When we hit the parking lot, woozy in all the best ways, the bouncer wishes us a good night. I swear I’m seeing two of Hector’s car, one parked on top of the other.
“Crap,” Siena says.
“Yeah, we can’t drive like this,” I say.
I gaze up at the dark night sky. Not a cloud in sight. The moon is huge and hangs over us like a painted scenic prop in a play. The lights of the walk-through can be seen in the distance.
“I’d say we could call a RideShare, but…”
“I’m kind of the only game in town right now,” Hector finishes for us.
We all laugh.
With Google Maps pulled up, Hector leads us on the shoulder of the road toward the promised land of lit-up delights.
Chapter 24
If someone had told me that looking at a massive Christmas light display while properly buzzed was this fun, Bentley and I would have been doing it a long time ago.
I can see fine and walk in a straight line, but the fun-drunk haze washes over the extravaganza around me. Dangling fish flop into waiting penguin beaks. Santa crashes his whip in the direction of eight athletic reindeer on an endless loop. Lights blink and run and dash around me.
I do a three-sixty spin, which I regret immediately. I lean into Hector for support. His strong arms and tight grip keep me upright. We enter the front gate, purchase our tickets, and join the growing throng of excited families.
Noelle and Siena are cutely cozy, clinging to each other’s arms. I wonder if this is a friendly show of affection or a full-blown rekindling of what they had last year.
We hook a right, following a sign toward Santa’s Workshop. It’s amazing how many niche and probably expensive lighting pieces there are out here. Elves made with weatherproof wire and string lights do a jig in various green outfits, their pointy ears cartoonish. There’s a rope keeping us off the grass so as not to disrupt any of the complex wiring being concealed by tape and darkness.
Things like this happen in the city all the time, but there’s something touching about the homemade nature of this small yet impressive collection. It’s special. I’m becoming a softy out here, aren’t I?
This is months of planning, purchasing, designing. All to ensure a good customer experience. It clearly took a village.
I must admit I love this stuff—putting together an experience that people can attend and make memories within. I saw the gala as my ticket out of here, but now I see it more as a chance to prove to myself that I can be an event planner without my ego taking center stage. Hector sure knows how to reel in that monster for me. Unlike Bentley, who feeds that monster if only to match the size and grisly shape of her own.
I shoot Hector a sideways glance. He’s awestruck by the LED screens in the distance projecting Elsa’s big song inFrozen. Or the sequel. Who can keep up anymore? Either way, Hector looks adorable as hundreds of light trees do a coordinated, choreographed dance in time with the music.
Moving on with the crowd, we notice a line snaking into the opening of Santa’s Workshop. A camera is set up, facing a throne where Santa himself sits. A child in a white puffy coat wriggles around on his lap.
I yearn for those pressure-free days where looking cute for a Christmas card was enough. When looking cute for theentire worldwasn’t an issue. Little did I know my obsession with image would lead me to buy an island, to here…tohim.
Which makes me ask in a daze, “Do you want to get our picture taken with Santa?” I need a physical memory of this night. A vestige to cherish when I’m gone.
“Sure,” Hector says, full smile.
Noelle glances back at us with a sneaky expression. “You two have fun with that. We’re going to…explore.”
Exploresounds like it meansfind a shadowy spot to make out, but I don’t question it for fear it might scare Siena off again. I enjoy seeing Noelle so happy.
“Meet you at the exit at closing?” I ask. She shoots back a thumbs-up.
“Say hi to Santa for us!” Siena calls before they get eaten up by the bustling crowd.
Hector grabs my chilly hand and drags me to the end of a line that is far longer than it needs to be. But I will wait. I’m excited, so this will be worth it. The alcohol and my layers are keeping me toasty. So is the way Hector looks at me with a big, goofy grin.
To avoid an overt blush, I start reading the pamphlet Noelle handed me on the way in. The organizer and mastermind behind it all is named Wendy Samson, a White trans grassroots organizer with a love for all things Christmas. She owns a garden architecture business, which explains her exquisite use of the town’s one-and-only recreational park.
I share my findings with Hector.
“Dude, that’s awesome,” he says. “Wait!”
