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A box of condoms.
Oh my God.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” And wasn’tthatthe God’s honest truth?
Santa smiled. “It’ll give me one less thing to worry about until I see you next Christmas Eve.”
I bit back a smile. “Twelve condoms? I doubt I’ll have used half of them by then.”
He laughed. “A year is a long time.” His eyes widened. “Oh. Something missing.” He reached once more under his cloak and brought out another package, this one shaped unmistakably like a tube. He handed it over. “You’ll need this too.”
I peered at it. “Can I open this one tomorrow?”
He almost choked on his whiskey. “I wouldn’t.”
I tore back the wrapping far enough to see two letters—KY. My face heated. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.” I placed it beside the box of condoms.
Santa chuckled. “Good to know I don’t have to explainthatone.” He stood. “Still want a hug from a—how did you put it—timeless guy?”
I laughed and lurched to my feet. “You bet. You give the best hugs.”
He held me, and I knew I would always feel safe around him.
It was weird. I’d never been that good at making friends, and I sure hoped that would change when I went to college. But this white-bearded man in the red suit had somehow crawled into my heart and was the closest thing I possessed to a best friend.
And how many people could claim that?
When I was nineteen
1986
This year I was there before he was, lighting the fire, and putting out a glass of whiskey. It occurred to me that I was being a little presumptive, but after seven Christmas Eves of him appearing, it didn’t even cross my mind that he wouldn’t be there.
“Is that for me?”
I smiled as I turned to see him standing beside the Christmas tree. “It certainly is.”
He took the glass and sat on the couch. “I hoped you’d be home for the holidays.”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? If I’d told Mom I wasn’t coming home, my balls would be hanging from that tree, covered in glitter.” Then I realized what I’d said. “Okay, sorry, that just slipped out.”
Santa waved his hand. “You’re good. This is how friends talk, right?”
Friends. We were surely that. The thought warmed me.
I raised my head toward the ceiling. There had been no sound from Ben’s room as I’d passed it—Mom had given him our old room, and put me in the guest room. I was grateful for that. I loved Ben dearly—when he wasn’t being a smug asshole—but I had no desire to share a room with a fifteen-year-old boy.
I knew what I was like at fifteen, with Mom’s baby oil hidden under my mattress and an endless amount of wadded tissues that I snuck downstairs to the trash when no one was looking.
“You know what’s strange?” I mused. “In the eight years since we first met, no one has ever heard us talking, or walked in on us.”
Santa’s eyes sparkled. “That’s no accident. I made sure we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
I frowned. “How?” Then I rolled my eyes. Stupid question. By magic, of course.
“So tell me… how’s school?”
I leaned against the seat cushions. “School is good.” I loved my studies. I’d begun to come out of my shell a little, and I’d made some great friends.
