Sibling Snow Secrets [FICTION]

My brother takes mere seconds to open the door and usher me impatiently into his warm house. I glance over my shoulder at the snow fluttering to the ground. Then I follow my grunting sibling into his living room where his two sons stare out the window in wonder.

“Snow, snow, come and stay. We’ll go to school another day.” They chant happily.

“The magic still works.” I smirk.

“There is no such thing as magic,” he mumbles distractedly. “Just people beating the odds to make hard things happen.”

“What crawled up your butt?” I ask as he brushes past me.

He rolls his eyes but otherwise disregards my question. “Thanks for watching the kids. I’ll try to be home as soon as possible.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You have a top secret government job, so you can’t let me know when you’ll be home.”

He grins at me. “Thankfully you don’t have an important job. Otherwise, who would watch the kids?”

“Hey now,” I search for a defense, but he has already slipped out the door and slammed it in my face.

I shake my head and turn my attention back to my niece and nephew. After having a door slammed in my face, I think the children need to learn how to aggravate their father. I doubt my old tricks will work for them, but surely we can come up with something. 

Unfortunately, his children aren’t as keen on diving him crazy as I am. I guess I will have to wait until they hit their teens. As they try to convince me to let them watch a show I know they shouldn’t, an unfamiliar ping breaks up the conversation.

John looks toward the sound anxiously, “Uh-oh!”

“Is that an alarm of some kind,” I leap from he couch and prepare to hustle the children out the door.

“It’s dad’s phone, and he is always on it for work…” Alan reassures me, reaching out to pull me back down onto the couch. “Don’t worry. He’ll realize and come back for it.”

One ring gives way to more demanding rings. I peer down at the phone where a red-faced man glowers under the name Boss.

“I better explain that Davey left his phone,” I whisper to the kids as I pick up the phone and use my most professional voice. “Davey’s phone.”

“Jones, stop trying to sound like a woman and get yourself over here.” He includes a few choice swear words, but my brain edits them out.

“Jones?” I ask. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”

More curses greet me. “…serious business…people are in danger and he is playing…games. I never dial the wrong number. Who is this?”

“I am not sure I should answer that,” I walk away from the curious eyes of my two nephews, lowering my voice as I step out onto the screened in back porch. “My brother has you listed as boss on his phone, but his name isn’t Jones.”

His gruff voice softens, “Ah. You must be Matilda. Where is Davey…Davey Jones, get it?”

“Um. No.”

“You really are young aren’t you?” He coughs. “Stop screwing around and tell your brother to take the phone.”

I clear my throat. “He forgot it at home.”

“Then where the h…” he edits himself this time, “is he?”

I shrug then remember he can’t see me and squeak, “Hopefully coming back to get it.”

He offers more curses to the air and then hangs up on me abruptly. I put the phone in my pocket and hurry back inside to thaw out. My nephews watch me anxiously.

“Is Daddy getting fired?” Alan asks.

“Not as far as I know,” I pat my pocket.

“But he left his phone and he can’t get updates from his boss if he leaves his phone,” his dark eyes widen with concern.

“Yeah. That does seem odd.” I pull my own phone out of my other pocket and click to call him.

After a couple rings, his voice greets me as if from a tunnel. “Can’t really talk, sis. Driving in a snow storm. Are the boys alright?”

“You just said an awful lot for someone who can’t talk,” I can’t help myself.

“Sis?” He asks anxiously.

“Yeah. The boys are fine, but your boss called on your other phone.”

“What?” My ears ache from his scream and the ensuing tire screeching. “Please tell me you didn’t answer it.”

“Well…” As I search for the right words, it rings again from in my pocket.

“Do not answer it.” He mumbles something I can’t understand and then continues. “I’m headed back to the house.”

He begins yelling at another driver as he ends the call. I sit down on the couch next to John who gives me a hug. The phone rings three more times before Davey gets back. I have just handed him his phone when loud banging on the door makes everyone jump. Both nephews jump into my arms, pulling me down onto the couch. 

