Dear Santa,
Thank u for bringing me the rainbow unicorne stuffed animal for X-mas last year. It is my most favorite thing that I have. I know some kids at skool tease me about Pinkie, but I don’t care. I think rainbows and unicornes are nice and 4 every1. They r pretty and magical. One day, I want 2 b pretty and magical 2.
Thank u for making my x-mas dream come tru.
Love,
Tyler
P.S. I don’t need any gifts this year
P.P.S. but if u brought Pinkie a friend that would be kool 2. I’m pretty sure I was good. Thanks.
A little laugh hiccups out of Quinn.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Kids today are just cool.” He smiles to himself. A mini surge ripples through me. Akin to the shock I got when I tripped the house breaker with the overload of lights.
“This is amazingly sweet,” I say, getting a tad choked up. As a kid, I was plagued by the way Toys “R” Us stores and catalogues were bisected by pink and blue coloring. Other boys my age wanted action figures and sports equipment. I wanted the biggest Crayola pack possible and unlimited pieces of construction paper. “I’m glad I—Santa, I mean—could help this kid.”
Hours ago, I would’ve considered Santa nothing more than a wish-granting fabrication. But this note is proof that Santa can provide more than just gifts. He can provide affirmation. Maybe even confidence. That’s worth more than any toy in my book.
“You have to write him back,” Quinn says.
I shrug. I wasn’t daunted by flying a sleigh, but this feels insurmountable. “You know I’m better with drawing. Why don’t you do it?”
Quinn picks up the pencil. From the furrow of his brow, I sense a swell of responsibility rising through him.
I observe as he writes:
You’re very welcome, Tyler.
I think Pinkie will be thrilled by the new addition to your friend group, but always remember that loving what you love and being yourself are the greatest gifts there are.
Magically yours,
Quinn passes me the pencil. “This part’s all you, Mr. C.”
As if the pencil is possessed, I inscribe the Santa Claus signature onto the piece of construction paper. It’s practically calligraphy. When I’m done admiring it, I fold the paper up and slip it back inside the envelope.
“I don’t know how you do that. You always find just the right words for every situation,” I say.
I can tell the compliment makes Quinn bristle a bit. We’re having high-octane fun, but there’s still tension between us. I pivot.
“One last bit of business to attend to.” I pick up one cookie. The first bite is blissful. Chocolatey, gooey, and with a hint of peppermint. “Damn that’s good.”
Quinn washes his down with some milk from the glass. “Just think, we’re basically about to embark on a cookie tour of the entire world.” His tone is airier, as if the cookie has sedated him a bit.
“It’s the honeymoon we never had. We always said we wanted to travel widely,” I say, eyebrows going up when the faintest shadow of a second smile appears on his face.
“We’re even getting to fly private!” Quinn says.
“Without pollution, I might add!” Hobart appears out of thin air. Breaks into our conversation. “What?” He grows defensive atmy skeptical, shaken look. “Just because I live in the North Pole doesn’t mean I don’t read the news.”
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
Hobart holds up a hand. “Are we finished lollygagging? We’ve got whole continents left to hit! Unless you want to disappoint people all over the globe, let’s go, go, go!”
