A Hippogriff for Christmas

by Zoe Chant

  Or a first father, really, Annie thought, swallowing, as she rearranged a sagging garland of tinsel around the bakery doorway. Since I never really had a father to begin with.

  The thought made her breath catch in her throat. All right – so maybe it wasn’t that big of a mystery as to why she didn’t like Christmas.

  Christmas was just a painful reminder of all the things she’d never had growing up. A father who’d given a damn about her was just one of them.

  A stable address had been another. But once her mother had decided having a five-year-old kid around was cramping her style, Annie had gone into the foster system, and been moved around from family to family until she’d finally hit eighteen and could get out and be on her own.

  Some of the Christmases she’d spent with one or two of her foster families hadn’t even been so bad – she’d gotten presents, and it’d been clear the family was trying to make her feel like she was one of them.

  But no matter how hard they’d tried, Annie had always felt like an outsider looking in. She’d felt guilty and ungrateful, but she couldn’t help her feelings. She’d only been a kid, after all. Even as she’d feigned total delight at her presents, a small part of her had always been thinking, Why aren’t my parents like this? Why do I have to have other people’s parents? Why didn’t mine want me?

  She shook her head. She didn’t need those kinds of bad memories crowding her mind. Annie might have hated Christmas, but she still needed to do her job.

  “Ahh, Annie. How’re things going out here?”

  She turned at the sound of her boss’s voice behind her, unable to keep the smile off her face. George Dearborn had inherited this bakery from his father – who had inherited it from his father before him. It truly was a family-run bakery, with old photos from its founding lining the walls, alongside the shelves of freshly baked bread, apple fritters, cupcakes and sweet rolls, and the chilled cabinets of cakes and cream pies.

  Mr. Dearborn made everything by hand, with recipes developed by him, his father and his grandfather, most of which were closely guarded family secrets, and which had turned Dearborn’s Family Bakery into an institution here in the town of Bell’s Hollow. People came from three towns away to buy their cakes and cookies here, especially at Christmas, and Annie had been rushed off her feet taking phone orders and helping customers.

  But she would’ve been lying if she said some part of her didn’t enjoy it – and anyway, the busier she was, the less time she had to think about her own non-existent Christmas plans.

  “Everything’s fine, Mr. Dearborn,” she said with a smile. “You caught me in a moment’s peace, so I was just fixing up some of the decorations.”

  “How many times, Annie – you know you can call me George. Mr. Dearborn was my father.”

  Annie ducked her head, smiling. “I know. But I just feel better this way.”

  It was partially true – despite all the affection she had for George Dearborn, Annie was wary of getting too attached to him. Every time she’d ever gotten attached to someone, they’d always ended up leaving her life sooner or later. It was easier this way, if she tried to keep at least a little distance.

  Annie knew she owed Mr. Dearborn a lot – he’d given her a job, after all, when she’d walked in here with her zero job history and the ink still drying on her GED, just because, as he’d explained, you have a determined look in your eye, and I like that.

  “Gotten many phone orders?” Mr. Dearborn asked, as he stretched out his back, looking weary – though there was still the characteristic twinkle in his eye.

  “Seven,” Annie said, picking them up from where she’d written them down on the order pad by the phone. “A cherry pie, two dozen apple fritters, two apple pies, a dozen gingerbread cookies, a honey pecan pie, a box of sugar cookies and a sheet of Christmas fudge with an extra slug of whiskey,” she said, reading them off. She shuffled them, organizing them by date before handing them over.

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Dearborn said, looking through them. “Looks like I’ll be doing some overtime over the next few days.”

  “Don’t work too hard,” Annie blurted out, before she could stop herself. “I mean, I just –”

  “No need to apologize, Annie,” Mr. Dearborn said with a light laugh. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll definitely be taking some time off once we’re no longer taking Christmas orders.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Annie said, nodding. “I can handle things from here.”

  “You? Oh, no, Annie. This is your last day at work. Once Christina comes in for her shift at twelve, you’re done.”

