Noël Hotel [FICTION]

I woke with a craving for one more slice of pumpkin pie. No matter how much I stuff myself at dinner, I always wake up starving sometime between dinner and breakfast. On the good years, I can hold off and have pie for breakfast as I hide from the enthusiastic shoppers trying to nail down the best deals the local stores have to offer. With so many stores closing down lately, I shudder to think of the hordes descending on the few remaining brick and mortar bastions of holiday joy. I don’t need the cheery carols meant to keep those crowds of shopper in line, however, because my Christmas joy arrives at my doorstep uninvited the day after Thanksgiving.

Had I looked at the clock, I would have just rolled back over and resisted the urge for one little nosh with a heap of whipped cream on top. I didn’t realize that Thanksgiving was firmly in our rearview mirror when I stumbled down the stairs with my hair awry and my pajamas askew.

As I plated a piece of pie and reached into the fridge for the bright red spray bottle of happiness, I froze. Had I heard it? It couldn’t be. I glanced at the clock: 12:01. 

“Oh no,” I mumbled, closing my eyes tight, “I’m not ready.”

“I can see that, mom, but you’re still lovely,” a saccharine voice greeted me from the area of my kneecap. “You are going to need another container of the whip.”

I slowly opened my eyes and looked down in time to see a tiny little man clad in green begin climbing up one of the stools to my kitchen counter. He planted himself happily in front of my slice of pumpkin pie and plunked a chubby little finger into its middle. That finger then went into his mouth.

“Delicious, but where is my whip?” He doffed his peaked hat, placing it gently on the counter next to the pie plate to reveal his pointed ears.

I sighed and sprayed a slightly ungenerous dollop of whipped cream onto his, formerly my, pie. He gave me a quizzical look, but my face convinced him that I wasn’t to be trifled with unless he was going to make me a trifle for a change. I watched him wolf down pumpkin deliciousness and ruled out that idea—he’d just eat the components to a good trifle instead of layering them into a thing of beauty and deliciousness.

As the last crumb of pie disappeared, he looked up to me with a huge grin, “Thanks, mom. You always know how to make a fella feel welcome.”

I stared at him, holding back the tart reply that I wished he didn’t feel so comfortable in my home. He took my silence as tacit encouragement.

“So what else do you have for me?”

I threw my hands up in the air, “What do I have for you?”

“Yes?”

“A list of cleaning projects you should plan to do this year instead of taking over my house and leaving a mess for me?”

“A mess for you?”

“Glitter. Foil. Shreds of wrapping paper…” I started.

He raised a hand to stop me, “Oh. I see. You don’t want me to leave mementos of my visit around the house to make you miss me. I can do that.”

After a few seconds of staring at him silently as he hefted the can of whipped cream and sprayed some into his mouth, I turned slowly, announcing firmly, “I’m going back to bed.”

“Sweet peppermint dreams, mom,” he called out to my back, chasing his comment with another hit of the whipped cream.

~~

The next morning, I woke to the sweet giggles of my babies downstairs and the delectable scent of a breakfast I didn’t make wafting up from the kitchen. I pulled on my robe and slipped my feet into slippers that felt different than normal. Looking down, I beheld feet clad in green velvet comfort with toes that curled up toward me. I frowned down at the bells on their very tips and took a few tentative steps. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned over to feel that the bells were as soft and silent as the rest of my new apparel.

As I padded down the stairs, the intoxicating aroma drew me into the kitchen. Even the sound of Christmas carols dominating the room couldn’t turn me back as my stomach grumbled and reminded me that I had never eaten my midnight pie last night. My mind gently pointed out that maybe, for that reason alone, I should be more patient with my holiday guest. Rounding the corner prompted it to offer a second reason.

Elfis stood at my usual spot before the stove. Of course, he stood on a step stool, but he worked just as fervently as I ever had to keep all the pans on the stove cooking food to perfection. One held bacon, another had eggs, and the one receiving the main portion of his attention held pancakes speckled with red and dark brown.

“Here she comes, the hardest worker in the world: a mom,” he announced as he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes rested upon me. 

I paused, taking in the rest of the scene before my eyes. My children huddled over plates that clearly had already been filled with food, shoveling the last bites happily into their mouths. My husband looked up from a similar plate to smile at me and pat the stool next to him.

