All I Want for Christmas (Underlined Paperbacks)

by Wendy Loggia

  I stand in line behind two moms with little kids. Slowly the line inches forward.

  “Hi! Welcome to the North Pole,” a college-aged girl says to me when I reach the check-in booth. “Were you interested in a photo package? Our cheapest is the twenty-six-dollar Little Elf package. There’s the thirty-five-dollar Jolly Snowman, and then the fifty-dollar Reindeer Blitz, which includes—”

  “Nope, no photos,” I interrupt, and she instantly stops talking. “Um, I just wondered—does a guy named Charlie work here?”

  The girl shrugs. “Maybe? I never can remember anyone’s names. You can go into the North Pole and look around if you want to.”

  I smile at her. “Okay, thanks.” I walk ahead to the Toy Workshop—a temporary “room” with large-screen TVs playing animated videos of elves carving wood into toys, complete with a jaunty soundtrack. In the middle is a large table with several different wooden toys and games that kids are playing with. I’m a little surprised the kids aren’t more eager to go see Santa, but I guess a lot of kids are afraid of him.

  I pass through the snow room and into the Winter Wonderland section, which consists of piles of fake snow, kids tossing snow at each other, and kids making snow angels, all while the classic version of “Winter Wonderland” by Johnny Mathis plays overhead.

  And there, past Winter Wonderland, is Santa. He’s seated atop a large, ornate throne, and there is a line of children waiting to sit on his lap. I don’t know where the Shoppes at Bedford found him, but this Santa is perfect. He has a fluffy white beard, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that slide down his nose, and a very round belly that looks like the product of too many of Mrs. Claus’s homemade goodies instead of fake padding. He’s wearing a plush red Santa suit, white gloves, and a pair of shiny black boots.

  A little girl in a fancy party dress is sitting on Santa’s lap, screaming her head off. The North Pole photographer is snapping away.

  “It’s Santa! Remember, Ava? We’ve been talking about visiting him all week!” Ava’s mom hovers a few feet away, looking exasperated. But Ava isn’t having it.

  “I’m so sorry,” the mom apologizes to Santa. “I really thought she was ready.”

  Santa chuckles. “Ho, ho, ho, no need to apologize. Ava might just not feel like talking to me today. But I do have something to give her, to thank her for coming to see me today.” He looks over to the side and out of the wings comes a male elf. Tall, blond, adorable.

  Charlie.

  He walks straight over to Ava and crouches down to her level, offering her a candy cane. “Hi, Ava. I’m Charlie. Santa’s helper.”

  The little girl stares up at him. I know the feeling, Ava, I think. Except I’ve never seen Charlie quite like this.

  He’s wearing a green velvet jacket with peppermint buttons, cinched with a black belt. The jacket has white fur trim at the collar and cuffs. Bright red pants with green rickrack stripes balloon out and taper below his knees, and he has on red-and-green-striped socks that tuck into the most ridiculously curled toe boots.

  It’s a lot to drink in.

  Ava stops crying and reaches for the treat. “Thank you,” she whispers, hiccupping.

  Santa smiles down at her. “I heard you’ve been doing very well in ballet this year,” Santa says. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

  And just like that, the tears stop and the little girl’s face lights up in wonder. I watch, astonished, as she and Santa chat, while Charlie listens attentively on the side. I’m unable to hear what she is saying, but Charlie is smiling, and Santa even does a big belly laugh, his hands on his stomach.

  I look around at everyone in line and we’re all smiling at one another, our spirits lifted. It’s Christmas Magic.

  “Wow. Thank you, Santa!” the mom exclaims when Ava hops off his lap and scampers over to her. “That was…that was amazing!”

  “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa replies, giving them a kindly wave before squirting some hand sanitizer on his palms. Ava waves back before reaching for her mom’s hand. They head for the exit.

  “Now, who do we have here?” Santa asks, peering over the rim of his glasses and looking in my direction. “Would you like to come sit on Santa’s lap?”