“Jones, you better open this door or your neighbors are going to hear some things you’ll be ashamed of,” his boss’s now familiar voice booms.

“Thank so much for answering my phone, sis,” Davey glares at me as he opens the door.

The red-faced man fills the doorway, nodding at me curtly before reaching out a huge hand to pull Davey out onto the porch. The boys cuddle into me, terrified as the door slams closed.  Despite the door between us and what I assume are his version of hushed tones, the boss’s voice carries through.

“I told you not to go out on your own.”

We can’t hear Davey’s reply but his boss clearly doesn’t approve of it.

“We can do more than fire you, Jones. This is treason.”

I gasp. The boys cuddle closer to me, turning their little faces upward to silently plead for me to make it better. I hold them tighter and try to guide them from the door. Both voices have hushed since the word treason hit our ears. I’ve never been so transfixed on a closed door in my life as I am right now. When it finally opens, I jump. My nephews jump with me.

The red-faced man steps through the doorway and extends his hand to me. “Sorry to be meeting under these circumstances, Matilda.”

I take his hand but don’t even search for words because his intense expression speaks of more words to come and intolerance of interruptions.

“Your bother tells me you love spy novels?”

I glance at my brother trying not to glare at his him as I gage his response. He shrugs his shoulders and puts his hands in his pockets. Alan and John rush over to him as the boss turns his attention back to me.

“Would you mind stepping outside?”

I look at Davey, hoping he will save me, but he offers nothing but a pleading look, so I turn back toward that angry red face and nod in agreement. This time, I grab my coat and slip my feet into my boots before stepping out onto the front stoop. 

After furtive glances up and down the street, the man takes my hands with unexpected gentleness. “Your brother is in a lot of trouble. From what he has told me about you in the past, you just might be able to help us…”

I open my mouth to speak, but he shushes me. “It could be dangerous, so before I say anything else, you decide if you are willing to take the risk.”

“Without knowing what you expect me to do?”

“Sorry. That is often the way things work in this business.”

“What business is that?” 

“Are you interrogating me?” His lips quirk upward, but his smile looks like a snarl.

I shudder but straighten my shoulders. “I have a feeling more is at stake here than my brother’s job…”

He eyes me warily for a moment as he chooses words. “Let’s just say you’d be keeping a lot of people safe.”

I sigh. “Like many reluctant heroes before me, I accept.”

