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Prologue
Nathan
As surprising as it is, given the fact that I was born and raised here in Christmas Town, I’ve never worn a Santa suit before today. Now that I’m in one, I take a good, hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
With my broad shoulders and towering frame, I look like the world’s most overgrown elf. “Ugh, ridiculous,” I huff to myself as I brush the white cotton ball dangling from the Santa hat away from my eyes.
It’s been nearly a decade since I was first hired as a content producer and production manager here at Christmas Town Station 1225. It’s a career I love and over the years I’ve had to go the extra mile for my job.
A few years ago, I played with kittens for twelve hours straight at a fundraiser for the Broken Ornament Cat Café. I stayed the night up at Mistletoe Inn and stood in the town square to capture footage of our annual Santa Run. But none of those things required me to be in costume. This is a new low. Yet somehow my coworkers convinced me that I am the only man in the building who fits this suit.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Nathan, are you ready? We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to shoot these promo shots and still have time to enjoy the party.” My boss, Denise, taps an impatient knock on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out.” This is one of the many reasons I’m not an on-camera kind of guy.
“Listen, I’ve got to go meet our new on-air talent. She should be here by now and I want to get this shoot over with. I’m going to round her up. Meet me over at the sleigh in five minutes. Did you hear that? Not six minutes, five. We’ll keep it fun, I promise.”
“Will do.” I use my last moments of solitude to roll my eyes. Even our office holiday party isn’t a reason for Denise to let loose. The woman is all business all the time, even when fun is on her agenda.
But I can’t blame the whole of my Grinchy attitude on Denise. The truth is, I’ve always been an outlier in this town. People here spend three-hundred-sixty-five days every year celebrating Christmas.
We’ve got trees on every corner and shops illuminated in bright red and green all year round. I never understood why my mother insisted on staying in this town. I guess it’s all she knew. But in our house, between my mom’s single parenting and the multiple jobs she worked, the holidays were chronically understated. Since Mom passed, it’s been difficult for me to find the holiday spirit at all.
I slip out of the bathroom looking twelve-shades of ridiculous and head toward the sleigh. I can’t wait to get this over with. Only in Christmas town can a six-foot-four man walk into an office holiday party in a full Santa suit and not turn a single head.
For a moment, I let myself entertain the idea of finding a job somewhere else. Maybe I will move out to the country by Charming Ranch and see what kinds of jobs are available out there. Maybe I should move to a town where Christmas is a single season and not a lifestyle.
But as much as I try to deny it, this place means everything to me. I wouldn’t leave even if I had the chance, and no one knows that more than me. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the talent we hire.
A town where it’s always Christmas is a novelty and I get that. People come here to get their feet wet and build their résumés. Then they leave just as quickly. Most of the time, we are nothing more than a steppingstone. It’s a pain point of my job. As a production manager, I try to hold on to each one for as long as possible, especially the ones with actual talent.
We have a list as long as Santa’s, only ours is full of celebrities who have gotten their starts on our shows. The famous Janet Joy started here in Christmas Town. We lost her mid-broadcast when her assistant took a call off-camera and then shouted the details of a six-figure offer from a major network across the sound stage.
We tried explaining away her absence with a storyline about a missing reindeer, but the viewers weren’t buying it. In the end, we found another stout middle-aged brunette to stand in until the end of the season. It was a total mess. Not a single person on the internet was fooled.
Now, here I am again. My plan for a new Christmas baking segment is heavily supported by our advertisers and the on-air talent pulled out. The team scrambled to find someone new to fill the role. I hope she’s got some experience because we’re going to have to start filming immediately in order to meet our deadlines.
I don’t know if it’s the Santa suit or the Christmas music blaring in our conference room, but I’m feeling even less hopeful than usual. This new woman is a food blogger who will be showcasing her signature holiday desserts. If she’s not a total monster, it should be a relatively painless few weeks of filming.
I step onto the platform that holds Santa’s sleigh. From up here, I have an incredible view of the room. Streamers of holly and mistletoe dangle from the ceiling. A gigantic Douglas fir Christmas tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches are covered with intricate glass ornaments that sparkle in the red and green lights. A miniature train chugs around its trunk. The room is filled with laughter and the same ten Christmas carols playing on repeat. This couldn’t be more merry or bright, and I hate everything about it.
“Hey Santa, I’ve been a bit naughty this year!” A woman’s voice teases as she passes by the sleigh.
“Care to join us on the dancefloor later, Santa?” another voice chimes in.
I turn to see the ladies from the marketing department and shake my head. “Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on… You know you want to.”
When I take a seat in my sleigh, turning my back to them all together, a sigh escapes my lips. Even if they weren’t married, I’m simply not interested. The holidays bring out the worst in me. Everyone rushes around, planning family meals and checking traditions off their lists. I can’t see the appeal of mistletoe or matching ugly sweaters and I don’t have anywhere to be.
While others get merry, I only get lonely. The loneliness makes me moody and uninterested in things like dancing. I don’t need to make things worse by getting too friendly with a coworker.
The office holiday party presses on. Denise’s five minutes turn to six and then ten while I wait. Everyone in the room seems to get progressively drunk and I can’t tell if it’s the eggnog or the holiday cheer that’s to blame. I decide to skip the hangover and grab a glass of hot apple cider to sip in my sleigh.
Then a hush falls over the room, like one of Santa’s silent nights. I can’t make out her face from here, but all heads turn toward the door as she enters. From here, all I can see is the top of a jolly red Santa with a wild mane of ginger-brown hair cascading out beneath it. She’s wearing a red, elf-like dress trimmed with faux fur that matches what I’ve got on. Only hers have striped tights and pointy shoes. Somehow, she makes it look good and I can’t take my eyes off her. Denise and our photographer, Gavin, are escorting her toward me.