  Is he talking to me? I turn around, and the family behind me smiles encouragingly and motions for me to go up. “Oh, um, I wasn’t expecting this,” I say, suddenly feeling shy.

  Charlie has noticed me by now. “You’re never too old for Santa,” he calls out, and the family behind me eggs me on.

  “Well, okay,” I say sheepishly. I walk up to Santa and perch tentatively on his knee.

  Santa puts his hands on his hips. “Ho, ho, ho, it’s wonderful to see you, Bailey. How have you been?”

  “Oh, gee. Well, I’ve been good,” I hear myself say. I look over at Charlie, who is standing a few feet behind Santa. He wears a bemused, slightly unreadable expression. I’m not sure how Charlie told Santa my name without my seeing him do it. Impressive.

  Santa bends his head toward mine. His breath is warm and minty. “So, what are you hoping to get in your stocking on Christmas morning?”

  The last time I visited Santa was in third grade. Being back on Santa’s lap is giving me all the feelings. “Well, it’s not so much something in my stocking. I…I’m hoping for some Christmas Magic,” I confess under my breath. “You know, like—”

  Santa’s face lights up and he holds up a hand to cut me off. “Say no more, dear. You don’t want another bottle of perfume or a gift card. No, you want something deeper. Meaningful.”

  I nod. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “You’re searching for the wonder of Christmas in a child’s eyes,” Santa continues, a yearning in his tone. “The traditions that fill home with laughter and make forever memories.”

  “Yes,” I say emphatically. This Santa really gets me.

  “Have you watched any Christmas movies? Baked cookies? Drunk hot cocoa?”

  “Miracle on 34th Street, Elf, Home Alone,” I rattle off. “And yes, cookies and hot cocoa on the regular.”

  “Good, good.” Santa thoughtfully taps his white-bearded chin. “Have you driven around town to see the lights?”

  “Not yet,” I tell him. “But I will!”

  “Go! It will make your spirits bright,” Santa urges. “And don’t forget to leave food for the reindeer in your yard on Christmas Eve.”

  “Rudolph can count on me, Santa,” I promise. Who can say no to Santa Claus?

  Santa smiles, and it reaches the corners of his eyes. “I can see that you are filled with the Christmas spirit, Bailey. Never stop believing in the magic of Christmas.” He stares deep into my Christmas-loving soul. “Something tells me you just might get your wish and more this year.”

  I’m overwhelmed with feelings of goodwill and good cheer. It’s a good thing Charlie materializes next to Santa or I might have stayed here forever. “Bailey, unfortunately your time with Santa is up,” he says. “Time for your next guest, sir,” he tells Santa.

  I take the cellophane-wrapped candy cane Charlie hands me. “Thank you, Santa,” I say, beaming at him.

  “Merry Christmas, Bailey,” he replies, giving me a wink.

  Charlie gives me his hand and helps me to my feet. It’s a good thing too—I feel dazed and dizzy after my time with Santa, like I’ve walked into the shade after standing in blinding sunlight. “Here, I’ll walk you out,” he says as twin boys race past us and dive onto Santa’s lap. I can hear Santa chuckling as we leave.

  “He’s a perfect Santa,” I say, letting out a contented sigh.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Charlie agrees. “Quite the jolly old fellow. He told me this is his tenth year at the mall.”

  “Well, he’s a keeper,” I say.

  “I was surprised to see you here tonight,” Charlie says. “Most of our North Pole guests are,
well—”

  “Younger?” I finish for him. “You can say it. I’m not offended. I wear my love of all things Christmas proudly. It’s a badge of honor.”

  He nods. “As someone who is wearing a green elf jacket and pointy-toed elf boots, I completely respect that.”

  “And speaking of surprises—you never told me you work here!” I exclaim.

  “Well, I didn’t want to mention it in front of the kids the other day and ruin their innocence,” Charlie tells me.

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Ahhh. That makes sense,” I say. “You said you wanted to tell me something when we were leaving Allen Park and I thought maybe this was it.”