He reaches out his hand to shake mine. “Come on then, girl. Tell your brother you’re fixing the problems he’s made and let’s get you ready to save the world.”

~~~

The real world warmed up so much that I almost thought it was spring this week, but who doesn’t love a story about snow, right? At some point, I might need to clear up my “to do” list and try to expand some of these stories. Should this one be one of them?

Always the Baby [FICTION]

My nose wrinkles as the sound of a tongue slapping against moist lips breaks into the twilight haze before wakefulness. Then I stop clinging to hopes of slipping back into my dream as that same slobbery tongue finds my face and begins avidly running up and down my face. I squeal in protest, raising my hands up to protect my face. 

“Jacque, we know you love the baby but let her sleep.” 

If my eyes weren’t already wide open, they would be at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby. Mama’s here. Did Jacque wake you up?” Then she is lifting me into her arms and smothering me with kisses.

But I am too big to be lifted by anyone but a bodybuilder and too old to be called baby. On top of that, it has been years since my mother tried to kiss me and decades since Jacque crossed the Rainbow Bridge. While I am still trying to wrap my mind around what must be the wildest dream ever, my father comes into the room.

“There’s my pink pumpkin and her lovely mother.” 

He leans in to kiss my mom, and I know my eyes are bulging out of my head. They divorced before I turned six. And I have zero memories of seeing them kiss. My therapist assures me that is for the best because those kinds of memories would have only given me hope that my parents would end up together. In this moment, I understand why she said that because my heart flutters a little as they linger with their lips locked together. Then they return to cooing over me.

I realize why when I reach out a hand to put a halt to all the kissing. My hands are tiny and adorable. And my tongue won’t form the right sounds to say stop. The sound that does come out just elicits more cooing and kisses, so I decide to accept my fate. 

I sigh internally as I try to figure out how I ended up back in my tiny baby body. Before I come up with a valid hypothesis or figure out how to take advantage of the situation, my tiny body demands rest so it can grow into the adult body I remember so fondly.

When I wake, my cell phone demands attention. The ringtone I reserve for my mother blares on and on until I finally accept the call.

“Hey, mom,” I say more kindly than normal, still wrapped up in the memory of how she loved me at three.

“Hey, baby, I was wondering if you would want to come over for dinner tonight?” Her tone implies she has more to ask.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What else is happening at dinner tonight?”

She sighs. “I can’t fool you. Your father and I want to talk to you about something.”

“Dad? You’re talking to dad?” I squeak out as an image of their affectionate kiss dances through my mind.

“Yes, dear, we have been talking for a while.”

“About what?”

“Will you come to dinner?”

I release my own sigh. “I guess. If I have to…”

“That’s my good girl. Love you. See you tonight.”

She doesn’t give me time to back out. I roll my eyes as I set the phone down and get ready for a day that culminates in dinner with both my parents.

~

When I get to my mother’s house, I park in the empty driveway. I peek through the garage windows to see my mother’s car parked next to a muscle car that can only belong to my dad. As I slowly approach the front door, it opens and both parents stare out at me with trepidation on their faces.

“Come on, you guys, what is going on? Is grandma sick or something?”

They exchange glances and my mother speaks for them with a grin, “Something.”

“You’ll have to wait until after dinner. We haven’t got together in a while,” my dad’s words trail off.

I decide not to point out that I don’t remember us ever being together except when they traded custody of me, usually with unspoken animosity making the air around us crackle. I follow them into the house and find that my mother prepared all my favorite things. Conversation over dinner focuses on safe topics like the weather and what I am up to now. I try to broach the subject of this sudden interest in family time a couple of times, but they take turns diverting the conversation to other topics. I swear I see them exchange smoldering looks a couple of times but try to ignore it so I can keep my meal down.

Finally, huge slices of chocolate cake adorn the table. As I raise my first bite to my lips, I give my mother a pointed look. She sets her fork down. Dad reaches for her hand. Then they exchange another maddening look.

“Out with it, so I can eat my cake,” I set my own fork down, cake untasted.

“We’ve decided to get remarried,” my mother’s eyes widen imploringly.

“Pardon?” I scoop a larger bite of cake into my mouth, afraid that an unfull mouth might express too many of my initial responses.

“Your mother has agreed to give me a second chance.” My dad adds, his eyes softening like they had for my mother in the dream.

I hide behind another bite of chocolate cake, allowing its rich flavor to sooth my addled mind.

“Your dad found some pictures from when you were a baby and brought them over for me to see,” my mom continues, “And it reminded us both of what we had…”

“And I promise that this time I won’t mess it up.”

As they stare at me with imploring eyes, that kiss replays in my mind again. I sigh and set down my fork.

“You are adults. You don’t need my permission.” I finally mutter.

“So you’ll give me away?” My mother asks.

That tiny seed of hope I had during my episode the previous evening prompts me to agree.

~~~

Ever had a weird dream that seemed to somehow tie right into an unexpected announcement? It has happened to me a couple of times, but I never got to give anyone away. I do have two brothers though, who might be single. I don’t dare ask, but I could if you want to take them and get them to shape up. I know. I make it so tempting.

Holes In the Holidays [FICTION]

My shovel bites into the frozen, stony soil again. I lift the handle and toss a scoop of dirt over my shoulder onto the immense pile building along the edge of the hole. I pause to wipe sweat from my brow and survey my work. I sigh as I realize that in my excitement to dig deep and fast, I created a crater so deep I will have to climb out and might need a step stool, which is located somewhere outside of the hole. That realization prompts another. Why on earth I am I digging a ginormous hole in the ground anyway? It is Christmas Eve, I should be drinking hot cocoa and binging cheesy holiday movies.

