. Thinks about it.

Then, before I can prepare myself, she runs in for a hug. Her head snuggles against the pillow of my stomach. Her arms link behind my legs. There’s no way she can’t tell the pillow is a pillow. There’s no way she can avoid how baggy the pants are around my legs. But that’s not what she’s thinking about. Right now, all she’s thinking about is holding on. I feel it in the way she puts all of her six-year-old strength into it.

She wants me to be real.

“Merry Christmas, Riley,” Santa says. “Merry, merry Christmas.”

She pulls away, looks up at me, and says, with complete earnestness, “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

“Sweet dreams,” Santa wishes her. Then I add another “Ho ho ho!” for good measure.

She returns to her room with the same careful footsteps as before. She wants to keep the secret from the rest of the house.

I watch her go, and wait until I hear the determined close of her door. Then I start to move the presents back under the tree. Within a minute, though, there’s another noise. It sounds like … clapping.

“Bravo, Santa,” a sarcastic voice says. “That must make you feel awesome, fooling little girls like that.”

Lana is in the doorway that leads to the kitchen. She’s got on a nightshirt and sweatpants, but doesn’t look like she’s slept yet tonight—she’s vampiric even on a full night’s sleep, so it’s hard to tell for sure.

“Hi, Lana,” I say quietly. I don’t want Riley to hear us.

“Hi,
Santa.
” She steps into the room and looks me over. I am not used to such scrutiny from a twelve-year-old. “I have no idea what sexual favors my brother promised you to do this, but really? You look like a dumbfuck asshat.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, too!” I chirp, and continue to put the presents back under the tree.

“What, no ‘ho ho ho’ for me? Is it because I’ve been a bad girl this year? It seems so entirely fair that an old white guy would get to judge that. Haven’t you at least brought me my lump of coal?”

“
Shhh.
She’ll hear you.”

“And that would be a bad thing why? I know Connor is a big fan of maintaining illusions, but I think that’s bullshit. I can’t
believe
he gave you that costume. He had no right to do that.”

I have not been dating Connor long enough to yell at his sister. I know this. Which is why I don’t answer her, don’t look at her. The presents are almost all under the tree by now. Then I can go.

“What … reindeer got your tongue?” Lana taunts. “Oh, I see how it is. Indulge Riley in whatever delusion you want. But you don’t have to pay attention to me. None of you do.”

“Lana, really. Keep your voice down, please.”

“
Please!
Santa, you’re so
polite.
” She’s coming closer now. “No wonder Connor likes you.”

Normally, it would make me really happy to hear that Connor likes me. But she says it like it’s an accusation.

“You know who always did this, right?” she goes on. “You know whose suit that is? You know that for years I was just as stupid as Riley, thinking that it was Santa, thinking that it would always be this way. But now I’m guessing Connor was the stupidest, if he thought he could just dress you up and make it like he wasn’t abandoned like the rest of us.”

I move the last present back into place.

“What? Aren’t you going to defend him? Aren’t you going to tell me that it makes sense? I’m dying to hear how you can justify being here. How you pretend this is normal when everything has completely fallen apart.”

I look at her in the eye for the first time. But the way she’s looking at me is so unfriendly that I have to look away.

“I’m here because he asked me to,” I say. “That’s all.”

“Awwww,” she says, as if I were a kitten video. “You’re in
wuv.
”

And this time I can’t stand it. This time I have to say something. So I look her in the eye again, and this time, unwavering, say, “Yes. I am. In love.”

For a second she is silent. For a second, I think this has placated her. For a second, I think she’ll understand. But her recovery is so smooth it doesn’t even seem like she’s recovering.

“I hate you,” she says.

Now I’m the one who’s stunned.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you can’t have him. You can’t just start dating him and then have him. You can’t be this to him. You’re not important enough to be this.”

My natural inclination is to say I’m sorry. To apologize for being here. To apologize for tricking her sister into believing for one last year.

But I’m not really sorry, I find. So instead I say, “You’re so angry.”

“Duh! I think I have reason to be.”

“But not with me.”

As soon as I say it, I realize it’s the wrong thing to say. Because it’s not about me at all.

“It’s not because you’re gay,” Lana says. “You know that, right? I’d be just as pissed if you were a girl.”

It’s a strange concession to get.

“So what do you want for Christmas, little girl?” I resume in my Santa voice.

I figure she’ll give me shit for the
little girl
part. But instead she says, “I want it to not be you in that suit.”

I nod. I go back to my own voice. “I get that. But you’ve got to tell me something Santa can actually give you.”

“It’s not like you brought any presents.”

“I brought one.”

“For Riley? Oh, for Connor.”

“I hope you understand why I didn’t bring one for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re always so goddamn fucking mean to me.”

She laughs out in surprise, then says, “Fair enough.”

We stand in silence for a moment. Then we both hear it.

A door opening. We stay silent.

Small footsteps.

“Shit,” Lana whispers.

Riley reappears, and only seems a little bothered to see that Lana’s with me.

“Are you getting him cookies?” the younger sister asks of the older. “I was going to sleep, but I remembered I didn’t give him any cookies.”

And the older sister, without missing a beat, replies, “I’ll go get them.”

She leaves for the kitchen. Riley, unable to help herself, stares at the presents under the tree. I remember doing the same thing with the presents around the menorah—trying to calculate which ones were for me, and what could be inside. My mother would often wrap things in boxes larger than they needed, just to throw me off.

