“Actually, can I have it?” I ask, holding out my hand. “The mail will take a couple days to get to him and my poor brother has been driving himself crazy waiting on a reply.”
“Sure,” he says, handing it over. His brows crinkle together as he looks at the floor. I follow his gaze to the bags of letters to Santa, all of them unopened.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Now I feel bad. All these kids are probably waiting for a reply, too.”
“So reply to them.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no way. It’s hundreds of letters.”
“I am a part time elf at the Harris Christmas Tree Farm,” I say with a grin. “Maybe I can help you.”
There’s one week left until Christmas, and five days to get the Santa replies in the mail for them to be delivered on time. I go over to Connor’s house every day after school, riding with him in his truck instead of taking the bus, and together we knock out as many replies as possible. After counting nearly six hundred letters, we realized we’d have to make our replies quick. They can’t all be as detailed as Max’s letter was. I cheat a little and have some of my letters say nearly the same thing.
You’ve been very good this year, and I’ll see what I can do, blah blah blah.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in my life. Writing letters for hours makes my hand hurt, but that’s not why it’s so much fun. It’s the spending time with Connor that makes it fun. We talk about school, and the holidays. He tells me about how his dad threw himself into work after his mom died, and how he won’t even be coming home for Christmas this year.
I learn about how much his mom loved Christmas, and he shows me some photos of what their front yard used to look like every year. She would make the entire property look like a magical winter wonderland. She truly loved the holidays. At first, Connor seems sad talking about his mom, but after a little while, he really opens up. I think it makes him happy to remember her, especially while we’re sitting in the dining room answering Santa letters.
I open up a little, too. I tell him about my mom’s job loss and how hard it’s been on the family. I even tell him about my dad who just decided one day that he didn’t care to be a part of our family anymore.
Also, Connor’s dad totally pulled some strings and my mom had a phone interview yesterday at his company. Last night, she was dancing around the house smiling and in a great mood. It almost felt like it did before she lost her job. I guess that means the interview went well. I really hope she gets the job. Maybe life can hurry up and go back to normal soon.
On the fourth day of letter writing, we’re nearly finished with our replies. Connor and I feel like a real couple in a way—not that I have much experience in the matter since Ricky was my one and only boyfriend so far. We haven’t kissed or anything, and there’s this huge part of me that really hopes it happens soon. But Connor and I are close. He picks me up in the morning and drives me to school, where we both hang out in the library at lunch. And then he drives me back to his house after school where we hang out and answer letters until dinner time when he takes me home.
My mom thinks I’m hanging out with friends, and Max has been so happy that he finally got his Santa letter that he doesn’t seem to care that I’m not home as much as I used to be. Connor and I have a bond now, a shared purpose in answering these letters. As each day goes by, I feel us becoming better friends.
I hope it means we’re more than friends.
But I’m still so unsure. We haven’t talked about it since that day I discovered who he was, and he admitted he had a crush on me. Still, I don’t say anything. I’m having so much fun with him and I don’t want to ruin it if he’s suddenly decided he doesn’t like me in that way anymore. For now, I just want to live in the moment.
“Done!” Connor says, dropping his pen like a mic drop on the table. “That’s the last letter.”
“Woop!” I say, pumping my fist in the air. There’s about twenty envelopes next to me that I’ve just finished writing as well. Now we’re officially finished replying to the Santa letters. “I’m proud of us,” I say. “The tradition continues.”
Connor’s grin wavers. “I guess this means I’ll have to do this task every year…”
“I’ll help you.”
He looks me in the eyes and it sends a warm shiver down my spine. “I would like that.”
I can’t think of anything witty to say, so a few seconds pass awkwardly. I wonder if we’re both thinking the same thing? Now that the task is over, there’s no point in me coming over each day. We had a goal to accomplish together, and now it’s done. Are we done too?
“Want some cinnamon rolls?” Connor asks. “I bought them from Sue’s Bakery yesterday.
“Sure,” I say, even though I’m not hungry. I just want the day to last longer. I’m not ready to go home.
I follow him into the kitchen, and I lean against the island countertop while he microwaves two cinnamon rolls. My gaze drifts to the refrigerator, which has a lot of photos on it. There’s one of Connor and his mom, standing next to the Hornet mascot statue in front of our high school. A wave of recognition smacks into me.
“Hey, I knew your mom!” I say, touching the photo. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember it sooner. She was a substitute teacher!”
Connor nods. “Yep. Talk about embarrassing. She knew everything about my friends before I did.”
I remember her more as the seconds go by. She was nice. She was one of the sweet subs that we always enjoyed having when our teacher was out. She wasn’t some strict old lady like the other subs. “I liked her,” I say, feeling a pang of loss in my chest.
Connor hands me a plate with a fork and a cinnamon roll the size of my head on it. He takes a bite of his and nods. “I thought it was so lame that she would sub at my school. I was always embarrassed of her being there because it felt like, I don’t know, like my privacy was invaded or something if she walked in the lunch room when I was there. And she volunteered for everything. She was always in the yearbook.”