I scratch my head, shuddering when I realize I no longer remember what prompted me to begin making this avenue to China. I lift the shovel up over the edge of the hole and take a deep breath. Luckily, my first attempt to lift myself out of the hole results in my clambering awkwardly back to high ground. The muscles of my upper arms ache from even that much extra effort. I roll over on my back, staring up at the sky as I heave deep breaths into my lungs. As I finally feel fortified enough to move, snowflakes dance down on me from the sky.

Distracted, I linger a bit before pushing myself up into the snow globe world. On my feet again, I look down into the depths of my new backyard hazard. I could easily bury my most annoying neighbor in there and not need to worry about them being unearthed by their own dog. But I know that wasn’t what the hole was for. As I ponder how I ended up here, the delicious smell of cinnamon mingling with sugar and butter wafts over me. I turn to face a plump woman with grey at her temples and dark chocolate eyes. She wears a somber brown dress underneath a flowing apron with “Me, Oh My, Pie” embroidered on it. A wave of steam wafts off the pie pictured beneath the words. She has a sturdy square bag in one hand also seems to be wearing a backpack.

“Done yet, darling?” She smiles sweetly at me. 

“Done with…?” 

“The hole for…” She looks down at my feet. “Oh yes. That should be more than big enough even for that fat man.”

My eyes widen in horror. How did I get roped into covering up a murder? She smiles and pats my arm.

“Here, honey. Have a piece of pie.” She produces a generous slice of pumpkin pie avalanched under an avalanche of whipped cream from her bag.

I know I should be suspicious of strange women bearing pie, but somehow I find myself reaching for the plate and fork. Then bite after glorious bite of perfectly spiced pumpkin confection slides over my grateful tastebuds. As the last forkful disappears, a sweet, familiar jingling turns my eyes skyward. I swallow that last bite just in time because my jaw drops to my sternum.

The shadow of a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer cuts across the moon. A large figure waves from high atop a giant bag of presents as if he knows I am down here. I wave back.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 tiny reindeer,” the pie lady counts, “And one big fat toy man, who can’t wait his turn.”

“Huh?” I forget to wave and my arm falls at my side.

As I drop my hand, the pie woman grabs it in her own, which is warm and soft. “Come along, dear, I need your help.”

“Uh-huh.” I reply, sluggish from pie.

I follow in her wake as she seems to borrow speed from cheetahs. If I weren’t so pied up, I probably would have noticed that I must also be running at superhuman speeds. When we finally stop, a two-story house looms above us with lights around every window and dangling from the eaves. 

“Wow. That’s so realistic.” I mumble as my eyes light on Santa and his reindeer upon the roof.

The pie lady snorts. “Should be. We finally caught up to the big man.”

I grunt in confusion and concern as she wraps her arms around me and fumbles with what appears to be a giant can of whipped cream on her back. We shoot up into the air, leaving a trail of creamy deliciousness in our wake. I just manage to land on the edge of the roof where my not so sweet friend pushes me forward toward the sled team of reindeer. They eye me calmly except for Rudolph whose nose seems to glow with alarm as we step closer.

“Don’t worry boys and girls. I brought you some carrot cake.”

I watch in wonder as more concoctions come out of her bag, “Are you related to Mary Poppins?”

She snorts as she offers tiny bites of carrot cake to each reindeer. “She’s got nothing on me. I don’t limit myself to a teaspoon of anything.”

As Rudolph tentatively accepts her offering, footsteps approach from the chimney. “Ho ho ho. Good evening ladies. Shouldn’t you be asleep, awaiting my arrival?”

My tongue ties itself in knots as I turn to face the very real, extremely jolly Santa Claus. The pie lady doesn’t seem as affected as me.

She leans in to whisper in my ear and I find myself repeating her words as tears flow down my cheeks, “Oh, Santa, you have to help me or Christmas will be ruined.”

His blue eyes lose a little of their twinkle as he leans toward me, placing a concerned hand on my shoulder, “What has happened, Bella, and how can I help?”