  A chill ran down Annie’s spine, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. My last… am I being fired?

  Mr. Dearborn must have seen the stricken expression on her face, because he raised his hands quickly, looking embarrassed.

  “Oh no! That came out all wrong – I just meant this is the first day of your Christmas holiday.”

  “My – my Christmas holiday?” Annie asked, her brain still too frozen with horror to really take in what Mr. Dearborn was saying.

  “I know you didn’t ask for any time off this Christmas – but you didn’t ask for any last year, or the year before that, either. Don’t you think it’s about time you gave yourself a little break over the holiday season?”

  Annie blinked, her mind finally kicking into gear again. She knew she shouldn’t have assumed something awful was about to happen – even if Mr. Dearborn had been firing her, he never would have done it like that – but it seemed that she’d simply become conditioned to expect the worst.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” she finally managed to stutter out. “I don’t need any time off – and if you like, I can even work Christmas Day. I know you’ve been saying there’s some inventory that needs doing.”

  “Work on Christmas Day?” Mr. Dearborn sounded horrified. “What do you take me for, some kind of evil boss? No – I’ve let you talk me into letting you work every day except Christmas these last few years. But this year, you’re going to have a proper holiday.”

  Annie bit her lip, protestations rising up inside her. What was she going to do with all that time? Sit around her empty apartment feeling sorry for herself? Just the idea of it made her feel sick with loneliness.

  “Mr. Dearborn –”

  But Mr. Dearborn just shook his head. “Annie. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you do for me. But I don’t want to be that kind of boss. This bakery has always been run by my family, and we’ve always tried to do right by our staff and our customers.”

  As if to prove his point, the door to the store jingled, letting a cold gust of air into the shop – but it was a welcome one, as Annie looked up to see old Mrs. Schen standing in the doorway, a scarf wrapped over her head, her heavy winter coat dappled with snow. Mrs. Schen lived in Cedar Ridge, and it would have been much easier for her to go to the Bakery Megafactory chain store if she had a need for baked goods. And yet, here she was, and in the middle of heavy snow at that.

  “It certainly is a cold one out there!” Mrs. Schen said as she pulled her scarf back from her head. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I should be driving out there right now, with snow that thick.”

  “Now, now, you need to take care of yourself,” Mr. Dearborn said. “You know I offer delivery – though only to my favorite customers, of course.”

  “Oh, get on with you,” Mrs. Schen laughed. “You’re too young to flirt with me, George Dearborn – I remember when you were in short pants.”

  Annie laughed, but it was probably true. Mr. Dearborn might have been in his sixties, but Mrs. Schen was most certainly in her eighties, even if she was active enough for someone much younger.

  “Anyway, what are you saying, that I’m past it? That I can’t drive myself around anymore? I could show you whippersnappers a thing or two, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Schen continued, shaking her head.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Mr. Dearborn said mildly. “Now, what
can I get for you?”

  Annie couldn’t help but smile as Mr. Dearborn fixed Mrs. Schen’s order of a dozen sugar cookies and a cream pie for her. They chatted easily to each other, catching each other up on the local gossip and generally shooting the breeze.

  As happy as it made her, she still felt just the tiniest little bit of melancholy in her heart.

  Will I ever belong somewhere as much as Mr. Dearborn belongs here? As much as anyone who was born here and has lived here all their lives does?

  But that was small-town life, she supposed. Even the schoolteacher and his wife who’d moved here eleven years ago were still called ‘those newly moved-in people’ by some of Bell’s Hollow’s long-time residents. Annie, who’d only been here two, was probably considered some shady fly-by-nighter who’d maybe earn the town’s trust in another twenty years or so!

  She turned as Mrs. Schen finally finished up her purchases. Maybe all wasn’t lost yet. If she could just convince Mr. Dearborn she’d be way happier doing inventory around the shop than sitting around at home –

  “Oh, by the way, Annie,” Mr. Dearborn said, before she could open her mouth. “Scott said he might drop ’round later. He wanted to pick some things up. Just so you know.”

