“Oh, please,” Dixie cuts in, dropping into a full split on the mat. “Everyone in town knows. Half the fun is watching you figure it out.”
Anna grins. “The other half is making sure you don’t screw it up.”
My face burns. “Is it that obvious?”
Felix walks over, arms crossed, looking down at me with a small smile. “It’s adorable. And honestly, if you’re willing to humiliate yourself for him, you might just be worth our time.”
They all nod, and there’s something almost solemn about it. The air shifts. I get it suddenly. This is more than a prank. More than a publicity stunt. This is family.
A lump forms in my throat. “I just…I don’t want to embarrass him. Or you.”
Dee drapes the boa around my shoulders again, this time gently. “Honey, drag isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being brave.”
It lands right in my ribcage, and I sit up a little straighter. “Okay. Can we try the hip roll again?”
Chapter Thirteen
May
The End of the Season Extravaganza Bonanza Spectacular is my baby, my pride and joy. For one perfect, unhinged night each January, the Sleigh Queen is transformed into the queer, glitter-drenched, chaos-fueled heart of Sleighbell Springs, packed wall-to-wall with every local, lifer, and half-buzzed tourist who survived the avalanche that is the holiday rush. It’s part fundraiser, part reunion, part excuse for grown adults to wear sequined onesies and get drunk on peppermint martinis. For me, it’s…everything.
And tonight, I want it to be perfect.
Let’s pause here for a moment of honesty. Perfection is not a thing that exists at Sleigh Queen, or in my life, or, frankly, in any establishment where the VIP seating is literally a repurposed church pew, and the prop closet is held together by a prayer and three yards of duct tape. But I have standards, dammit, and tonight, my standards are sequins and joy and maybe, if the universe is feeling generous, a moment where I get to look out across a screaming room and feel like I built something that matters.
What I’m not expecting, as I check my makeup for the third time in the green room mirror, is the gnawing anxiety curled up in my belly like a feral barn cat.
I know what it’s about, of course.
Miles isn’t here.
Oh, the rest of my drag family is out there. Felix is already in full gremlin mode. Dee is doing last-minute touch-ups on her hair and “accidentally” spilling foundation on any surface that isn’t nailed down. Anna taking slow, meditative sips of tequila like a queen about to go into battle. Even Patti, with her cackle, her caftan, and her ability to wrangle a room of three hundred with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a mic, is in rare form tonight. But not Miles. He was supposed to meet me backstage for a pep talk, maybe a quick grope behind the curtain, but as the house lights dim and the DJ cranks the first song, there’s still no sign of him.
I’m not panicking. I’m not. I’m absolutely not thinking about the fact that I haven’t seen him since last night and haven’t heard from him all day, which hasn’t happened since we reconnected. Nope. Totally chill.
By the time I make it backstage, the swish of my powder blue “widow who recently lost her husband under suspicious circumstances” robe, with white fur trim and a long red wig of soft curls, helps me settle into myself for the night. I’m May North, and I am here to motherfuckin’ slay.
Patti is already working the crowd, her voice booming over the speakers when I get backstage. “Ladies, gentlemen, gentle-thems, and everyone in between, are you ready for a night of depravity and holiday cheer?”
The answer is deafening.
I close my eyes for a beat, centering myself. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Chin up. Lips curled into the smirk I keep in my back pocket for exactly this occasion.
When I step out onto the stage, the noise triples.
I soak it in. The heat of the spotlights. The roar of applause. The blur of familiar faces in the front row. There are the regulars from the bakery, the B&B crew, half the volunteerfire department, some of the teens from the GSA with faces painted in Pride flag stripes, even the ancient grandma from the library who claims she’s only here for “the community engagement” but tips twenty dollars every time she orders a seltzer.
My home. My people. My family.
I let the crowd go wild for a moment, then throw both hands wide and flash my biggest, baddest smile. I take a breath and let my voice loose, rich and syrupy and full of promise. “Hello, my lovely little chickies! Welcome to Sleigh Queen’s annual End of Season Extravaganza Bonanza Spectacular!” The crowd roars, the walls thrum, and I nearly choke on my own laugh.
I work the room for a minute, shamelessly reading fashion choices and teasing the regulars until they’re clutching each other with laughter. I glance over the first row of tables, peering through the spotlights. My heart gives a pathetic thump when I realize I don’t see Miles. Not at the bar. Not crammed into a booth with Mal and Hawk. Not even loitering by the stage with a drink and that damnable half-smile. There’s an empty stool at the far end of the bar, and the sight of it lodges under my breastbone. He said he’d be here. He promised.
I keep my voice steady. Keep my lips moving. Keep the show alive.
The first number is pure spectacle, a lip-sync by Dixie to “Let It Snow” mashed up with “Bad Romance,” complete with Felix and Tucker as backup dancers in snowman drag and a prop snow machine that works overtime until I’m nearly blinded by foam. The crowd eats it up. I flirt with the front row. I crack jokes about the mayor’s toupee. I make three grown men get up onstage and do the can-can in cheesy reindeer antlers. I’m in my element. The house is electric, the sound system thumping.Carlyle and my niece Ara, home from college for the weekend, are behind the bar slinging cocktails like they were born for it.
Between numbers, I keep one eye on the door.
