My phone buzzes. Cheyenne said she loved me more than anything but would only stay in Santa’s Workshop for five minutes and not a second longer. “Ah, I’ve got to go! Will you still be working later?”
“Yep!” Daniel smiles and holds up a Squidward Funko Pop. “I always felt like this guy was misunderstood.”
I grin. “See you soon, weirdo.”
Then I rush out of the store and speed-walk down the hall. The holiday music plays at full blast, and the corridors are jam-packed. Navigating these crowds should be an Olympic sport. I make it to Santa’s Workshop in at least silver-medal time and then crane my neck left and right, trying to spot Cheyenne. Eventually I realize why it’s so hard to find her: She’s in disguise, scarf bundled up to her mouth and dark sunglasses covering her eyes.
“That’s a good look,” I say as I approach. “You could wear it to prom.”
“Ha, ha, ha.”
“You mean ‘ho, ho, ho’?”
Cheyenne manages to both groan and laugh. “Shoshanna, you are truly something else.”
“I know, right?” I grin. “Now let’s go see Santa!”
Cheyenne shakes her head. “I cannot believe I agreed to this.”
I don’t totally understand what the big deal is. Aren’t we a bit old to be embarrassed by the existence of our parents? But as established, feelings are feelings, so I’ll make this as quick as possible. We weave through the crowd gathered around Santa’s Workshop. There’s a massive line of people waiting in an airport-like maze of ropes, kids tugging on parents’ hands and parents pacifying them with candy because more sugar is exactly what this situation needs.
I spy Cheyenne’s dad as we approach. Two kids stand in front of him, and Mr. Herman gives a hearty laugh as the picture is snapped. I imagine he drinks a lot of hot water and lemon after these long days. Or maybe hot cocoa. We make it to the side of the front of the line, and a few people shoot us paranoid looks. Yep, sorry y’all, it’s exactly what you think. We’re about to cut in front of you.
I clench the bundle of fliers. I don’t have a fancy Buzzfeed-type quiz like Jake, so I need something to stack the competition odds in my favor. Hopefully Santa will help with that. An elf eyes us as we scoot closer to the stage. I give him my friendliest, most Shoshanna smile as I say, “Hello!”
“There’s a line,” the elf replies, and by “elf,” I mean “man in his fifties wearing a pair of elf ears and smelling like the cigarette he probably just smoked outside.” Super kid-friendly. Totally fine.
I keep my smile pasted on. “Yes, we know there’s a line, but we’re here to see her father.”
“Shoshanna!” Cheyenne gasps. “Keep it down.”
I step closer to the elf. God, that smell is pungent. Never in my life will I understand the appeal of sucking on a bunch of bitter tar.
“Her father?” the elf asks in a deadpan voice. “Like Father Christmas? Ha, ha. Nice one. What? You gonna prank him or something? Get out of here, you two.”
I glance back at Cheyenne and give her a look. She sighs but then steps forward with the confidence of a beleaguered member of the royal family. “No pranks.” She lowers her sunglasses to the tip of her nose. “Santa is my actual father.”
I snort. Hard.
“Are you sure you’re right in the head there, lady?” the elf asks.
“I hate everything,” Cheyenne mutters. But then she smiles. And it’s a dazzling smile, an exact match of her dad’s. She brightens her voice as she speaks to the man-elf. “The man playing Santa is my father, and we need to have a quick word with him. It won’t take more than a few minutes. I promise.”
“There’s a line,” the elf repeats.
“You mentioned,” I say. This conversation is going in circles. Time for brute force. I take Cheyenne’s hand and push past the man-elf and toward the stage. “We’ll just be a minute! Promise!” And then we also push past the grandmother-elf snapping pictures and the woman-elf ushering two kids off the stage, and then we’re up on the platform right in front of Father Cheyenne himself.
“Ho, ho—Shoshanna?” He stops mid-belly-chant and peers at me in surprise.
