Mick beams, adjusts their top hat, and says in full voice, “Right,” before following us inside the theater.
34FROM WORKSHOP TO WERK-SHOPPATRICK
229 DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS
It takes a villagehas never been truer to me than it is today.
After months of intense planning, the full workshop is reopening.
I look out upon the collected crowd for the ribbon-cutting ceremony to usher in a whole new era at the North Pole. I take in the faces of the many, many elves who made my vision possible. Their belief in me causes pride to swell in my chest.
By the time I finished the sketches, the redesign shaped up to be a massive undertaking. An all-hands-on-deck operation. While the chalet may be magical, the workshop required hard, manual labor.
Since it was early in the season, toy production hadn’t revved into full gear quite yet. We’re still gathering wish lists from around the world and testing prototypes. As such, we were able to collect a legion of elves who were willing and ready to roll up their sleeves and get to work.
New walls. New windows. Strategic paint jobs. Division relocations. Even new technology! All in the name of Christmas and a simple yet important mission.
There’s a chunky, velvety strand of red ribbon behind me. It’s pulled taut across the threshold to the workshop. I nervously toy with the bow on it with one hand while I hold a pair of comically large scissors in the other. Quinn and the council approach from around the side. They join me up on the steps.
I’ve been here all morning doing last-minute walk-throughs. I needed to make sure everything was perfect. With Quinn by my side, now it is.
“How do you feel?” Quinn asks after a hello kiss.
“I feel like my blood is hot chocolate and my bones are marshmallows,” I say. My eyes stay glued to the crowd. Everyone is clutching steaming paper cups of hot chocolate to keep warm, so my mind is stuck on it. My heart smacks on the walls of my rib cage faster than ever before.
I’m afraid they won’t like it. And if they don’t like it, they’ll turn on me. And if they turn on me, the council sends me back to New Jersey with my tail between my legs.
“Hey,” Quinn whispers, swiping his hand along my upper back. Even through the several layers I’m wearing, the touch is soothing. Even before North Pole magic, Quinn’s palms possessed a calming spell meant especially for me. “Everyone is going to love what you’ve done. Trust yourself.”
I want to trust myself. But out of the corner of my eye I spot Nicholas whispering to Colleen. His eyes are laser beams of apathy. It’s obvious he believes all this hubbub is a waste of time and resources.
It’s ridiculous how much I want to impress this man who has barely said more than two dozen words to me since I landed here four and a half months ago.
“What if they hate it?” I ask.
I’m thrust back to my elementary school classroom. Spencer Haven’s beady eyes stare at me over that stack of dream homes I made for him.
Spencer then morphs into Mr. Carvertsk-ing at me. Little droplets of spit fly out from between his thin, dry lips.
Mr. Carver becomes Dad. He’s praising Bradley without even acknowledging my presence.In my own damn head.
My self-doubt lingers over this event like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. I wish a strong gust would roll through the valley and blow it to hell.
Quinn’s second touch brings me back to earth. “Pat, every elf I’ve talked to who worked on the remodel has said how amazing it’s going to be, and every elf who didn’t work on it is shaking in their boots to see it. You did good work, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your husband. I’m saying that because I’m your biggest fan.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If Quinn believes in me, I can, too. “Thanks. You’re right. I did good work.”
Quinn steps up to the podium first. He calls the crowd to attention through a microphone. His words echo off every nearby building. Shopkeepers poke their heads out of doors. Children rush over from the direction of the schoolhouse with teachers close behind. Nobody wants to miss a single second of what I hope is a momentous occasion.
Our work was a never-ending montage of sawdust, wooden planks, and perseverance.
Even if people hate it. Even if Nicholas despises it or the elves get mad. I have a sense of accomplishment by seeing it through to completion. That’s a solid consolation prize if everything goes south here in the North Pole.
“And now, a few words from the big man himself, an ingenious architect and my husband, your beloved Santa Patrick!” Quinn starts a slow clap for me that rolls out through the crowd.
As I stand at the podium, prickling tears pester me once more. I clear my throat to compose myself. “Thank you all for coming out today. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been obsessed with buildings. Their shapes, their functions, their ability to tell a story both inside and out. When I arrived here, I learned how rich and beautiful the story of the North Pole is. I also learned how far that story goes back. Stories evolve over time, which is why, after a lot of research, I wanted to bring a modern sensibility to this storied workplace. Without further ado, I give you the brand-new North Pole Toy Workshop.”
I angle myself so the poised cameras can catch me cutting our way into a new tomorrow with cold, metal scissors.
