Page 24 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“And while you shower me with fake snow,” I continue, ignoring him completely, “I’ll hop around, arms tucked in, flashing my hoof hands and making a scene of it all. You will look positively serious in comparison.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?”
“I do.” I nod. “And I’ve never been surer of anything in my entire life. If Storee wants to pretend like she’s a part of this town, like this town means something to her, then she’s going to have to go up against me.” I point to my chest. “If anything, this town means more to me than to anyone else living here. I might bitch about it during this time of year, and I might have some dark history concerning this month in particular, but maybe…maybe this is something I need,” I say, my voice growing soft.
The high starts to taper off and the realization begins to set in.
The realization of how alone this season makes me feel.
My family’s traditions, once shared every year, are now faded into distant memories. The Maxheimers made sure I was never alone at Christmas. That I received gifts. Ate copious amounts of food. Felt included.
But I never had a Christmas with my parents again. That all stopped nearly a decade ago.
The spirit of Christmas—no longer a warm, familiar embrace, now just a mere afterthought. That’s what ithadto become.
And a season that should be full of the happy smiles of my family gathering around a tree is now empty, bleak, and just another day to scratch off the calendar.
Sensing the shift in mood, Max places his hand on my shoulder. “Cole, man…”
“They would have loved seeing me do this,” I say solemnly. “Fuck, my dad would have cackled his ass off while my mom would have been my holly jolly sidekick.” I look him in the eyes. “I hate this time of year. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to your family for adopting me as one of theirs, but that night my parents passed, they took away all of the magic with them.”
“I understand, man,” he says and then grimaces. “Fuck, fine, I’ll do it.”
“Max, I didn’t say that—”
“I know.” He nods. “But you’re my best friend, and I know you’d do the same for me. Reluctantly, but you’d do the same.”
I smile softly at him. “I’d bitch about it the entire time, but I would.”
Max chuckles. “Yeah, I know.” He clasps his hands together and blows out a heavy breath. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right. There will be no cutting corners, no scoffing at ideas. We gotta be all in.” He quirks a brow at me. “You all in?”
He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, offering him a strong shake. “I’m all in.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Storee
They chuckled and high-fived. Oh what an unexpected trick!
Cole Black as the Kringle, with Max his holly jolly sidekick.
“She won’t know what’s coming,” they said with a cheerful gloat.
Never has a Kringle competition been so holly jolly cutthroat.
“You need a notebook anda pen,” Aunt Cindy says as she props herself up in her bed.
Yesterday she was walking around, watching videos of Niall the G-string man, and today she’s feeble, pointing around with a shaking hand, asking for ice chips. When I say that she knows how to work the room, I’m not lying, because she has my sister practically eating out of her hand.
“Here are those ice chips for you, Aunt Cindy,” Taran says as she enters the room.
“You are such a dear,” Aunt Cindy says as she pats Taran on the cheek. Slowly, she lifts one to her mouth and rolls it around, letting the cold hit every inch of her tongue and cheeks.
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner of her first-floor bedroom, trying not to get dizzy from the array of varying floral prints, ranging from curtains to wallpaper to bedding to, yes, you guessed it, flooring. Well, more like an area rug, but it’s floral. I’ve been in her room a number of times, but it’s generally been a quick in and out. This extended period is giving me all sorts of confusion with a headache developing at the base of my skull.
Sure, the headache could also be from the worrying I’ve been doing all night, but we don’t need to get into that.
“Now that my mouth is moistened,” Aunt Cindy says as I try not to flinch from the use ofmoist, “we should get started on our chat.”