“Hey, Santa!” I wave. “How ya doing? Hope those gifts are going to get delivered on time, or there will be many upset gentiles. Now, I know I’m a Jew, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
Mr. Herman looks confused, and I worry I did the thing where I talk way too fast like an auctioneer, which maybe I should consider as a possible career path. I took one of those career aptitude tests in ninth grade, and I swear to hashem, the results said inconclusive. My teacher told me it was a good thing—it meant I was fit for many fields of work, but I felt like that was real stretch from a real desperate teacher. I was okay with the inconclusive result, though. I don’t understand why you need to know what to do for the rest of your life when you’re in high school.
“A favor…,” Mr. Herman repeats, finally catching up. “What favor do you have in mind. Oh, and hello, daughter of mine. No hug for your dad?”
Cheyenne dutifully shuffles forward and hugs him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she mutters.
“Volunteering for a good cause?” he asks.
“Please, there are, like, eight million ways to volunteer during the holidays. You had to pick the one place where you can spy on me.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not spying on you.” Mr. Herman leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. “I have elves for that.”
“Ugh,” Cheyenne says.
“Excellent dad joke.” I high-five him.
“Thank you. Now what can I help you with?”
“Can you hand out these flyers to the parents? There’s this holiday bonus at Once Upon, and it could really help bring in customers.”
I show him the flyer and read along with him:
Merry Christmas, Shoppers! Santa might not have time to swing by the bookstore this year, but you do! Stop by Once Upon for all of your holiday reads. Ask for our most helpful elf, Shoshanna, and she’ll find you the perfect story!
Cheyenne reads the flyer as well. “You’re not an elf, Shoshanna. I mean, sure, you’re close in height, but…”
“Rude,” I say, then turn back to Mr. Herman. “And that’s the second favor. Do you have any spare pairs of ears?”
“Say that three times fast,” Cheyenne suggests.
“Spare pairs of ears,” I try. “Spare pairs of ears. Spare pairs of—”
Mr. Herman cuts me off. “I do. Here, let me…” He digs into the prop Santa bag next to him, pulls out a pair, and passes them to me.
“Great!” Cheyenne says, and then glances around the mall again, as if trying to catch someone watching us. “So, we’re done here, yeah? I love you and bye.”
“Bye, Santa!” I say. “Thank you!”
Cheyenne and I hurry off the stage so the next kids can meet Santa. As we walk back to the Gap, I tell her, “Thank you. Seriously.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies. “And I think we got out without Anna seeing us so, you know, crisis averted.”
“Still lusting after her?” I ask.
She sighs. “More than lusting, I’m afraid. I really miss her. Not just kissing her but everything. I shouldn’t have broken up with her. I was just…” She trails off, looking down at her black boots as we move through the crowds.
“You were just what?” I prod gently. I still don’t really know why they broke up in the first place and just figured it was something I, the singleton, wouldn’t understand.
Eventually, she responds, “I was scared she was going to break up with me.”
Wait. What?
“I liked Anna, like really liked her.” Cheyenne’s voice hitches the tiniest bit, and I lean into her arm, head resting on her shoulder a short moment before the crowd jostles us forward. “But I was scared that the more I let her in, the more she’d see of me, and the less she’d like me. She’d see I wasn’t really that great or something. I was scared that she’d break u
p with me, but like, at least if I ended the relationship I couldn’t be rejected.” She takes a quick breath. “Like if I quit things early I won’t have a chance to fail at them.”
My heart tugs for my best friend. I always assumed Cheyenne has a thousand hobbies because she enjoys flitting from one to the next—but maybe that’s not it. Maybe she’s scared of giving one thing her all and not having it reciprocated.
“Cheyenne,” I say, a lump in my throat. I grab her hand to still us and let the shoppers part around us. “I don’t know Anna well enough to say for sure, but I’d bet there’s at least an eighty percent chance the girl was not planning on breaking up with you. Because you, my friend, are fantastic. Smart and beautiful. Like, really beautiful. It’s offensive, actually.”
She laughs, eyes lighting up. “I know. And also I don’t know. Self-confidence is a struggle, right?”
