Rebel Without A Claus

“I don’t know, honey, but—”

“Why can’t Michael do it? I’ll run the tree farm. That’s so much easier than the alternative.”

Mom sighed. “Because your sister is two weeks from her due date and Michael needs to stay close in case she goes into labor, you know that. He won’t be able to up and leave the grotto if she goes early.”

“And he can leave the tree farm?”

“Of course he can. The other guys will be able to run it, and Sam is more than capable of assuming control.” She put a cup of water in the microwave and turned it on to heat it. “Come on, Quinn. There are plenty of guys in town who will be able to take over, and we’ll pay them well for their time.”

“No, there isn’t. Who in town doesn’t have a job, Mom? It’s busy. Everyone will be working. The chance of us finding a Santa now is next to zero.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“I have to be a pessimist. If you always expect the worst, you can’t be disappointed,” I muttered. “Why do I have to find the new Santa? Verity is lying in bed. She has a phone. She has a direct line to half the town, for goodness’ sake. Why can’t she do it?”

“She’s resting.”

“She’s pregnant, not dying.” I grabbed my coffee cup. “Honestly, you’d think she’s the only woman to have ever been pregnant. Never mind that she’s done it once already.”

“Mm.” Mom took the cup of hot water from the microwave when it pinged. “I’m not going to argue with you about that, honey, but it doesn’t change the situation.”

“She’s a drama queen.”

“You won’t bait me into agreeing or arguing with you, Quinn. All this standing here and complaining is wasting time you could be using to find a replacement Santa.”

“I have ten thousand things to be doing at the grotto. It’s not ready yet since Verity won’t help me. Presents still need to be wrapped, and I need to wipe all the snow from the outside decorations. I really don’t have the time.”

“Fine. Then go to the grotto and do all those things, and when it’s all nice and pretty and Christmassy and ready for the kids to come, you won’t have the most important thing.” She peered over at me and raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “A Santa Claus.”

“Silly Gran,” Jasmine said, putting icing eyes on a snowman. “Santa is in the North Pole with all the elves.”

“Of course he is, Jazzy, but I explained this to you. He’s very busy and can’t be at every single grotto, so he asks some very special friends to help him out to make children everywhere happy,” Mom replied without batting an eye. “Now Grandpa is sick, Quinn’s job is to find a special friend to help Santa.”

I glared at her. Thankfully Jasmine couldn’t see me.

“Oh. That’s a very important job. Can I help?”

“I’m afraid not. There’s special Santa magic only adults can see. That’s a rule about being Santa’s special friend.”

“Oh, all right. Do you think Grandpa would like one of my cookies?”

Mom kissed the top of her head. “I think he would love one.”

“I’ll pick one.”

Mom walked over to me and dragged me into the living room where Gramps was rummaging through a cupboard. She barely spared him a glance before she turned on her Mom Voice. “Quinn, this is your job. God knows you’re not exactly making money since you quit your old one—”

“I did not quit my job. I was unfairly dismissed, and the law agreed,” I reminded her.

Apparently, refusing to have sex with your boss is not, in fact, a reason to lose your job.

“Either way, you have to get over your dislike of Christmas and make it work.”

I did not dislike Christmas.

I despised it.

Everyone was so fucking happy and cheery all the time. God knows how, because all I saw was people dashing here, there, and everywhere, singing godawful Christmas songs.

If I heard All I Want For Christmas one more time this week, I was going to climb up to the roof and throw myself off the chimney.

“You realize I’m doing twice the work this year, don’t you? Verity can wrap presents from her bed, Mom. They’re books for God’s sake. If she can’t do those on her stupid little wheely table, she’s lazier than I thought.”

“She’s right,” Gramps said, emerging from the cupboard with a bottle of liquor that looked to be older than I was. “Verity’s milking it now. Your mother worked while she was in labor with you. You let her get away with too much.”

“Thank you.” Mom held out her hand.

Gramps looked at it and put his empty one in hers and shook it. “You’re welcome.”

“The bottle, Dad.”

“It’s for my eggnog.”

“It’s nine-thirty in the morning.”

“It’s Christmas. It’s acceptable to drink at nine-thirty in the morning.”