“Don’t worry, mom, I am making a batch fresh so you can have as much as you want,” Elfis waggled his eyebrows at me, “And then I have a surprise for you…”

“Oh do you?” I interrupted as my eyes assessed the number of dishes already in the sink and those soon to join them.

“I do. A beautiful surprise and then I shall wash the dishes, which may be a surprise you would prefer.”

I blinked slowly. When I opened my eyes, a plate piled with modest portions of bacon, eggs, and peppermint chocolate chip pancakes sat before me. I took a deep inhale. My husband nodded encouragingly, and I took a tentative bite. Finally, something the little elf did that didn’t instantly irk me. He grinned at me and removed the festive tea towel he had fashioned into an elf-sized apron. Underneath, he wore a new fashion accessory, a candy cane striped holster for a microphone. He drew his weapon of choice and jumped up on the opposite end of the counter from me to appreciative applause from my family.

“This is for you, Mom,” he said with a wink.

“Since Thanksgiving passed me by,

Well, my thoughts have a new place to dwell

Well, it's down at the end of Cocoa Street

At Noël Hotel

“Where it'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby

Well, it’s so snowy

It'll be so snowy, I could fly

“Although it's always crowded

You still can find cocoa

For peppermint lovers

Or another winter’s glow

“It'll be, it'll be so snowy, baby

It'll be so snowy

It’s so snowy, you could fly

“Now, the bellhop's singin’ carols

And the desk clerk's dressed in red

Well, they've been so long on Cocoa Street

They'll never, never look back

“And it gets so, it gets so snowy, baby

Well, it is so snowy

It’s so snowy, you could fly

“Well, now, if your cocoa leaves you

And you need to warm a spell

Well, sing a carol down Cocoa Street

To Noël Hotel

“Where you will be, you will be, you'll be so snowy, baby

Well, you will be snowy

You'll be so snowy, you could fly”

He paused here to dance for us, shaking his hips in a way I still found more disturbing than provocative, particularly as it made the bells on the ends of his shoes jingle merrily. Then he resumed:

“Although it's always crowded

You still can find cocoa

For peppermint lovers

Or another winter’s glow

“Where they get so, they get so snowy, baby

Well, they're so snowy

They'll be so snowy, they could fly.”

I giggled as one child turned to the other and asked, “Is he singing about skiing?”

Elfis didn’t laugh. He just shook his candy can microphone disapprovingly our way. That resulted in more hysterical laughter and holiday cheer pouring out into the room.

First Snow Happy [FICTION]

Another winter began without that first hint of snow. Most years, our little town gets only a soft sprinkling of snow that makes the small hills look like powdered donuts poking up out of the landscape. Then the sun comes out and melts the frosted flakes of winter joy away. I contemplated this as I waited for the sun to come up and summon Elfis back to his place on our shelf. As the big day draws closer, his reports to Santa seem to happen later and later. Or maybe he gets drafted into last minute toy creation as the pressure increases.

As the sun rose, I gasped. The world outside fluttered with huge, fluffy, perfect flakes of snow. No confectioner’s sugar concoctions lay beyond the glass. Banks and banks of snow begged to be scooped up and compacted for use as a projectile or friend creation. As I thought this, two tiny voices cheered behind me.

“Snow!”

“Where’s my snow suit?”

By the time, Elfis arrived to sneak back onto his shelf, two tiny Eskimos stood before me, ready to brave the cold to make new friends from nature’s bounteous holiday gift. He beamed at us and launched into song:

“Snow happy, yes, I'm snow happy

Snow happy, can't you see?

“Every pile of snow looks good to me

What a crazy way-out way to be

I love a life of nothing but frosty white snow

Well I'm snow happy, yes, I'm snow happy

Snow happy, can't you see?

“Every time I see that icy lace

A snowman forms in that space

I need snowflakes to make my life worth living

Yes, I'm snow happy, yes, I'm snow happy

Snow happy, can't you see?

“I've been like this since I was just a baby boy

First winter snow stopped my tears and made me jump for joy

Don’t keep those snowflakes out of sight

I'm in a snowball mood tonight

I love a life of nothing but beautiful snowflakes

Well, I'm snow happy, yes, I'm snow happy

Snow happy, can't you see?

“I've been like this since I was just a baby boy

First winter snow stopped my tears and made me jump for joy

Snow happy, well, I'm snow happy

Yes, I'm snow happy, can't you see?