“The biggest struggle,” I agree.
We smile at each other, but Cheyenne’s smile quickly slips. She picks at one of her nails. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Well, if you want to get back with Anna, and you did the breaking up, I think you’ve got to do the reconciling, you know? Make a gesture.”
“Hmm.” Cheyenne nods. “A gesture. Any ideas?”
“What does she like? Or what are some happy memories with her?” I ask. “Or—”
Cheyenne claps her hands together. “Oh! She’s obsessed with the scones from Mel’s Bakery, you know, at the shopping center next to the mall? They have these cheddar chive ones that are next level. I can call right now and have them delivered! Is that a good idea?”
“Baked goods are always a great idea.”
“Yeah?” Her nervous smile breaks my heart and mends it right back up.
“Yeah.” I wink. “Worked on y’all.”
She nods, convinced. “Okay, I’m going to do it. Take my shot and all. Thanks, Shosh.”
I step forward and give her a solid hug. “Anytime, Chey.”
* * *
Jake walks into the break room the moment I put on my elf ears. His mouth twitches when he sees me. “Don’t do it,” I warn.
But his mouth twitches again, and he breaks into laughter. “Sorry.” He holds up his hands. “I really tried.”
I tilt my head. “Did you, though?” I put a hand on my hip. “C’mon. They can’t look that ridiculous.”
“They’re elf ears, Shoshanna.”
I huff and turn to face the cloudy and chipped break-room mirror. But it’s positioned way too high above the sink, so I have to stand on my tiptoes to get a look, and then I can still only see the elf ears perched on top of my brown curls.
“Need a lift?” Jake offers.
My cheeks heat at that mental image: Jake’s arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me up so his face presses against my back. Bryant in Time Stands Still is always lifting up Gracie when he’s excited about something, launching her up into the air and spinning her around with glee. Once, he slid her back down his chest slowly, and then both breathing heavily, they kissed and—
“Shoshanna?”
“Hmm?” The top of my elf ears are probably bright red. “No, thank you. I’m sure they look fine. I’m heading back out to the floor. You coming?”
“Sure, was just getting a snack.” Jake grabs a handful of almonds, and after I give him a look, he passes me a handful as well, and then we both walk out to the floor. “So,” he says, popping an almond into his mouth. “What’s up with the elf ears? We don’t all have to dress up, do we? That wasn’t in the job description.”
“Just something I’m doing for fun!” I answer, as evasive as possible. A friendly competition is still a competition, and I don’t need to let Jake in on my tactics.
A little girl trots up to us. Her mom trails behind, my flyer in her hand. “Shoshanna the Elf?” the girl asks, tugging on one of her pigtails.
Jiminy Cricket! It’s working! Is this what Christmas joy feels like? Finally I understand what all of those gentiles are so excited about. Hopefully they don’t mind me appropriating their culture to sell books.
I’m about to answer when I feel Jake step forward behind me. His voice is a low murmur, intrigued and amused. “How does she know your name?”
I ignore both the question and the pleasing chill that runs down my spine. And then I kneel down to meet the girl’s eyes. “I am Shoshanna the Elf,” I answer. “Thank you for the visit! Shall we take a look around? Would you like to hold my hand?”
I give her mom a quick Don’t worry, I’m not a creep reassuring smile and then hold out my hand for the girl to grip before leading us all off toward the children’s section.
“Do you mind if I see that flyer?” Jake asks the mom.
“Uh, sure,” she says, and passes it over. I don’t have time to wait for Jake’s reaction, but I sneak a glance back as we walk and see an impressed look on his face.
“Nice one!” he calls out.
I feel a little glow of pride and chirp, “Thank you!” Take that, stylized quiz. Nothing a little personal touch and holiday cheer can’t beat.
I help the girl and her mom find a selection of early reader books. One classic and two new releases. They head off to the register with my QR code in hand, and before I can straighten the shelves in front of me, another parent-and-child duo approach and ask if I’m Shoshanna the Elf.