“Where do you go next?” Riley asks me.

“Nebraska,” I reply.

She nods.

Lana comes out of the kitchen with some Pepperidge Farm cookies thrown on a plate and a glass of milk.

“Here you go,” she says.

I take a cookie. It’s a little stale.

“Best cookie I’ve had all night!” I proclaim for Riley’s benefit.

I can see Lana wants to cry bullshit. But she keeps it to herself.

“Well, then,” she says, “I guess it’s time for you to go.”

“To Nebraska!” Riley chimes in.

The weird thing is, I want to stay. Now that we’ve gotten here, now that at least one of them knows who I really am, I want to remain a part of this. I want Lana to offer to wake Connor up. I want the four of us to eat cookies until sunrise.

“C’mon,” Lana interrupts my thoughts. “Nebraska is waiting.”

“You’re so right,” I say, moving toward the door.

“Not that way!” Lana gestures to the chimney. “This is the only way up to the roof.”

I can feel Riley’s eyes on me. Although I’m sure there is one somewhere, I can’t think of a rational explanation for me to use the door.

So I head over to the fireplace. It looks like it’s never been used. I lean in and see the chimney isn’t very wide. I lean back out and make eye contact with Riley.

“Off you go to bed!” I cry.

Riley starts to wave. Lana mostly smirks.

“Safe travels,” she says.

I don’t know what else to do. I crawl into the fireplace. Then I pull myself up into the chimney and count to two hundred—which is roughly the number of cobwebs I’m surrounded by. For one scary moment, I think my stomach is going to keep me wedged inside, but there is a little room to maneuver—thankfully Santa hasn’t been having cookies at all the stops. There is dust on my tongue, dust in my eyes. Surely, there are better ways to enter and exit a house? Why doesn’t Santa just park the goddamn sleigh in the driveway like a normal guest?

I hear Lana wish Riley good night. I hear both doors close. Quietly, I pull myself out of the chimney and shake as much dust as possible from my suit, causing a hoarder’s snowfall on the carpet. Let Lana explain that one.

My work here is done,
I think. But the thought feels hollow. I know I can’t leave without seeing him. That wasn’t the plan, but none of this was really the plan. I can’t be in his house without letting him know I was here. It will all be unfinished, otherwise.

The house has retreated into its nighttime breathing of whirs and clicks and groans. I step carefully for a moment, then stop: There is no way that Riley will have fallen asleep by now, and the path to Connor’s door leads right past hers. So I stand still, and realize how rarely I ever stand still. I have to quell any desire to be participant, and recline into the shape of a total observer. My phone is back in the car, the weapon with which I usually kill time. Unarmed, I look around. The Christmas-lit room appears lonely in its pausing; something is missing, and I am not that something. There are books on the shelves, but I cannot read what they are. They are a row of shapes leaning. On one shelf, the books are guarded by pairs of small figurines. Salt and pepper shakers. Somebody’s collection.

I let the minutes pass, but by thinking about them, I make them pass slowly. This is not my house, and I am caught in the knowledge that it never will be. I half expect Lana to come back out, to tell me to go home.
Why are you still here?
she’d ask, and the only answer I could give would be her brother’s name.

I know he wanted me here, but why did it have to be like this? I want him to introduce me as his boyfriend. I want to be sitting at the dinner table, making jokes with Riley that Lana can’t help but laugh at too. I want them to see me holding his hand. I want to be holding his hand. I want him to love me when I’m naughty and when I’m nice. I want. I want. I want.

I am worried about being in love, because it involves asking so much. I am worried that my life will never fit into his. That I will never know him. That he will never know me. That we get to hear the stories, but never get to hear the full truth.

“Enough,” I say to myself. I need to say it out loud, because I need to really hear it.

I listen for Riley. I listen for Lana. I hope they’re not listening for Santa, or for me.

I make it down the hall. I make it past their doors. Connor’s room is in sight.

It’s only when I am standing in front of it, only when I am about to let myself inside, that I sense there’s someone else in the hall with me. I turn around and see her standing in her doorway—Connor’s mother. Her eyes are nearly closed, her hair limp. She’s wearing a Tennessee Williams nightgown that makes me feel sad and awkward to see it. It hangs lifeless on her body, worn too often, too long. I should not be seeing her like this, the deep dark haze of it.

I want to be as much of a ghost to her as she is to me. But there can be no hiding. I am about to explain. I am about to tell her the whole thing. But she stops me by speaking first.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

I suddenly feel I could never explain enough. I could never give the right answer.

“I’m not here,” I say.

She nods, understanding this. I think there will be more, but there isn’t any more. She turns back to her room and closes the door behind her.

I know I should not have seen this. Even if she forgets, I will know. And for a moment, I find myself feeling sorry for Santa. I can only imagine what he sees in his trespasses. But, of course, those would all be people he doesn’t really know. I have to imagine it’s less sad with strangers.

I am not going to tell Connor any of this. I am just going to say hello and say good night. I sneak into his room and close the door with as little sound as possible. I want him to have been awake the whole time, wishing me well. I want him to greet me the moment the coast is clear. But all that welcomes me is the sound of his sleeping. There is enough light coming in from the window that the room is a blue-dark shadow. I can see him there in his bed. I can see the rise and fall of his breathing. His phone is on the ground, fallen from his hand. I know it was there in case I needed him.