Veronica:*rolls eyes into infinity*
Veronica:Off to sleep with the fresh-out-of-the-bath puppers. Keep me posted. Love you!
Me:Will do. Good night. Love you too!
I switch over to my text thread with Mom, which has grown robust since our phone call before Thanksgiving.
Through these texts, I found out that Pete, her new boyfriend and the guy she spent Thanksgiving with, is not some pack-a-day casino card shark like I assumed. He’s a veterinarian who was in town for a conference at the convention center and staying at the hotel her casino is in. He was losing miserably at the penny slots when he ordered a drink from Mom. They struck up a conversation that lasted until her shift ended. I’m happy for her.
I pop a gif of a present opening and the wordsMERRY CHRISTMASspringing out of the box into the text chain.Wanted to be the first to say it to you!I type alongside it.Really looking forward to your visit.
I set my phone on the end table and press play on the movie, which I know entirely by heart at this point. I’m quoting along, still laughing at every schlocky bit.
Yet the longer the movie plays, the more my excitement wanes and a niggling sense of déjà vu takes over the room. It’s almost twelve-thirty.Am I being stood up again like last year?
I started the movie shortly after eleven. I thought, given that he asked me to tell his parents to stay up, he’d be flying through our town right around now.
At the finale of the movie, when Buddy and Jovie hold their baby next to Papa, reunited and happy in their new home at the North Pole, a familiar mixture of anger and worry bubbles up inside me. I tamp it down with more hot chocolate, more kettle corn, and I switch to the Hallmark Channel for some sentimental sweetness to counteract the uneasiness I’m sitting with.
Eventually, I’ve watched so many snowbound hotties hitch their wagons and kiss before the credits that the predictability lulls me toward sleep. I try to fight it off. I think,No, Patrick’s on his way. He has to be.
But the last thing I see before I drift off isn’t Patrick appearing out of a cloud of gold dust, it’s Lacey Chabert kissing a brown-haired man under the mistletoe, just like the one I hung as per Patrick’s request.
That should be us,I think sullenly, before conking out.
54CLEARING THE AIRPATRICK
I’m obscenely nervous as I guide the sleigh through the sky.
There’s no bad weather on the horizon or hiccups in our flight path. The gifts were packed perfectly. We’re scheduled to make every stop on time. After all that practice, the delivering presents part I’ve got down pat. It’s the confronting-my-parents part that I’m freaking out about. No way to simulatethat.
The reindeer team comes to a stop on my parents’ roof. A million thoughts buzz through my head as I shimmy down the chimney. Shrouded in gold dust.
As soon as I’m planted at the foot of the fireplace, in the family room where I spent nights watching sports with Dad and Audrey Hepburn movies with Mom, I hear my mom say from around the corner, “Forget it, Bill. I don’t know what kind of homecoming Patrick was expecting, but he’s not getting it from me. Not this late. I’m tired. I’ll see him at the restaurant.”
I set the present sack down with a thud. A hushed “What was that?” echoes through the hall.
“How did you get in here?” It’s my dad’s voice now. A surly growl. He holds a long, unwieldy umbrella up in the air, ready to swing.
Wow. On the receiving end, this is seriously frightening. No wonder the last Santa quit when we panned him.Twice.
I raise my hands in panicked surrender. “No. Dad, stop.”
“Dad? What? Who is this guy?” Dad lunges forward. Mommust recognize my voice because she’s instantly there behind him. She wrenches Dad back by the sleeve of his blue cotton robe.
“Bill, don’t hit him! I think it’s Patrick…” She passes Dad. Her eyes squint to get a better look. “In a costume?”
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been preparing for this moment for over a week now. I’m still at a loss for words. My parents have always made my mind go blank and my body tense.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks. When I’m wordless for too long, she reaches out and tugs on the beard. Her eyes magnify with shock when she pulls her hand away and it’s coated in golden, magical glitter. “Patrick, what… what happened to you?” She takes me in. Donning the enchanted cloak doesn’t feel like putting on armour anymore. It’s an extension of my own body. This power and responsibility are mine to harness.
With the umbrella dangling from his fingertips, Dad approaches. “Pam, what are you talking about? Just because he sounds like our son doesn’t mean he is.”
“But—”
I don’t wait to hear what Mom has to say. She believes. She always has. She sent those letters to the North Pole for years without telling us.
Quickly, I strip off the cloak. For the next sixty minutes, time will stop everywhere but inside this house. I have one hour to tell my parents everything I’ve been holding back for the last twenty-seven years. My chest constricts.