It goes on like that for an hour straight with barely enough time for a quick bathroom break because Shoshanna the Elf needs to change her tampon, okay? I recommend picture books with glorious illustrations and middle-grade space adventures and magical chapter book box sets. One parent personally thanks me for the flyer and asks for adult recommendations next because they haven’t been reading enough. It’s amazing just how well my idea worked, and before I know it, I’m bouncing with bookselling adrenaline and knocking on Myra’s door to ask for a new batch of codes.
“Come in!” she calls out.
When I step inside, I find her staring at her computer screen, one hand massaging her temple, a single worry line creased across her forehead. I hesitate and consider coming back later, but then my nose gets all scratchy because apparently I’m allergic to elf ears, and I let out a giant sneeze. Myra startles and looks up at me. “Oh, right. Hi, Shoshanna.”
“Hi!” I rub my nose with my cardigan sleeve. “May I have some more codes, please?”
Her eyes are distracted. It seems to take her a second too long to process my request, but eventually the words must click, and she says, “Sure. Well done.” She rummages through her drawer and then hands me a new stack of codes.
“Thanks! So…” But Myra is already staring at her computer screen again, hand right back to temple-rubbing. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.…”
I grab the stack of codes and exit her office, excited to get back to the customers flooding into the store. But then I notice something strange poking out above the young adult shelves. I walk over, round the corner, and—
“Seriously?” I ask.
“What?” Jake tugs on one of his elf ears with a grin. “I think I’m really pulling them off.”
“You are not,” I reply
Honestly, he’s kind of pulling them off.
I cross my arms. “I’m going to win the competition.”
His grin widens. “We’ll see.”
A new customer with a red flyer walks into the store, and Jake the Elf gives me an audaciously charming wink before going to assist them.
“Darn you, Jake Kaplan,” I mutter.
Looks like I’m going to need a new plan.
Chapter Twelve
Morning!” I say as I slide into the backseat of the car. The warmth greets me and immediately starts the work of defrosting my fingers. Honestly, how do people live up north? “Thank you for driving me again.”
“You’re welcome, mamaleh.” Ms. Kaplan glances back at me with a smile. Her curls are particularly bouncy today. Very impressive spring factor. “Oh, you know what ‘mamaleh’
means, right?”
“I do. My mom speaks some Yiddish.”
Mom offered to drive me to work today, but I could tell she was stressed about running late herself. And Mama was already out of the house to volunteer for a morning art class at the senior center. They’ve stopped fighting, at least that I can hear, but now the house is just silent. Like our family is on hiatus. I hope that therapy helps them. And I hope I can accept that I can’t help them.
My stomach churns as I click my seat belt into place.
The thing is—I love my moms, a lot, and I want everything to be okay.
Ms. Kaplan pulls away from the curb and says, “I like that you’ve found a Jewish friend, Jakey. It’s about time. Too many gentiles at that school of yours.”
“Uh, Mom,” Jake replies. “You’re the one who moved us here from South Florida.”
I snort. South Florida is also known as Jew Central—well, after New York.
“I couldn’t deal with all that heat.” She waves her hand. “And, oy! The humidity! It was relentless.”
The ride to the mall zips by with Ms. Kaplan’s chatter. She needs a new hobby and is thinking about watercolors. So of course I tell her about Mama’s art. Jake brought a morning snack of cinnamon granola with dried banana and chili chocolate chips (absolutely to die for; like, I would lay down my body and become deceased in order to have another handful). And I discuss my favorite Time Stands Still fan theories when it turns out Ms. Kaplan loves the books as well. By the time we arrive at the mall and wave goodbye, my uneasy stomach has settled, and I’m even smiling.
“I really like your mom,” I tell Jake as we walk. Now that we’re out of the car, I notice that, for the first time ever, Jake isn’t wearing flannel. Instead his shirt is this soft-looking jean material. I kind of want to touch it and find out just how soft, because as always, I’m a normal human person. He’s also wearing my purple scarf around his neck, which gives me this absurdly toasty feeling inside so intense I have to look down at my boots to hide my heated cheeks.
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