Jesus Christ, my heart is a mess. It’s him. It’s definitely him. I can see it in his kind eyes, dark mahogany under heavy brows, and there’s no doubt he recognises me because his warm eyes widen. His expression is one of shock, showing through his fluffy Santa beard.
I’m legit shaking when I perch myself on his padded suit lap. There is so much I want to say, but I can’t blurt it out with the photographer in here, so I take a deep breath and wait for him to guide the situation.
“Have you had a good year, you lovely girl?” he asks me.
I spin to the side, so we are up close and personal. My eyes well up afresh as I nod for him.
“I’ve had a crazy year. An amazing year. And I’m going to have one of the very best Christmases there could ever be.” I pause. “How about you,Santa? Have you had a good year? I hope so.”
I can see the genuine smile under his fluffy beard. He nods emphatically, squeezing me in his Santa suit arms.
“It’s been a very good one, thank you. I’ve been very busy, preparing for the festivities. Plenty of children to help and provide for. Plenty of families needing Santa’s support when the year has been tough.”
“I’ll bet. People are lucky that Santa is as generous as you.”
“People are lucky that there are kind hearts out there, as generous as Santa. It makes the world a much better place. Thank you for coming to so many people’s aid last year. That heartwarming effort says so much about a person’s soul, it’s astounding.”
I choke at the memories. My elation at having that kind of cash to dish out to people on the street, trying to survive a crazy winter in the freezing cold. It was an insanely stark contrast to my life then, but compared to now.
I struggle to speak, and he squeezes my knee. It’s kind, nothing sexual about it.
Words aren’t needed here. The way his eyes lock on mine say it all.
Santa is a lovely, lovely man. I’m honoured that I got the chance to be a lovely woman from the scale of his proposal payout. All at once I get a thump of aspiration. A longing to be as benevolent myself, no matter how wild life can be, and I’m in a position to do it on a much bigger scale now.
The payments that will be hitting my bank account will be like winning jackpot after jackpot. Sharing those jackpots and changing people’s lives for the better will be one of the most important things of all.
My shopping list just got a whole load longer.
I’m going to be giving out a massive splice to the people who need it. From my account this time, not from Santa’s generosity. I can help change people’s lives, just as I did last Christmas when The Agency changed my entire existence.
“I owe you so much,” I tell Santa. “Never stop being you, please. Never stop doing what you do. It’s so important to be such a character in people’s lives.” I pause, giving him a smile. “Seeing you again only reminds me to be the best version of myself I can possibly be.”
“And seeing you again gives me total reassurance that you will be. You’re a sweet soul. I can feel it in my Christmas bones. And I think other people will be recognising it all around you, since you’ve had such a busy year.”
His words have another layer of meaning. Fuck. He’s another one who knows me. As inknows me,knows me. He knows what I’ve been doing. Outside of the mall, and Santa’s grotto, and the crazy charity donation explosion last year.
Santa knows all that, and he’s smiling benevolently. Proud.
It means so much I get another pang in my stomach.
“Thank you, Santa Claus. That’s amazing to hear.”
“I hope so. You’re definitely a girl on the nice list, even if you have a bit of naughty in you.” He raises an eyebrow. “Or alargebit of naughty in you.”
I giggle. I grin. I want to squeeze him in my arms and tell him he’s the greatest Santa of them all. But I hold myself back, maintaining some kind of composure.
I don’t exactly want to be crying my eyes out after visiting Santas’s grotto in the middle of a mall. It wouldn’t exactly give the best impression for the cute little kiddos in the queue.
He gives another tokenho ho ho, and we sit together in silence for a while, our eyes locked in meaning.
The money, and the success, and the recognition for it may change my world, but it will never change me. The core of the onion that is called my personality is the most important part of all.
I hear a wail from a kid outside, and it jolts me back to my senses. Santa isn’t here for a social, and meaningful silences have taken up more of my quota time than it should have.
“Sorry, Santa, you are a busy man,” I say. “I’d better go.”
“Shame you can’t stay a little longer, but yes, there are plenty of people waiting on Santa’s niceandnaughty list.”