Snow happy, said I'm snow happy

Yes, I'm snow happy, can't you see?”

Then he settled down, smile in place and went to sleep on his shelf.

~~~

Confess now. Does your elf sing to you? What would you do if they did?

Christmas Choices [FICTION]

I try not to be one of those people who thinks about their favorite holiday all year round. But when you live for Christmas, life reminds you of it all of December, most of Christmas in July, and, lately, before Halloween has begun to be celebrated by people who aren’t decked out in skeletons year round. (These are also my people, so calm down.)

Even in August offered gentle reminders this year. The girls and I gathered at Minnie’s house for game night. Luck of the draw found us playing a Truth or Dare board game. Even worse fortune had me drawing the truth card that would would embarrass me most of all.

“Confess your celebrity crush,” Madeleine grinned as she read the card because she already knew the answer.

I glared at her and reached for the card. I knew not to trust her from past renditions of game night. To my surprise, the card read exactly as she had voiced it aloud. I took a deep breath and looked around at my expectant and already half-giggling friends.

“I’ve always had a crush on Santa Clause.”

The laughs held for a full minute before Dotty started to titter and the others joined her. Then the questions flew.

“Santa?”

“Really? You love gifts that much?”

“Can I see that? I guess. He does have those twinkly blue eyes.”

“And that red suit.”

“To go with those red cheeks.”

“And that bowl full of jelly.”

Soon their ridiculous commentary tapered off and they turned back to me expectantly. 

I frowned at them, “I already answered the question on the card, so I have nothing else to say.”

~~

By the time Christmas season rolls around, I have forgotten that celebrity crushes can crush you. I even pretend to be unaware that when you have a crush on someone who never existed, it mangles you. Particularly when you encounter people pretending to be them on every street corner. I just want to scream at the phonies.

“You’re not my Santa!”

But I keep my mouth shut and my head down and keep charging through this winter wonderland to accomplish all the holiday tasks that suddenly spring up at the beginning of December. Today’s goal: get three dozen cookies safely to Madeleine’s house for the cookie exchange. We do this earlier every year, yet I always find myself behind before the day of the exchange. I almost trip over her threshold but Sammie catches me. Luckily, Madeleine has already grabbed the cookies, so no harm comes from my clumsiness.

“Let’s see what we have here,” she says as she brings my offering into the kitchen and opens the lid. “These are lovely.”

As she sets my chocolate-covered cherry cookies next to the other five varieties, I realize that you should never tell your friends about your forbidden love. Five lovely cookies with suggestive names greet me from fancy trays. I read them slowly, trying to ascertain their composition before glaring at the baker named on the card.

“Marry Me, Mr. Clause, Brownies.” Brownies topped by a cheesecake layer and crumbled gingerbread cookies made by Minnie.

“Forbidden Claus Kisses.” Sugar cookies, flavored with peppermint, cut to look like lips and decorated with stripes of red and white frosting made by Sammie.

“Noel Love Blossoms.” Red velvet cookies with Hershey hugs in the middle and green sprinkles by Ginger.

“Santa’s Snowballs.” Snowball cookies with chunks of candy cane formed by Dotty.

“Crinkle Claus Nookie Bars.” Nanaimo bars with a Christmas twist made by Madeleine.

Though each contribution looks delicious, each successive name makes me blush more until my cheeks feel inflamed with fever. Before I can decide exactly how I want to react to this, Madeleine throws her arms around me and falls into a fit of giggles.

“I’m so sorry, Kitty, I just couldn’t resist this theme for the year, since you love Santa so very much that you secretly want to be the mother of the heirs to the North Pole,” she waggles her eyebrows at me.

“You promised never to bring that up again. It was one of the rules of the game,” I hiss.

I look around my group of friends, trying to decide if they still deserve that nomenclature. As Ginger looks guiltily at her feet, I decide it is rather amusing despite how my cheeks still burn. Once more trumping my attempts to speak, Madeleine grabs my hands and leans in to stage whisper in my ear.

“I have the best idea. Let’s get you on the naughty list.”

“Excuse me?” My mind can’t keep up with whatever crazy she has in store for me next.

“You get on the naughty list and the big man will want to reform you. I mean, you are normally such a goody two shoes.”

“Oh my gosh! Let us help you,” the rest of my friends squeeze into the circle to add to the crazy factor.

I try to talk them down, but I am the one converted to their way of thinking. Thus I find myself waking up the next morning with a carefully crafted list on a scrap of paper next to my bed. I shake my head as a few of the rejected naughty ideas pop back into my head. I review my friend’s goals for me and know I am not going to succeed at them, since each one seems more convoluted than the one before it.

~~

Kitty’s Naughty List

1. Absolutely no good deeds.

2. Steal something.

3. Bully someone online.

4. Vandalize a public place.

5. Put chewing gum on a teacher’s chair.

6. Sneak onto Santa’s sleigh, so he can help you reform.

I know I have number three squared away. I already plan to bully Madeleine until she knows not to mess with me again—let alone share my secrets.

