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My boots crunch through the fresh snow as I hurry to the farm’s bakery to pick up cupcakes for Tinsel Towers’ annual holiday party. I can’t arrive empty-handed to the most anticipated event of the season. Not when I’m the unofficial Christmas Ambassador representing Winslow Farm, the most Christmassy place in the state.
Tonight’s holiday party is the icing on the cake I need this season. It’s my first Christmas at Tinsel Towers and the first time my family won’t be together for the holiday. My brothers and sisters couldn’t make it home this year, so my parents decided to treat themselves to a much-deserved holiday abroad. They’ve dreamed of touring Europe and its famed Christmas markets for as long as I can remember. I’ll miss our family traditions this year, but I’m making the most of it, immersing myself in activities with my neighbors and family of friends at the farm. And if I’m lucky, I’ll finally catch the eye of Adrian Clausen, my neighbor who’s too busy to enjoy the sights and sounds of the season.
Amend that.Ifhe’slucky and slows down long enough to notice me, I’ll make it a paint-the-town-red kind of Christmas.
Winslow’s bustles with activity with children waiting to meet Santa and Mrs. Claus, couples enjoying a romantic whirl around the ice rink, and canoodlers noshing on freshly baked pastries from the farm’s bakery. Classic holiday tunes fill the air, playing softly across the farm, cloaking it in the magic of the season.
I stomp the snow from my boots outside the bakery’s large display window. Noelle outdid herself decorating this year. Twinkling fairy lights line the window frame, adding a touch of magic to the elaborate North Pole scene she meticulously duplicated with bakery goods. The elaborate holiday setting is filled with detailed gingerbread houses, frosted sugar cookies, and my favorite–cupcakes in every flavor under the snowy sun.
“I’m putting the finishing touches on your cupcakes.” Noelle pipes up as soon as she notices me. She reaches across a stack of boxes for a cupcake from the display case. “Grab a napkin and have a taste.”
Cupcakes are my catnip, a food group I will never refuse. My love for the little frosted bundles of joy is how I got my elf name. When I’m decked head to toe in green felt with white trim and jiggling bells, I’m Cupcake the Elf. In real life, I’m Hailey Jones, cupcake connoisseur and lover of all things Christmas.
“You don’t need to tell me twice.” I pull off my gloves and dive into the cupcake, separating the top from the bottom and smooshing the frosting between the two to make a cupcake sandwich. “What kind is it?”
“Red velvet with whipped cream cheese frosting and a little something special in the middle.” Noelle glances up at me as I take my first bite. “Well?”
The little something special in the middle gushes across my tongue. The strawberry filling bursts with flavor. “Oh, my God. These are so yummy.”
“They’re for the Anderson wedding, but I threw a couple of extras into your order.” Noelle closes the top of the last box and stacks it on the pile while I cram the last bite into my mouth and wipe my hands. “That’s it. Six dozen assorted cupcakes. Sure that’s going to be enough?”
Tinsel Towers is home to twenty-five cheerful, holiday-loving occupants and one grouch who happens to be my next-door neighbor. He’s temperamentally difficult, wildly handsome, and my biggest challenge. He refuses to decorate, participate, or engage in anything holiday-related due to his burdensome schedule. I’m hoping some of my Cindy Lou Who Christmas cheer will rub off on him and turn his Grinchy frown upside down.
“Plenty. I can’t thank you enough.” I gather the boxes in my arms and head for the door, opening it with my backside. The little brass bell above the door tinkles merrily, matching my hopeful holiday mood. “Wish me luck.”
***
Adrian
December is singularly the most dreaded time of the year. Twinkling lights, glittery ornaments, and cheerful Merry Christmas wishes accost me everywhere I turn. Snowflake Falls and the surrounding towns go all out for the holiday, stringing lights on anything that doesn’t move. The moment Labor Day is over, pumpkin lattes and peppermint candy cappuccinos resurface, and it’s a countdown to the big day. Christmas Day.
Living at Tinsel Towers in the heart of Snowflake Falls only makes things worse for someone like me. Someone whose Christmas spirit was soured long ago. My parents saw to that. Their constant bickering over money and gifts during the holiday season was enough to make a child beg for coal. But their ungrateful attitudes upon receiving less-than-perfect gifts shaped my thoughts on the holiday the most. All their anger and disappointment eventually led to their divorce. In a way, Christmas tore my family apart.
The holiday isn’t about family togetherness and helping those in need from my standpoint. It’s about greed and commercialism. People are only cheery because it’s a requirement of Christmas. Anything less will mark a person as a Grinch. I, for one, refuse to participate in such a selfish, fake holiday, so I pile on the work, staying too busy to give it a second thought.
From a logical standpoint, I know there’s nothing inherently wrong with the season. Theoretically, it should be a happy and joyous occasion. But that isn’t what it’s become. It’s what it does to people that rankles me. Christmas greed changes people, turning them into secret monsters who judge friends and family based on their personal level of perfection.
I grab my keys from the coffee table and take the elevator to the ground floor, avoiding the holiday party taking place in the ballroom. Holiday music filters through the common area, along with the hum of my neighbors reveling in the joy of the season. The only thing more uncomfortable than living in a North Pole explosion of red, green, and white is explaining my lack of participation to the neighbors. How I feel about the season is none of their business. It’s best if I avoid the whole thing and everyone involved. I won’t crowd their enthusiasm. I only ask the same in return.
I check the mail in the common area Tinsel Towers shares with the street-level businesses. A group of thirty-somethings chatter noisily as they stamp through the snow growing thick on the sidewalk. Their laughter filters into the quiet entry as they pass the glass double doors leading into the building. My holiday heart isn’t made entirely of stone. I’m happy others find joy in the season. At least they haven’t been tainted like I have.
I sort through the mail, tossing catalogs into the recycle bin as I back into the door to push it open. I lean into the door without glancing up as I sort bills from personal correspondence and holiday cards. A cold, damp breeze rustles my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Thank you.” A female voice lilts over my shoulder, sweet and gracious.
I turn in the direction of her voice as I continue pushing against the door and am blindsided by a stack of bakery boxes with the brightest blue eyes peering over the top. I stumble to a stop, but it’s too late. I plow chest first into the wall of boxes, knocking the woman backward. A woman whose eyes I know too well and have tried my best to avoid for the last two months.
The flimsy boxes crumple between us as I grab her around the waist, hoping to break her fall. I twist, pulling her toward my chest as I land on the snowy asphalt with a thud, covered in cake, frosting, and the woman I’ve had my eye on since the day she moved in next door.
