by Sara James
“Was it?” She’d hit a raw nerve in him. He leaned back against the wall. He felt like he should warn her. “He has elves that watch us and report back to him.”
“I know,” she agreed as if what he was saying was normal for an adult. “They’re called mom and dad.”
“I mean it.” He adjusted the front of his shirt, agitated by the memory of what those elves could do. “They know who’s good, they know who’s bad, and they tell Santa everything.” He leaned forward again, copying the whisper she’d used before. “Everything!”
Her mouth hung open as she stared at him. “Max, have you gone insane? Santa isn’t …” She stopped herself before her alarmed words could come out at full volume. She again looked over her shoulder to make sure no children were nearby. “... isn’t real,” she finished in a whisper. “Those presents in the stockings? I bought them. Me. Not some fat guy in a red suit.”
He drummed his fingers on his leg. “Do you remember the puzzle?”
Her furrowed brow made it clear she didn’t. “What puzzle? What are you talking about?”
“Santa,” he clarified. “The puzzle mom and dad got from Santa the year Emily got married to Doug. Mom insisted dad bought it. Dad insisted she bought it. They even asked us if one of us had bought it. They ended up convinced it was Doug, even though he denied it. Remember now?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. So?”
He nodded and pointed at her. “That was Santa. It happened with the kids today. I heard you and Emily talking about the things your husbands must have bought because you hadn’t.”
“So?” He began to respond, opening his mouth, but she interrupted him. “Wait. You think that was Santa? I don’t think so. Give our husbands some credit.”
“For what?” asked a new voice, the words coming fast, abrupt and too loud.
Max jumped. He turned his head to find Emily, his other sister, standing at his side in the same spot where Katie had appeared. Based on her placid, too-innocent expression, she’d snuck up to startle him on purpose. It was typical Emily.
Where Katie was fit and athletic, Emily was all curves, hair and makeup. Max had spent a good portion of his time in high school annoyed and worried about every salacious rumor that had circulated about her romantic escapades. More than one fight had broken out between boys competing for her attention. At the time, she had encouraged it. He half-believed she’d acted out on purpose to punish their parents for making her the middle child. She’d skipped college to marry young and seemed to have no regrets about missing out on having a career. Where Katie enjoyed being a working mom, Emily was comfortable letting her husband bring home the bacon. Sometimes even literally. He had inherited a string of supermarkets when his father had died young from overwork. That kept him busy, but he had learned from his own father’s early death, making him an attentive father and husband. No one in the family every called Emily a trophy wife because of how obvious their love for each other was, but she did have a very comfortable life.
In that moment, Max found himself overwhelmed by the realization that Emily - the sister that prided herself on her appearance with ample cause - looked almost plain compared to what his transformation had turned him into. He couldn’t seem to control the blush he felt heating his cheeks.
Katie was explaining to her about how he was “pretending” to believe that Santa was real. The explanation took place in hushed tones, with lots of glances in the direction of the family room to make sure the kids weren’t eavesdropping.
“That’s crap,” was Emily’s succinct summation. She put herself on the window bench halfway between her siblings. “Santa Claus isn’t real.”
She would say that, if only to be contrary, but he knew she meant it. “I disagree.” He ached to tell her what he knew, but the cost was too high. “I can name a dozen times when something appeared in a stocking or under the tree that no one in the family has taken credit for. How do you explain that?”
Emily edged closer to Katie and turned her body towards him. She put her hand on her bosom, as if making a pledge. “As a married person,” she said as she raised her eyebrows at him, “which you are not, I know that sometimes a spouse doesn’t want to fight over money, or the appropriateness of a gift. So the best thing to do is give it anyway, not put a tag on it, plead ignorance and deny, deny, deny.”
Katie nodded her enthusiastic agreement. “Doesn’t that make more sense than, you know, the other?”
It was a good argument. He might have agreed with them if he didn’t know the truth. “I don’t buy it.” He shrugged at his sisters by way of apology.
Emily stuck her tongue out at him. “Of course you don’t. You enjoy being difficult.”
Katie was looking at him with a sly grin. She crossed her arms and raised her chin, a sure sign she was about to instigate trouble. “I can prove Santa Claus isn’t real.”
That would be a neat trick, he thought. “How’s that?”
Her smile was both confident and a little wicked. “If Santa Claus was real, you’d be a girl.”
He’d fallen down the stairs a couple times as a kid and knocked the wind out of himself. For several seconds, that was what it felt like. He was inhaling, but no air came. She knows! was his first, panicked thought. The word “girl” seemed to echo in his brain, stretched out to match her three-syllable, sing-song pronunciation of the word. Gu-UU-urrll.
Then sanity reasserted itself. She didn’t know. She couldn’t. If she knew, she’d be siding with him, not Emily. He breathed. “What are you talking about?”
Now Emily was the one blushing. She had her hands under her knees, lifting her legs just high enough to swing them without her feet hitting the floor. “Nothing,” she said to interrupt Katie’s response. She glared at her little sister. “She’s just picking on you.”