“Follow me back to my place. You have to see it to believe it.”

“Follow you,” he chuckles softly. “We’ll fly there. Won’t we, team?”

The reindeer toss their heads and stamp their feet in agreement. He lifts me gently into the sleigh and then lifts the pie lady, who smiles innocently at him. The desire to let him know this is all a ruse rises up in me, but one look from her has me lowering my eyes and feigning concern about impending doom to my holidays. I guess the feeling isn’t so false when it seems she wants to end Christmas for the whole world.

As Santa guides the sleigh toward my roof, a stomp on my foot prompts me to say, “Can you land at the side of the house, near that hole, Santa?”

“Of course, ho ho ho,” he looks at me out for the corner of his eye and I swear he sees right through me, but he lands right next to the hole anyway.

“You’ve been very busy, Bella, now tell me how I can help you,” he says as he helps me down from sleigh, but his eyes never leave my companion. 

As soon as he helps her down, she launches herself at him, “You took my holiday, I’ll take yours.”

 

He stands firm, laughing merrily as she bounces off his jelly belly without moving him an inch. “Now. Now. Surely, we can discuss this like civilized adults.”

“How civilized is it that I get to hear your greatness sung before my delicious pies even grace a holiday table? How civilized it is it that you get gratitude and no one even acknowledges me and my contribution to the wonderful aromas of Thanksgiving?”

“None of that is my choice.” He tells her. “And I love your pies. Can’t get in the mood for Christmas without a couple of slices of pie with my turkey leg.”

She eyes him suspiciously, pressing her lips together as she searches for her next argument.

“Ho ho ho,” Santa’s eyes twinkle. “Dear Pie Lady, you must come back with me to the North Pole and meet Mrs. Claus. She would love to bake some pies with you. Pie is as beloved for Christmas as for Thanksgiving—well, for all the good little boys and girls.”

“Really?”

“Of course. We believe in second chances. You don’t have to be on the naughty list every year, unless you really need the coal.”

“Oh, Santa,” her little pie heart melts into a puddle of undercooked lemon pudding as she throws her arms around him and cries for joy.

I look down at my feet, pondering what to do with this year’s lump of coal. 

“Of course, Pie Lady, you will have to do one things for me,” he looks at her sternly.

She cowers a little and timidly asks, “What’s that?”

“Apologize to Bella here for using your delectable pie’s power to rope her into this.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Bella. I should’t have used your love of pie against you. Can you forgive me?”

“I guess so,” I say.

“Oh good.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out an entire pie.

My mouth waters as the smell of apple and cinnamon pours into the air. “Yum. Thank you.”

“I have something for you, too, Bella.” Santa says.

“Oh?” I hold out my free hand to accept my lump of coal. 

Santa’s deep belly laugh causes me to grin, but he doesn’t place anything in my hand. “I see you have the start of a lovely pool, so my elves will finish that up for you and you should be able to enjoy your gift by Memorial Day. Now I have other gifts to deliver. Care to help?” He offers his elbow to the pie lady.

Soon they are perched on the sleigh and headed up and away.