~~~

As I crawl out of bed, I already feel dirty. Years of picking the right action for the right reason have left me completely unprepared to succeed at being truly naughty. Surely, if Santa exists, he will see right through my charade.  But I can’t back out. My friends have all but issued a triple dog dare. In fact, one glance at my phone reveals the wisdom in putting it on “do not disturb”. 

While I slept, my friends inundated me with more naughty suggestions. All except Dotty who hoped I enjoyed her cookies. She chased that solitary comment with a snowflake emoji followed by a soccer ball. A warm blush creeps up my cheeks again and the phone goes facedown on my nightstand.

After getting ready for my day, I resolve not to let my friends’ fun interfere with my workday. The weeks leading into the holiday may be festive and relaxed at work but even a bad girl has to take pride in a job well done. Or maybe I am nothing more than a goody two shoes. That’s not so bad, is it? 

I hold onto my resolve until my boss staggers into my cubicle with a pile of paper so high that even the man everyone jokes should be a linebacker in the NFL hunches over as he carries it. He sets it down on the one clean part of my desk with a relieved sigh.

“So, Kitty, I need you to fix this report before Christmas…”

I look up at him in stunned silence until he says that magical word of all words, then all the naughty I have been seeking after seems to pour out of my mouth, “No. I won’t do it, sir.” I did pause before throwing out that last word, but my tone makes it clear that no respect lies behind my refusal to do my job.

He lips twitch as he looks down at me. Then he clutches his stomach and tears roll down his cheeks as he finally lets loose the hysterical laughter brewing inside.

“Oh my gosh, Kitty, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

I stare at him, bemused and confused. “What is so funny?”

“I was just joking. I was on my way to the recycling center with these and thought I would play a merry little joke on you.”

I wrinkle my nose, “Not a very funny one.”

He clears his throat and looks sheepish, “Yes, I see that now. You know what you need?”

My frown deepens.

“A couple days off. Since this report doesn’t need done and you keep us ahead of schedule year round, why don’t you take a couple extra days off to be Santa’s little elf?”

“What?” I almost add “did you hear” to my question but stop myself just in time to avoid adding any more crazy to my day.

“Oh, and I have this for you,” he pulls an envelope from his back pocket and beams down at me until I lifted the flap.

Inside rests a rather generous bonus. All my naughtiness flees and I leap up to give him a big hug.

“None of that now,” he says gruffly, gently pushing me away, “You earned it.”

“Thank you.”

~~

As I pass by the Santa ringing a bell for the Salvation Army, I avoid eye contact and random exclamations of his faux Santa-ness. I also don’t follow my normal habit of tucking any spare bills into the kettle. That should boost my naughtiness. 

I follow that up by refusing to acknowledge any of the smiles or holiday greetings I receive on my way home. Admittedly, they come few and far between even this close to the holidays but I have to build up my rebellion to truly succeed at my cause.

All of my attempts to be naughty eventually lead me to believe that trying to attract attention on the nice list would be a lot easier for me. But Christmas Eve rolls around and finds me hovering somewhere in the limbo of Mr. Claus’s two very important lists. I distract myself by accepting my mother’s offer for an old-fashioned family Christmas Eve. Tucked into my former bedroom, now remodeled to appeal to more adult tastes, exhaustion finally pulls me down into sleep.

My eyes slowly open, and I look around for clues as to what could pull me from deep sleep. Darkness whispers that sugarplums should dance in my head until dawn. So what woke me? In answer to my unspoken question, a rustling noise rises from downstairs. I slip out of bed and sneak down the stairs. I turn the corner just in time to see a figure dressed as Santa placing his last gifts under the tree. Assuming my dad has decided to surprise us somehow, I step forward to throw my arms around him in a surprise hug. 