“Nuh-uh.” Katie seemed to be enjoying seeing both of her elder siblings off-balance at the same time. “She wrote a letter to Santa every year asking him to change you into a girl. She wanted a big sister, not a big brother. If there really was a Santa, he’d have turned you into a girl by now.”
Max looked at Emily, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Really, Emily? You did that?”
Katie answered for her. “She sure did. She’d pray for it too.” She put her hands together and raised her head to look at the ceiling. “‘God bless mommy and daddy and Kate. God bless Max too, I suppose, but would you please turn him into a girl? Boys are so gross.’”
Emily at last managed to speak up for herself, though her cheeks were still a deep red. “Well, Santa is a Saint - Saint Nicholas - which means he works for God. So I figured, why not go right to the boss?” She spread her hands and shrugged.
That alone would have been enough to digest, but Katie added a coup de grace. “Mom was sure you were a girl right up until you were born.”
Emily’s smile was wicked. She’d finally picked up on the fact that all this talk of Max being a girl was making him uncomfortable. Passing up a chance to tease him wasn’t in her nature, so she did her best to twist the knife Katie had already stabbed him with. “Yeah, that’s true. She tells us about it every time one of us is pregnant. She even had a girl’s name picked out for you: Holly Day Williams, because she likes Billie Holiday so much. She wanted to name you William so your nickname could be Billy, but dad was against naming you William Williams.”
Max felt faint. Holly Day. Not like the season, like the singer. Like the name he would have had if he had been born a girl. He gaped at Emily. “Why did you wish I was a girl?”
Having moved beyond her initial embarrassment at being exposed by Katie, Emily’s tone turned light and airy, as if the answer was of no importance to her at all. “Why wouldn’t I wish you were a girl? Girls are sugar and spice and everything nice, remember? Besides, I could have borrowed your makeup and your clothes.” Only her failure to meet his eyes revealed that her words had any real weight.
“And gotten hand-me-downs instead of new clothes,” Katie pointed
out with a sour pout. She’d gotten all of Emily’s old clothes growing up with very few exceptions. She took every chance she could to remind Emily of that fact.
Emily ignored her. “Instead I got a gross boy that burped and belched that never cleaned his room or helped with chores.” She wrinkled her face up. “I had to share a bathroom with you. That was reason enough right there to wish for a big sister. Cleaning that bathroom for my allowance was the worst. I hated it. You should have had to clean it.”
“I had my own chores.” The words came out harsh and defensive. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I mowed the lawn and took out the garbage.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you did. And you helped clean the gutters and paint the house. Blah blah blah, et cetera et cetera. But we,” she waved her finger between herself and Katie, “dusted, baked, vacuumed, mopped the floor, scrubbed the toilets, the shower and the sinks, made the beds, did the laundry, ironed, helped with groceries, made dinner when mom was too tired. You know. The girl stuff. You were always so ...” She crossed her arms and stopped talking. Her lips pressed together as if holding back words that were trying to escape.
“So what?” He raised his eyebrows and craned his head to face her more directly. She turned her head by a fraction, again avoiding looking at him. “Lazy?”
“Male.” The word came out of her as if torn from deep inside of her, the tone ragged and low. “I mean, you’re such a guy.”
In the past, he might have laughed it off as a poor attempt at humor on her part, but this was no joke. With his treatment at the mall still raw in his memory, Max knew she was being serious. Emily was no radical feminist, but like most women he’d been close to, she always had a few gripes about the male of the species. Even at her most boy crazy in high school, she had shed rivers of tears over the many ways some boys mistreated her.
He looked at Katie, who was rubbing Emily’s back. They were sisters. They knew each other’s secrets.
In that causal touch, Max knew what she had really been asking Santa and God for. In the lingerie store, there had been that strong feeling of belonging, of sisterhood. Seeing his two sisters connected in that same way, he could understand why Emily had wanted that type of relationship with him. He could almost feel the shape of what his life would have been like if he had been their sister instead of their brother.
He cleared his throat, clearing a knot that was trying to develop. “I can clean, too, and bake and all that other stuff.” The words seemed inadequate, so he tried again, forehead furrowed with the effort. “I mean, it’s not too late for us to be closer. I would like that a lot.”
Katie’s eyes widened in recognition of what he was offering, but Emily seemed to miss his intent entirely. She snorted. “And give up beer with dad and the guys? Watching sports while the women clean up in the kitchen? Belching? Scratching your crotch?” The slow shake of her head was like a door being closed. “I can’t imagine you giving up being a guy’s guy to hang out with us.”
Katie uncrossed her legs to sit closer to Emily. “Well, he is up here instead of down in the basement.” Her words were soft, considering Max as she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “He’s not even playing video games with the boys. I suppose that’s a start.”
Emily looked at him, her eyebrows drawn together, sizing him up from head to toe. “That’s a good point. Why are you hanging around by yourself in the living room?”