  He shrugs. “Funny, I don’t remember what it was now. So tell me what brought you to the North Pole tonight.”

  “Well I didn’t come here expecting to sit on Santa’s lap,” I say truthfully.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else? Say…the Easter Bunny?”

  I know he’s teasing me—but obviously there is no way I can tell him the truth: that I came here to see if he was an elf. “I’m, um, writing an article for my school newspaper about the commercialization of Christmas. How…how the season becomes more about getting new cool stuff instead of what’s important. I was just checking out the scene over here when Santa waved me over.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Charlie says. “But you know what? I don’t believe people have lost the meaning of Christmas.”

  I look up at him. “You don’t?”

  He shakes his head. “Sure, there are kids who ask Santa for expensive video games and phones. But there are also a lot of kids who ask for things like winter boots. Or for their soldier dad to come home from overseas. Or for money so their mom doesn’t have to work two jobs just to put food on the dinner table.”

  “Wow,” I say softly. “That’s rough.” But I can understand it. Santa is the one person you feel safe talking to and confiding in. And if my experience is any indication, the Santa here at the mall is exactly who kids need to confide in.

  “So what did you ask the big guy for?” Charlie asks, interrupting my thoughts. He looks down at me as we walk toward the exit.

  “As Santa’s helper, you should know better than to ask me that,” I kid. I’m going to keep that Christmas Magic conversation to myself. “But I do have a question to ask you: how are you walking in those shoes?”

  Charlie gives a stomp and the small bells on the top of the shoe jangle. “Practice makes perfect, I suppose.”

  “How long have you worked here?” I ask. It isn’t fair—even in a dorky elf outfit, Charlie looks good.

  “Not long…just a couple weeks. They were short on elves this year and it’s crunch time.”

  I try to imagine Jacob in the elf costume. The mental picture is just too much. I can’t help it—I laugh.

  Charlie raises his eyebrows. “Ignore me,” I tell him, brushing away the thought. “Just thinking of, um, something funny my mom said to me.”

  “I thought maybe you were laughing at my costume,” he says, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “What? No! I mean, people would kill to get to wear a getup like that,” I say, which might have been a bit of a stretch. “How did you even get the job?”

  He gives one of his peppermint buttons a tug. “I’m very conscientious and have a great eye for detail. I told Santa I could help him check all his lists twice.” He drops his voice. “And…it probably helped that I fit into the elf uniform and am strong enough to help lift all the kids who want to sit on Santa’s lap but can’t quite reach him.” He flexes his arm. “You’d be surprised at what a workout it is.”

  I imagine Charlie using toddlers like five-pound weights, lifting them over his head, and giggled. “I hear that the North Pole workout is all the rage,” I say, going along with it. “So tell me, was I on the nice or naughty list?”

  “Definitely the nice list, Bailey Briggs,” Charlie says, his expression suddenly serious. “No coal is ever going in your stocking on Christmas morning.”

  His intensity takes me a little by surprise. “Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s good. Better than being on the naughty list!” Ooof. Could I sound any more awkward? Thankfully we have reached the North Pole exit.

  “Very true.” He glances back at Santa. “I’d better get back to work. Once Santa finishes up, it’s my job to get him out of the mall and on his way before he gets stopped by any of his fans.”

  To be honest, I want to stop Santa myself. He was so easy to talk to, and seemed so wise. And it feels good to meet up with Charlie, who loves Christmas as much as I do. “You’re kind of like Santa’s bouncer,” I tell him.

  Charlie nods. “I mean, he is a bit of a rock star at this time of year—but he also needs his sleep.” Charlie’s dimple twitches, giving me butterflies. “He’s got a big night ahead of him. He needs his rest.”

  My phone dings. Did you get lost? Followed by another text, this one my mom’s Bitmoji peering from behind a hedge of leaves.

  Mom. I completely forgot about her. Sorry! Coming! I text back.

  “Would you want to hang out after school tomorrow?” Charlie asks me. “There’s something I want to show you that I think you’ll like.”