As I reach him, he stands up to his full height. I barely register that my dad stands taller as he places finger to one side of his nose and lets out a deep bass “ho ho ho.”

Now I stand on my roof, shivering slightly as snowflakes flutter down on me. I gasp as my eyes rest on an immense red sleigh and eight reindeer prancing restlessly. I duck down as Santa turns around to place his overflowing bag back into the sleigh. Then he climbs aboard with the grace of a much younger and slimmer man. I follow his example and clamber up into the back of the sleigh, but I don’t do so with as much grace. Had the reindeer not chosen this moment to stamp their feet impatiently, Santa could catch me sneaking aboard, but Donner and his mates give me an assist I hope to someday reward with extra oats or whatever reindeer adore.

I crawl into the bed of the sleigh, cozying up to the bag of presents. The fabric surprises me with its softness and smells of pine needles and cinnamon. Cuddling in, I hope I’ll wake up from this crazy dream soon. Or maybe not, because if I don’t wake up, I could end up married to the magnanimous man of my dreams.

Is it possible to sleep in a dream? I wake to find myself stretching in the back of the sleigh while the gently jingling bells beat a different cadence and Santa’s rumbling voice thanks each reindeer by name for their hard work making every child in the world happy. As I contentedly listen to that deep, resonating voice, a tickle starts at the tip of my nose. I shrug my shoulders, trying to scratch it with as little noise as possible. As often happens in dreams, I fail and the tickle produces an epic sneeze. When I gain control of my head again, I freeze, hoping somehow that neither the reindeer nor their handsome master noticed my very loud announcement of my presence.

“Come on out, Kitty McClure,” he interposes a jolly “ho ho ho” before continuing, “Even on Christmas Eve, I know when you’re awake.”

I throw back the now empty sack and shiver as cooler air rushes in to welcome me to the North Pole. He steps forward to reach up and help me down. After my feet find terra firma, he unbuttons his fluffy coat and drapes it over my shoulders. I stare up at him struggling to keep my mouth from sagging open in surprise, admiration, and a little fear. He lets the silence between us stretch before he fills the air with his melodious voice.

“I admire your dedication, my dear, but as one of my most ardent admirers, you don’t have it in you to be truly naughty.”

I blush from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes as much at this praise as at the realization that, of course, Santa knows about my schoolgirl crush. “Oh?” I gasp. He knows everything, but how? He watches. Can he also read minds?

“Sometimes, a Christmas wish presents itself that I just can’t grant,” he looks at me meaningfully over his adorably tiny spectacles, “That has happened more and more over the past few decades since electronics don’t really bring happiness.” He sighs and shakes his head before continuing. “As you know, I am a happily married man. A very old, very happily married man.”

I nod numbly and he continues, “So while I am flattered, I could think of you as nothing more than a daughter…”

As he pauses, a vice grips my heart and I silently curse my friends and their ideas, “But as I have been training my son, Little Nick,” another pause as I look up at him with questioning eyes, “he has been impressed by your goodness, even over the past few weeks as you tried to get on the naughty list.”

I blush again, wondering how much I can blush before my blood gives up on racing to reveal my embarrassment. Santa holds out the wrapped package he has been cradling as he talks. As I reach for it, he speaks again and my hands pause in midair.

“So this year, we’ve decided to let you choose your own gift. The first is this item my wife and I picked out for you. It’s not quite the lump of coal you wanted this year but it comes with the bliss of thinking this night was just a dream and the chance to go back to your normal life. Or you can agree to meet my son and see how things go which may completely change your life in one way or another.”

I stare at him. Processing. He has a son. My brain fails to completely compute, so I shrug and look at him helplessly.

“Excellent. If you keep doing what you’re good at, being nice, Mrs. Claus and I would definitely…” he pauses here, perhaps realizing how far ahead of the situation, his daydreams has leaped, “…love to see more of you.”

~~

I feel like people want recipes for those naughty-sounding cookies…

I also expect that some of you are hoping I have another post to make this not a “lady or the tiger” situation. I promise nothing. November was harsh this year and I am hoping to have a mostly finished novel to revise and begin posting by the new year. Who is excited for that????