He picked at the cushion of the window bench. “What would you say if I told you that I don’t want to be a ‘guy’s guy?’ That I’ve been having some second thoughts about my priorities, regretting some of the choices I’ve made in my life. About the way I treat people.” He took a deep breath and let it out to settle his nerves. “That I’ve wondered …” He rolled his eyes and looked away. “I’ve wondered what my life would be like if I was your sister instead of your brother. I really would like it if the three of us could be closer. Like we might have been if I had been born your sister instead of your brother.”
Both of his sisters stared at him with eyes wide and mouths open. Katie recovered first. “Max, are you saying you’re transsexual?”
“What?” He did a quick mental review of what he’d just said. “Oh. Oh! No, that’s not what I mean. Not at all.” He held his hands up and waved them, trying to take back what he’d already said. Katie looked confused. Emily was pressing her lips together to hold in her laughter at his chagrin. “No, no, no, no, no. I like being a brother and an uncle. I just don’t want to be some sexist jerk that you’re ashamed to call family. I’ve been thinking that trying to see things from a woman’s point of view is important. That’s all. I’m not transsexual.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to be our sister?” teased Emily. “I think you would look adorable in a short skirt and some makeup. Maybe with a wig to give you long hair.” Only her blush and the width of her grin revealed that she might enjoy dressing him up like a girl. Though with Emily, it would probably be so she could take pictures of him and post them on the internet.
Katie giggled. “Come on, Holly. Play dress up with us!” She began to bounce a little and clap, her eyes bright.
Emily seemed poised to make him squirm. She even started to say something before changing her mind. Her smile softened. “It would be nice to talk more,” she admitted. She rolled her eyes, struggling with even that degree of seriousness. “Maybe even hang out once in a while.” She pointed her finger at him. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you, Max. I’m going to tell you the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it. I will call, text and maybe even show up at your place at all hours of the day and night. If you’re serious about this being closer thing, you’re going to need to make more time for me in your life.”
“For both of us,” Katie corrected. “You can start by answering your phone when I call you.”
It was Max’s turn to blush. “I was, um, indisposed.”
His sisters faced each other and smiled. “‘Indisposed,’” they said in matching British accents before collapsing against each other in a fit of laughter.
His core tensed, but only for a moment. For the first time in years, he felt like his sisters were laughing with him instead of at him. He smiled, then laughed along with them. He let them make jokes about what exactly he had been doing in the bathroom. He even added a few of his own. Before long, they were talking about everything under the sun.
When it was time to help in the kitchen, he went with them. After dinner, he helped them clean up, then lingered there instead of watching Christmas DVDs with the men and the kids. When they all did go into the family room to visit, he found himself talking with his mother and sisters more than he did the kids or the men.
At some point, he realized he’d given in and agreed to his mother’s suggestion to spend the night. It seemed important to spend every minute he could with his sisters. He’d already lost too many years with them.
The three of them exploded into Max’s apartment with a fit of laughter. Kate and Emily made themselves at home. The year before, they’d never even been to his apartment to visit. Since then, his sisters had been there together or separately more than a dozen times, just as often as Max had been to their houses to visit.
They didn’t live that far apart. Max couldn’t understand why it had taken him so many years before he had made an effort to be more a part of their lives. His nieces and nephews actually looked forward to seeing him now instead of just tolerating his presence. If his brothers-in-law couldn’t quite understand his desire to spend time with his sisters instead of hanging out with them doing more typical “guy” stuff, that was their problem to deal with.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted, unable to catch his breath between the stairs and his laughter.
“But they’re scandalous!” Emily insisted. “If real elves wore skirts that short their vaginas would freeze shut. It would be impossible for them to reproduce.”
“Gross,” Kate object
ed, even as her giggles encouraged Emily to go on. When it came to gross or inappropriate, he and Emily were more apt to see eye-to-eye. Kate’s sense of humor was far more wholesome, though even she had her naughty moments.
Emily hurried to take off her coat. “You wouldn’t get babies. All you’d end up with is a bunch of elf-sicles.” She hung it up on a hook near the door and raced for the bathroom. “Dibs!” The door slammed shut.
Max and Kate took off their own coats before transporting their packages and Emily’s to the living room to be wrapped. Kate picked up where Emily had left off. “So why don’t you find them attractive? You wouldn’t even look at those girls. We know you’re not gay after the way you hit on the cashier at the video game store.”
“Are we sure that was a girl?” Emily asked from inside the bathroom. The walls in Max’s apartment were pretty thin, letting her keep up with the conversation. “No girl I know likes video games that much.”
Kate rolled her eyes. Max smiled and they shared a laugh.
It had been almost a full year since what Max had come to think of as his Holly Day intervention. It had left him with a better appreciation for women in general, but most of all his sisters. They had grown closer than he’d imagined they could become. In some ways, it was like being their gay best friend. He went shopping with them. They talked about clothes and celebrities. He watched their kids for them. But they also leaned on each other when things got hard. They talked about everything in their lives. It was better than therapy. What therapist repaid your openness by telling about their own pain, sorrows, hopes, fears and aspirations?