  Oh.

  Annie tried not to let her misgiving at the mention of Scott’s name show on her face.

  Mr. Dearborn’s son Scott was living proof that kids didn’t necessarily have much in common with their parents. Annie hadn’t met Scott properly more than half a dozen times, but none of them had left a good impression on her.

  Where Mr. Dearborn was kind, patient, and did his best to be a good boss, Scott was his polar opposite: brash, rude, and he treated her like… well, she didn’t know how he treated dogs. Maybe his one good point was that he was kind to animals. It was possible, she supposed.

  Scott didn’t seem all that interested in running the bakery, either. As Mr. Dearborn’s only child, it was tradition that he’d take it over – but Scott just didn’t seem to care that much about it.

  Not that Annie thought you needed to necessarily follow in your parents’ footsteps – God knew if she did that, she’d be screwed! – but despite not caring about the bakery, Scott also seemed pretty… weird about it too.

  Like that time he got poor Danny fired, she thought as she needlessly rearranged the nativity scene so she’d have something to do with her hands.

  Danny had been Mr. Dearborn’s apprentice for several months. He was everything Scott wasn’t: passionate, hardworking, and dedicated to the bakery. He’d gotten along well with Mr. Dearborn, and he hadn’t minded coming in at a moment’s notice when Scott missed a shift.

  But it had been clear that Scott had hated him, right from the start. It wasn’t long before Annie had started to overhear Scott complaining to his father about Danny, saying all sorts of things Annie had had a hard time believing were true. Things about the register being short, about things going missing.

  And then, one day, Danny had been gone, and Mr. Dearborn had told her he’d moved on. Annie hadn’t felt it was her place to ask, but she was sure Scott had had something to do with his firing.

  Annie had been worried she was next on the chopping block, but so far, nothing had happened.

  It’s because Scott doesn’t see me as a threat.

  The answer came to her suddenly. Danny had been a baker’s apprentice. A skilled job that took years of practice, and Mr. Dearborn was clearly training him well and sharing his family recipes with him.

  That was what Scott hadn’t liked.

  “You remember what I said about not working after tomorrow,” Mr. Dearborn said as he put on his heavy winter coat. “Christina’s got it covered. You’ll get your holiday pay, of course, but there’ll be no need for you to worry about a thing. You deserve a break, Annie.”

  Annie bit her lip as she waved through the window at Mr. Dearborn as he headed out to his car. She glanced at the clock as he drove away – ten minutes until the end of her shift.

  Ten minutes until she’d have to spend the whole of Christmas and the days leading up to it alone with her thoughts.

  Unless I can convince Christina to trade with me…

  As soon as the thought came to her though, she dismissed it. As much as she didn’t want to spend the whole of the Christmas break alone, her guilty conscience wouldn’t give her a moment’s rest if she threw Mr. Dearborn’s generous gesture back in his face like that!

  “Hey! I’m here!”

  Annie turned at the sound of the back door of the bakery clattering open, followed by the sound of Christina’s voice. She appeared a moment later, shaking the snow out of her long black hair.

  “Phew! It’s freaking cold out there!” Christina said, with an exaggerated shiver. “I’m starting to think I should’ve just gone home for my winter break after all! But no, silly me just had to see a white Christmas, didn’t I?”

  Annie laughed. Christina was a Singaporean exchange student doing a semester at the art and design school in Cedar Ridge; Annie didn’t know much about Singapore, but she was guessing it didn’t snow much at any time of year.

  “Rating out of ten?” she asked, as Christina tied on her work apron.

  “Hmm. Seven,” she replied, tapping her lower lip with her finger in thought. “Very nice to look at, but less nice to be standing around at the bus stop in. Worth doing once just so I can say I did.”

  “Well, just remember us who’re stuck here once you return to your balmy-year-round paradise,” Annie said with a laugh as she untied her work apron, only a little reluctantly. She paused, licking her lips. “Are you sure you don’t mind taking these shifts?”