They call out together as they fly away. “Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night…And Pie.”

~~~

I can’t help but observe that this particularly story strayed so far from the original prompt that even the prompter wouldn’t recognize it as such. But oh how I love it…and pie…mesmerizing, mind-bending, tongue-tingling pie.

Surprise Gift [FICTION]

“Too early.” I mumble grumpily, fumbling for my phone to delay waking up just a bit longer.

As I look at the screen, I realize no alarm has sounded. In fact, this early hour should never be interrupted by an alarm. Sighing, I realize that the only noise similar to my alarm resides next to my front door. I stumble there slowly, determined not to hurry for whatever rude dream crasher or solemn bearer of bad news awaits. By the time I reach the door, I wonder if I imagined the doorbell. I open it anyway and peer out into the square of light provided by the open door.

The dim glow reveals my doormat. I grumble and turn back toward my warm bed. A soft scratching noise draws me further out onto the porch. I make out the blocky shape of a medium-sized box next to the stairs. Something within scratches at the sturdy cardboard. I peer up and down the street at the dark houses. Nothing stirs but me—not even a mouse. In fact, the box now falls under the morning spell of silence, too.

A couple tentative steps bring me to the mysterious package. I take in a deep breath, cross my fingers, and prepare to flee. One flap. Two flaps. Gasp.

Nestled in a fluffy fleece blanket striped in white and red, a teeny baby sucks on a pacifier shaped like an evergreen bedecked for the season. As I marvel at the peaceful, sleeping face, I notice that pointy ears poke out from under the pointed green hat. I lift up another flap and find a note scrawled in red crayon.

“Please watch my baby boy until Santa can come to take him home. I had to leave the North Pole for cookie rehab, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave little Pepper Mint behind just yet.”

“Okay, Pepper, let’s get you inside,” I carefully lift the box and carry it inside.

I bring the box into my room and place it next to my bed. The tiny bundle doesn’t stir as I crawl into bed. In fact, he doesn’t make a single peep until I lift the flaps of the box and allow light to filter in over his sweet face the next morning. Instead of wailing, he blinks his eyes at me and opens his mouth. When I fail to fill it with food, he jams as much of his hand inside as he can and begins sucking avidly. All the while, he watches me with large green eyes.

“Oh, crap, what do baby elves eat?” I debate with myself. “Probably milk or formula. Do they make elf formula?”

The baby coos at me like he knows I am working on his breakfast. He’d probably learn to speak and hurry me along if he knew I have no idea what to give him. As I ponder exactly what needs to be done, a gentle hand falls on my shoulder.

“Whatcha got there, hon?” my husband’s deep voice breaks into my thoughts as he peers over my shoulder. “Something you need to tell me?”

“Someone dropped this little guy off on our doorstep last night.”

“Which one of your weird friends dropped off a baby dressed as hobbit for us babysit?”

I turn to glare at him, “Those are his real ears.”

“Really? So which one of your friends has hobbit ears?”

“It’s an elf…” I cry in exasperation.

“Like Legolas?”

“No. From the North Pole.”

The baby punctuates our conversation with a loud noise followed by an aroma wafting over us like a candy cane fell in a pile of dog poo. I cover my nose. Gill looks a little green.

“I believe her, little guy, geez.” He makes a break for the door.

I start to follow, but a plaintive wail lures me back into the stink zone. I try to hold my breath, but my daughters choose that moment to sneak and snuggle. Three little bodies crash into my legs, reaching wildly for any part of me to hug as we all tumble to the ground next to the box. 

“Mom. You farted.” Liza exclaims in horror.

“Yeah. Ick.” Anya backs her up.

Tabitha reserves judgement as she scrambles to her feet. She pauses on her way out of the room. Her head tilts to the side and her eyes light up as she sees the box.

“Maybe it wasn’t mom.” She scampers over to pull back the lid. “But that’s not a puppy.”

Despite the smell, all three girls cluster around Pepper who offers them all soft coos of delight. His coos fade to whimpers of hunger as he gets used to three dark-haired creatures hovering over him as they fire off questions. 

“Where did you get him mom?”

“Did you and dad finally make us a brother?”

“Why do his ears look like that?”

“Yeah. I want pointy ears.”

“Can I hold him?”

My voice finally breaks through the chaos, “Sure. You can hold him. If you want to change him.”

Their little voices stop as they all stare at me in horror. “Ew, mom. That’s your job.”

I look to Gill for support, but he disappeared during the chaos. I sigh.

