Page 10 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
Never mind, scratch that last thought.
“Cole,” I say.
“Coal?” she asks with a crinkle in her nose.
“Yes, Cole.”
“Coal what?” she says, looking around, confusion deep on her brow.
“Uh, Cole Black.”
She glances to the side, to the person behind me, and then back to me. “Umm…yes, coal is black.” She nervously laughs. “Are you okay, Connor?”
“Cole,” I repeat, my hands turning into fists at my sides.
I can see the polite smile cross her face, her expression morphing into a veil of fakeness, ready to put on a show to not hurt my feelings. “That’s…that’s nice.” She points to the menu above the counter. “You know, I’m just going to figure out what to get everyone, if you’ll excuse me.”
I should leave it at that, just let her think that I’ve hit my head over the years and now mutter things like “coal black,” but the prideful ass inside of me can’t let it go.
“My name,” I say, “is Cole Black.”
She brings her attention back to me and tilts her head again, this time to the right as she studies me, tapping her chin with her finger. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure if my name is Cole Black?”
“Yes, I mean…I could have sworn it was Connor.” She wags her finger at me. “Is this a Kringle thing? Mess with the newbies?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, Connor, why does this town play ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’ year-round?”
Classic Storee. Sweet persona. Charismatic. Beautiful smile that masks the person she is on the inside.
She questions.
She challenges.
She drives me fucking mad.
“Because they like the song,” I answer. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It is when poor grandma is getting massacred every day of the year. Maybe we could give her a break.”
I cross my arms over my chest, turning fully toward her now while we wait in line to be called up.It feels like we’re eighteen all over again.“Maybe Grandma is into it, ever think about that?”
“I’m no newbie when it comes to kink, but getting run over by a reindeer is by no means a kink anyone wants to entertain. Because that’s called death.”
“Maybe she wandered out into the snow because she wanted to be run over. Grandpa didn’t even mourn for a second. He went back to watching football and playing cards with Cousin Belle, so it seems a bit suspicious if you ask me.”
“Are you saying an elderly ladywantedto be hoofed in the forehead?” she asks, crossing her arms as well.
“The evidence is there.”
“Okay, so if this octogenarian wandered into the snowstorm looking for her medication because she wanted to get away from her useless counterpart in exchange for death, then why does the song continue to play over and over in this town, celebrating her demise?”
She lifts her chin, almost as if she believes she’s pinned me. Agotchalook spreads across her face, the smallest of smirks pulling at the corner of her lips.
I work my jaw from side to side, attempting to come up with a valid reason why we play it, but nothing comes to mind, which only makes her grin grow.