  “It’s no problem,” Christina said, shaking her head. “I don’t do Christmas – I was raised Buddhist you know, so it’s not really a thing. And I’d like to take a road trip to see more of America in my study break and I need some extra funds for that, so this works out well for me, I promise! Don’t you have anything you want to do over Christmas? No boyfriend you want to cuddle up with on the couch?” She winked, but Annie just shook her head, feeling the familiar stab of loneliness she knew so well.

  “Not really. I don’t really have any family or… anything like that. So work is as good a place for me to be as anywhere else.”

  “Oh…” Christina said, clearly feeling like she’d stuck her foot in her mouth. “But being by yourself can be fun too! No one to run around after, no one else to worry about! You can just spend all that time in your PJs eating pie. It’s a paid holiday!”

  “I guess,” Annie said, before shaking her head. She knew she was being a glum little storm cloud, but old habits died hard – especially the ones to do with Christmas. “No, you’re right. I’m just being a sourpuss. I’ll grab a cherry pie on my way out – nothing beats cherry pie with chocolate ice cream, right?”

  “That’s better!” Christina laughed. “Pie on the couch in your jammies. What could be better?”

  Annie forced herself to laugh along. Okay, so she hated Christmas – but she loved cherry pie. Maybe she could just eat so much pie she’d be sent into a sugar coma and wake up on the other side of the new year, when everything was over and done with.

  “Anyway, I better start getting cleaned up,” Annie said. She paused, only just stopping herself from pulling a face. “By the way, Mr. Dearborn said Scott might drop by.”

  “Oh, really?” Christina said, not bothering to hide her own distaste. “Well, I guess as long as he doesn’t hang around. That guy gives me the creeps.”

  Annie opened her mouth to agree, but before she could get the words out she heard the back door to the bakery open again, before slamming shut.

  Speak of the devil, she thought, as Scott swaggered his way up from the back of the shop, a smarmy grin on his face – though she almost immediately felt guilty about it. Scott might’ve been a pain in the ass, but he wasn’t the devil.

  She didn’t think.

  “Hello, ladies,” Scott said, raising an eye
brow at Christina, though he didn’t so much as glance in Annie’s direction. “I hope you’re not doing anything fun over Christmas without me.”

  “Not much,” Christina said shortly, before turning away and rolling her eyes discreetly at Annie. “Hey, Annie – if you don’t mind, I think we could put a few more boxes of sugar cookies on the shelves. Mind giving me a hand?”

  “Not at all,” Annie said quickly, grateful for any excuse to not spend time with Scott.

  Together, they headed out to the storeroom. Christina looked at Annie over her shoulder, pulling a face.

  “Ugh, yuck,” she whispered, as she reached up for a box of cookies.

  “No kidding. He’s super slimy,” Annie said. To be honest, she was often on her guard around new people – she admitted it, she had trust issues – but Scott was a cut above the usual, even without what had happened to Danny.

  Annie glanced through the small opening she’d left in the door, suddenly paranoid that Scott might be eavesdropping on them.

  He wasn’t – but what he was doing made her gasp, her fingers tightening around the box of cookies in her hands.

  No – he can’t be –

  “Wait here a moment,” she muttered quickly to Christina, before abruptly pushing the door to the storeroom open, surprising Scott where he was leaning over the register, the thumb of one hand still pressed to the open cash drawer to stop it from springing open too fast and making a sound.

  His other hand was holding a wad of cash – almost the whole morning’s taking, in fact, from what Annie could tell at a glance.

  “Oh, Annie,” Scott said, quickly smoothing down the look of surprise and alarm on his face. “My dad asked me to stop by and pick this up. He wants me to take it to the bank early.”

  Annie swallowed. She knew full well that was a lie. Mr. Dearborn would definitely have mentioned something like that to her.

  “Maybe,” she said carefully. “He didn’t say anything like that to me.”

  Scott laughed, but Annie still saw the quick flash of anger in his eyes. “Well, no offense, but why would he? You’re not exactly high up on the totem pole here, are you?”