“Okay, hon, we did still have a diaper bag from when Tabitha was still potty training. And you’ll be glad to know that we still have some supplies in here.”

He offers me the slightly dusty bag and I stare at him intently until he slings it over his own shoulder. “I guess I can help the little guy out.” He leans into the box to claim the tiny bundle of stinky joy.

With a glance at the girls, he carries the little guy into the guest room and closes the door to a chorus of complaints.

“Come on, girls. Daddy is going to help Pepper while we see if we have anything he can eat.”

“Hey, what about me. I’m hungry, too.” Anya whines.

“I know exactly what to make for my girls,” I inform them, “Blueberry pancakes.”

“With whipped cream,” they add in chorus.

“I couldn’t forget the whipped cream.” I laugh as we troop down the stores. 

As if the Christmas Spirit foretold my needs, I find a container of formula  and a clean bottle that my sister forgot on her last visit and the formula is still good. I quickly add some filtered water. The girls mug me for the chance to shake the bottle. By the time Gill comes downstairs with our guest, little elf lungs are helping proclaim his hunger and three little girls are begging to be the one to feed him. 

“Come on, little helpers,” Gill sits down in the middle of the couch and the girls crowd around him as he uses the bottle as a plug to stem the flow of aggravated noises.

Soon the air is filled with the sounds of admiring girls, contented sucking, and me humming as I rustle up pancakes for my crew. My husband seems content in all the chaos, especially when I reward him with chocolate chip pancakes with peanut butter sauce instead of syrup. After fortifying ourselves with breakfast, I call some friends to see if anyone has some baby items we can borrow. Luckily, most of them are bigger hoarders than me, so Pepper will be living in style for the duration of his stay.

Over the next week, we all become attached to Pepper. Gill and the girls treat him like an exotic pet. I catch them trying to teach him tricks every time I turn around. The girls even try to bribe him with chunks of candy cane even after I explain why they shouldn’t. A threat to disappear all of the refreshing peppermint treats finally convinces them to listen.

Christmas Eve brings snow, anticipation of gifts to come, and bittersweet emotions about Pepper returning home. I decide to succeed where generations of children have failed and stay up to confront jolly old Saint Nicholas. Clearly, Pepper’s mother doesn’t have what it takes to care for him. With the right haircut, he could stay under my watchful care a little longer.

As the rest of my family snuggles down in their beds, no doubt dreaming of Christmas Day cinnamon rolls instead of sugarplums, I settle into my recliner with Pepper’s borrowed bassinet close by my side. I open the latest thriller in my ever growing to be read pile and step into the story. Though the heart-pounding action should keep me awake and anxious, the soft, steady breathing of my elf baby comforts and calms me.

When I wake from my unplanned nap, my eyes instantly go to the bassinet. Empty. Yet his sweet peppermint aroma still lingers in the air. A tear rolls down my cheek. When I reach up to wipe it away, paper rustles against my cheek.

“You have been a good human auntie to baby Pepper. Just more proof why you were always on the nice list. I know all your arguments for letting him stay with you. The only one that matters is how much your family loves him, but his North Pole family loves him just as much. I promise to let you know how he is doing and I know his mom will want to bring him to see you when she is herself again. Merry Christmas. Enjoy your bonus gift.”

Under the letter, a neatly wrapped package warms my lap. I open it slowly to unveil a sweater with “Elf Auntie” carefully woven into a pattern of snowflakes and candy canes. I pull it over my head and find that it smells of gingerbread and peppermint. I admire the packages of varying sizes  under the tree as I wait for the rest of my family to join me. Soon they begin tumbling downstairs with wide eyes.

“Pepper.” The girls cry, rushing to the bassinet instead of the tree.

“He went home with Santa.” I bite my lip, worrying about their reaction to this news though I told them from the beginning that when the gifts arrived, Pepper would return to his home.

“Lucky,” Tabitha says.

“Yeah. Why couldn’t we go with him to the North Pole?” Anya adds.

“Maybe Santa will let us come visit Pepper,” Liza eyes the piles of presents as she speaks. “Let’s see what he brought us and then we can ask him about Pepper in our thank you notes.”

Soon wrapping paper flying through the air distracts us from the absence of elven cuteness, but it also reminds us of what a magical place he has moved on to. Besides, maybe Santa will let us come visit him at the North Pole.

~~

Happy Friday! Happy Holidays! Are you prepped? Are you ready? Do you have your own stinky little elves to help you finish up those last minute cookies? I hope so.