Yet, here I am, back in the one place I said I’d never return. When you unexpectedly lose your partner, your wife, the mother of your child, you put your life into perspective. At first, I changed nothing about myself. I still left the house before six a.m. and returned after seven in the evening. I never thought about everything my wife did daily to keep our house running in perfect order. It never crossed my mind that someone had to pick Alyssa up from school, dance, or take her to her playdates. Truth be told, I had no idea what my wife did every day.
Until I was forced to be the mom and dad.
The decision to leave my job was easy. I could do everything I did as a freelancer, which is far more enticing because I can set my own hours. I can work when Alyssa is in school, asleep, or I can take her with me on commercial photoshoots. I also bought my house, intending to turn the she shed in the backyard into a photo studio to start taking family portraits. This is far from my dream job, but it’s what works for Alyssa, and she’s the only person who matters now.
I have no choice but to park a few blocks from the town square. All around us, parents are walking with their children toward the center where the massive Santa’s Village is set up. I think the last time I paid attention was when I was ten. It was that year that I found out Santa wasn’t real, that some jolly fat man in a red suit didn’t actually come down our chimney and leave me the most sought-after toy. Once I learned his or her true identity, I no longer cared about the town and its activities. Now that I’m a parent, I’m back in the land of make-believe, and honestly, I love it. There’s something magical about Christmas and believing in Santa.
When we come around the corner, Alyssa gasps, which brings a smile to my face. This, right here, seeing Christmas through her eyes, is worth being back in Meadowbrook. The green space that makes up most of the square is Santa’s workshop meets a winter wonderland. There’s a machine making snow, children are laughing, people are dressed as elves, and music is playing.
“Oh my goodness,” she says with whispered excitement.
“Pretty awesome, right?”
“Can we go see Santa?” she asks, her eyes pleading as if I’d ever say no to her.
I reach for her hand, squeeze it tightly and wink. “Let’s go.” Alyssa skips across the street, and I find myself wanting to do the same. As soon as we step into the village, the elf behind us puts a rope up, closing us in.
“We made it just in time, Daddy.”
“We did, but Santa is here until Christmas. We would’ve come tomorrow if we missed today.” Alyssa nods while I mentally prepare for the long line ahead.
After about twenty minutes of her hopping in place, I let go of her hand and shake out my arm. She’s about pulled it out of its socket. “Are we almost there yet?”
I scoop her up until she’s resting on my shoulder. It’s awkward and cumbersome but gives her the best vantage point. “Daddy, I see Santa,” she squeals so loud the people in front of us turn and look.
“Sorry,” I mutter, but they tell me not to worry.
After I put Alyssa down, she says, “This is the best place ever. How come we haven’t come before?”
As much as I want to be honest with her, I can’t tell her that her mother never wanted to visit or that her mom thought the mall Santa was good enough. Sometimes, that’s the difference between growing up in the city versus a small town. People think their traditions are better, and minds are often hard to change.
“I don’t know, kiddo. But we’re here now,” I tell her.
We inch closer to the front, and that’s when I spot her—the elf—Bree. Her last name escapes me at the moment, but not her first. We went to high school together, always friends, but never close. We hung out with the same crowd but were never super friendly in a sense she would call me or I her. But I was always fascinated by her name. Most of the girls in school had long names they shortened, Samantha to Sam, Christine to Christy or Chris. Bree was always Bree. Never Brianna or Breland. She was always just Bree. And for as long as I can remember, she’s always been the elf that stands next to Santa.
Bree looks up and catches me staring. I should turn away, but I don’t. I smile and offer a little wave, wondering if she even remembers who I am or if she thinks I’m some sort of weirdo. I’m going for the latter because what person waves to someone they haven’t seen in a handful of years. She waves back, but I’m sure it’s only because she’s an elf, and it’s her job to be friendly.