  Tomorrow is the last day of school before winter break. “Sounds fun,” I say to him. “Can you at least give me a hint?”

  But he shakes his head. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  The last day of school before our two-week break goes by in its usual blur, with a rush of before-the-break quizzes, final assignments, and a plea by our homeroom teacher not to leave anything in our lockers that could be covered with mold when we come back in January. Eddie Lascola left what appeared to have been a peach and a sesame bagel with cream cheese last year and the entire wing had to be disinfected when school reopened.

  I kept my eyes peeled for Jacob today, but I didn’t see him once. I want to know if he went to the mall last night with Jessica and Kaylee, but I’m not about to text him to ask. Not that I should care, really. It isn’t like we are officially dating or anything. I mean, here I am now, with Charlie, on our date. Or whatever it is.

  “So, how did you get involved with this place?” I ask Charlie. We’re standing in front of a large artificial Christmas tree in the community room of the Stewart Senior Center.

  Charlie had texted me the address and Caitlin had dropped me off on her way to her SAT prep class. When Charlie asked if we could meet up here, I thought it was some kind of hangout place for high school seniors. But no, the center is for actual senior citizens—as in, people over the age of seventy. I felt a little weird walking in alone, but the minute I saw Charlie standing next to the lobby reception desk, a happy peaceful feeling came over me. He gave me a hug, introduced me to Jeanette, the receptionist, and led me down the hall to “the gathering room.”

  Underneath my parka, I have on a pair of joggers, a button-up top, Kar’s denim jacket, and an infinity scarf. I feel pretty cute. And Charlie looks pretty cute. He has on a navy sweater with the sleeves pushed up, jeans, and leather loafers that have just the right amount of scuff. By the appreciative looks and smiles of the elderly residents, he has totally charmed them as well. He always looks comfortable and at ease—even in an elf costume. I think that says a lot about a person.

  The tree in front of us is trimmed, but not with holiday decorations. Instead, there are around a dozen or so ornament tags made from colored paper hanging on the tree, cut in the shape of trees, angels, and wreaths. Each one is numbered and has an individual’s first name, their age, and the gift they are hoping to receive for Christmas.

  “I have a friend here who told me about it,” Charlie says. “Each year they receive hundreds of requests from local organizations who are hoping to brighten someone’s holiday.”

  “A friend?” I look around us, searching
for who Charlie could be referring to. A lady with short white hair is sitting on a couch doing a crossword puzzle. An older gentleman in a plaid shirt, gray pants held up with a belt, and slippers is slowly pushing a walker across the room toward a large-screen TV that is turned to a news station. A few women are drinking coffee and playing some sort of card game together.

  Charlie nods. “Friends come in all shapes and sizes, you know.”

  “Oh, of course!” I exclaim, feeling called out. “I just…I guess I don’t have too many friends who aren’t my age.”

  The man with the walker spots Charlie. “Nice to see you, Charlie!”

  Charlie waves back. “Hey, Mr. Radcliffe. Glad to see you up and moving. Keep it up!”

  Mr. Radcliffe pretends to tip his hat. “I’ll do my best!”

  “So that’s your friend?” I ask, smiling.

  Charlie smiles back. “One of them.” He turns his attention to the tree and takes an angel tag off. “Jade. Age fourteen. She wants a blue sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers.”

  I have also taken a tag off—a wreath. “This one is for Reya. She’s sixty. She wants…” I pause. “She wants fabric softener and laundry detergent pods.” I feel a lump form in my throat at the idea of a sixty-year-old woman asking for those things as her Christmas present.

  “This makes me so sad,” I whisper, clutching the tag. “Laundry pods for Christmas?” I think of the things my family typically exchanges with each other as we sit in front of our fireplace in our Christmas jammies—sweaters and perfume and electronics, frivolous things like foot massagers and gold bracelets that we don’t really need. Books and games and gift cards. Not household items like detergent. “It’s just not right.”