The parking lot of Santa’s Village is packed, as I expected it would be. We find a parking spot approximately a mile away and hoof it through the lot. There’s a dull ache in my head, and my stomach is rolling slightly. I’m hoping some food—preferably good old-fashioned hangover food, aka grease galore—will cure what ails me.
Bridget’s excitement soon pushes any hangover thoughts to the back of my mind. She exclaims over the elves, points out food she wants to get after lunch, and drags me into several shops. Her endless chorus of “I have to buy this for my Christmas tree!” and “Ooh, wouldn’t Mom love this?” and “This is so wonderfully cheesy, I have to have it!” makes my face ache from smiling and laughing so much. I was right about places like this being made for people like her.
I’m hoping in all the excitement she’ll forget about visiting Santa. Despite our frequent stops, we’re slowly making our way toward the far side of the Village. Since I’ve explored every inch of the Village in the last week, all my mental energy is going into a plan to distract Bridget with the reindeer petting zoo.
“Can we go see Santa now?” she asks when we pass a sign with an arrow that says Santa’s House is ahead.Crap.
“You don’t actually want to see Santa, do you? I can introduce you to Hugh some other time if that’s what you want. He’ll be busy seeing kids right now and won’t have time to talk.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Good thing I know an elf with some sway around here.” Before I can respond, she links her arm through mine and all but drags me to Santa’s House. Meredith, who’s working the front of the line, spots us when we enter and waves us over.
I guide Bridget through a gate marked Staff Only that takes us around the outside of the line. We get a few looks from adults and children, ranging from curious to suspicious. When we reach Meredith, the kid at the front of the line sticks his hands on his narrow hips and cries, “Hey, no cutting!”
Meredith bends slightly so she’s closer to the little boy. Her smile is warm and her tone patient when she says, “They’re not cutting. Ivy is an elf like me, but she’s undercover today.”
The boy side-eyes me. “Is that true?”
I nod solemnly. “I’m on a mission. Atop secretmission.” I place a finger to my lips, followed by a zipping motion. I chance a glance at Hugh a few feet away; he seems to be listening intently to the twin girls on his lap, but he catches me looking and sends me a subtle wink.
“So you’ll probably want to talk to Santa,” the little boy says.
“Oh, eventually,” I say with a casual shrug. This kid is eating up every word like it’s gospel. I don’t have much previous experience with children, but in the week I’ve been working here I’ve come to love the excitement and wonder, not to mention the boundless imagination of so many of the kids I’ve encountered. “He’s busy right now. You guys are more important than my secret elf business.”
The boy’s expression turns thoughtful, his face scrunched in concentration. Finally, he takes a step back from the gate separating the line from the interior of Santa’s House. “I think you should go ahead of me and talk to Santa first.”
Is it possible to actually feel your heart melt? “That is so sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want to cut in line. You’ve probably been waiting a while and there are other kids behind you who are eager to see Santa.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” a girl behind us pipes up. She peers at me with huge, round eyes. I’m not the best judge of kids’ ages, but I’d put her around eight or so, which is probably a couple years older than the little guy ahead of her. “I was talking to an elf when we first came in and he said how important his job is and that you guys have to deal with all kinds of official elf business for Santa.”
At this point, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. These kids are so adorable and earnest. Meredith clears her throat and I turn to see the twins and their parents heading off to the gift shop. The little boy takes another step back and waves me ahead. A quick glance at Bridget tells me she’s barely containing a fit of giggles. Swallowing a sigh, I remind myself I’m doing this for her. I also remind myself Santa is a mere few feet from the line and we won’t be able to talk about anything non-elf related.
Meredith motions us forward and I thank the first few people in line for letting us go ahead. I even promise to put in a word with Santa for good measure. Bridget forges ahead of me and plops down on Hugh’s velvet-clad knee. I approach and move to sit on the couch beside him, but Bridget grabs my hand and pulls me so I’m sitting on Hugh’s other knee. My momentum makes me land hard, and I accidentally elbow Hugh in the stomach. Luckily I’m met with a ton of padding, so I doubt he even felt it.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “She’snot sorry, though.” I raise my chin at Bridget, whose knees are bumping mine. Her smile is bright enough to light the entire Village.
“Not sorry at all,” she says. “Hi Santa.”
Hugh chuckles, his breath ruffling the mustache of his fluffy beard. “Are you going to introduce us, Ivy?”
“Santa, this is my best friend, Bridget. Bridget, this is…Santa.” I remember what Hugh said last night about kids paying close attention, so I refrain from saying his name.
He leans toward her. One of his arms is around her waist, and his other hand rests lightly on my hip. “You can call me Hugh when tiny ears aren’t around,” he whispers.
The sound of her answering giggle has me thinking my best friend has one of those hidden Santa fetishes. Maybe I should bring her back on Monday night when the elves gather to sit on Santa’s knee and talk to him. I laugh quietly to myself, shaking my head.
Hugh glances at me, his eyes twinkling. God, he’s good. No wonder he’s so believable as Santa. “I know what Ivy wants for Christmas…” He trails off, his eyes lingering on mine before shifting to Bridget. “Now, do you want to tell meyourChristmas wish?”
Bridget looks surprised. “She told you what she wants for Christmas?” Hugh simply nods in response. “She never tells me!” She gives me a little shove. Because we’re so close and I’m balanced precariously, not wanting to put my full weight on Hugh’s leg, I nearly topple off his lap. The sound of children’s laughter rings from behind us. I can only imagine what the kids and parents think of two grown women sitting on Santa’s lap. On second thought, I don’t want to imagine.
Hugh’s arm encircles me, gripping me a bit tighter. Bridget laughs and apologizes, reaching to hold my hand. “Okay, well, since I already have everything I want or need and Ivy never tells me whatshewants for Christmas…” She pauses to mock-glare at me pointedly. “My Christmas wish is for Ivy to have whatever it is she wants.”
I’m pretty sure Hugh’s arched eyebrows match mine. He looks at me and holds my gaze for several seemingly endless beats. Finally, he turns back to Bridget and says, “You’re a good friend.”
“The best,” I murmur. Bridget beams. My eyes begin to sting and I silently curse myself for being so emotional the last couple of days. I can’t even blame it on PMS.
“Can you make that happen, Santa?” Bridget asks, giving his beard a playful tug.
This time he doesn’t look at me. My breath catches on my next inhale, and I hold it unconsciously, anxious to hear what his answer will be. “I’ll try my best.”
