Jayda’s Christmas Wish Page 3

  I can’t stop smiling as I help the next customer in line. At seven o’clock, it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break, so I put out the velvet rope that blocks the line to Santa’s large red throne, and I tell everyone we’ll be right back.

  “You’re doing a great job, Jayda,” Mr. Harris says as I follow him toward the store. There’s an employee breakroom in there as well as a restroom, which I totally need after having chugged three cups of the free soda in the break room. We haven’t had soda in months since Mom says it’s a waste of money that we could be using for food.

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, unable to hide my smile. This has been a great two days. I’m earning money, and I’m surrounded by families and happy kids and Christmas spirit. It feels good to be happy again. I only wish Max could come hang out with me while I work.

  “I wish I had more work to give you,” he says, holding open the door for me. “You’re such a good worker. But we’re only busy here once a year, unfortunately.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m just so grateful for this opportunity.”

  Mr. Harris smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I haven’t seen your momma come by here yet. Don’t you usually buy your tree right after Thanksgiving?”

  This is the curse of living in such a small town. Everyone knows everyone. But I guess the word hasn’t spread that Mom lost her job.

  I shrug. Heat fills my cheeks as I admit the truth. “Yeah… we’re not getting a tree this year. Money is kind of tight.”

  Mr. Harris frowns. “Oh, dear, that’s not a problem. Your momma has been buying trees from me since the year you were born. I think you deserve a free one by now, yeah? Why don’t you come get one this week and it’ll be on the house.”

  My heart floods with warmth. “That’s really nice, Mr. Harris. Thank you.”

  As we go our separate ways, I think over his offer. A free Christmas tree would be great. It’d make our apartment smell nice, and we could decorate it with our lights and ornaments. But on the other hand, having a tree would highlight the fact that there are no presents underneath it. Even though Max still believes in Santa, who would bring him gifts on Christmas Eve, Mom always puts extra gifts from her under the tree before the big day. It’ll definitely be weird having a tree with no gifts underneath it.

  Maybe I’ll wait to take him up on his offer. But my heart still fills with joy as I think about it. Getting a tree is another one of our family traditions. Mom, Max and I come out here and pick a tree, then cut it down with the handsaws they let you use. It’s something we continued even after Dad divorced Mom. She didn’t let it faze her – we still piled into her car and drove over here and picked out the perfect tree. We didn’t have Dad’s truck that first time, but we got the tree tied to the top of her car with no problem. This is one tradition I’m going to make sure continues. Maybe Mom will be happy about it, and maybe it’ll pull her out of her funk.

  On my way to the bathroom, I get distracted by a cute rack of stocking stuffers. This whole store is a thing to behold. It’s pretty big, and it’s filled to the brim with Christmas items. I mentally add a few things to my list of what I’ll buy for Max when I get paid. I also find a stuffed puppy that’s super adorable. I wonder if Max would be happy with this as a consolation gift for the fact that he can’t get a real dog.

  I set the stuffed animal back on the shelf and then make my way toward the employees only hallway, wondering if I should drink another soda just because it’s free.

  There’s a guy standing at the end of the hall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. I recognize the back of his head, and it makes my heart do this little jumpy motion and I’m not sure why.

  “Connor?”

  He turns around, eyes wide with surprise. “Jayda? What are you doing here?”

  “I work here,” I say, pointing to my elf hat. “What are you doing here?”

  He takes a hand out of his pocket and scratches his neck. “I’m uh, shopping for something.”

  “Well, this is the employee part of the store,” I say with a smile. “You’d have better luck in the store part, don’t you think?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He stumbles over his words. “I’m just, uh, waiting for something.”

  “There you are, hun.” Mrs. Harris joins us in the hallway. She’s dressed as Mrs. Claus, wearing a matching and extravagantly designed costume just like her husband’s. She squeezes Connor’s arm. “Right this way, dear.”

  Connor gives me an awkward smile, like maybe he’s embarrassed, and he follows her into her office.

  That was weird.

  I down a soda and go back to work, and it’s funny how every time I run into Connor lately I end up thinking about him all day. He’s cute. Like, really cute. He’s tall and has that chiseled jaw line that matches all of my favorite celebrities. He’s also kind of shy, and a little awkward, and I think that’s what endears me to him so much. He’s not a cocky jerk like Ricky was. He’s … sweet.

  After my shift, Mr. Harris hands me an envelope with eighty dollars cash in it. I thank him and tell him I’ll be back to work next weekend, and then I walk the half a mile to the bus stop with a big smile on my face. I can’t believe it. It’s working. I put out an ad and I got a job and now I’m making money just in time for Christmas. It’s all coming together.

  I can practically feel my mom’s happiness when she learns about the money I made. I didn’t tell her where I was these last two days because I’ve been keeping it a surprise. She thinks I’m hanging out with friends.

  Mom calls me while I’m waiting for the bus, which is the only bus in our little town so it’s always running late.

  “Hi Jayda,” she says, her voice sounding defeated. Sad. “I told myself I wouldn’t let it come to this, but I guess it did.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She sighs. “Do you have anything of value that you might be able to sell? I swear I will pay you back one day. It’s just—” another sigh—“I haven’t been able to pay the electricity bill in two months and now they’ve sent me a cancellation notice saying they’ll shut it off on Monday if we don’t pay at least ninety dollars.”

  The envelope of cash feels heavy in my pocket. A moment ago this cash had felt like toys and fun and Christmas spirit. Now it feels like real life. Like disappointment.

  “I’ve got you covered,” I say, trying to sound happy even though my heart is breaking.

  Chapter Six

  Connor

  This isn’t exactly what I had expected. After reading Jayda’s letter, I sat at the empty dining room table and looked at it for a long time as memories of the past came back to me. I remembered my mom studiously replying to each letter from the kids in town. She’d make a pot of coffee and spend hours on it, saying it was worth the effort to make these kid’s day by replying. I remembered that she used a special stationary to write back, a thick cream paper with golden embossing that looks all professional like something you’d see on a diploma from an ivy league college. It makes it look like a letter from the north pole, from the big man himself. I searched all over the house and couldn’t find any, but I remembered where my mom got them. Mrs. Harris’ Christmas store.

  I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to write back to Jayda. She won’t know it’s me, and maybe I can offer her some kind of holiday warmth. I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy for even wanting to try.

  But that didn’t stop me from coming to the year round Christmas store tonight in search of that stationary. I couldn’t find it anywhere and then Mrs. Harris found me and asked if I needed help. When I told her what I was looking for, her eyes got teary and she pulled me into a warm bear hug. It was weird and somehow comforting. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been hugged—I think it was at my mom’s funeral all those months ago.

  Mrs. Harris had explained that she forgot to cancel the order of stationary this year and that it had shown up a couple weeks ago. Apparently this isn’t something they se
ll in the store because my mom and Mrs. Harris had wanted Santa’s official stationary to be exclusive to Santa. It would ruin the magic if a kid came in here and saw the special golden paper that they got from Santa being offered for sale.

  The next thing I knew, she was telling me to meet her at a back stock room. That’s when I ran into Jayda. Once again, I was a stuttering pathetic fool around her. I can’t help myself. She’s so pretty, and I get flustered around her. And now I feel bad because I know her secret struggles. I know she’s having a hard time and I can’t even try to make her feel better because she doesn’t think I know.

  Then something terrible happened.

  Mrs. Harris gave me a box that was at least forty pounds and was filled with the stationary. She teared up again and told me she was so proud of me for taking on the tradition.

  Oops.

  I hadn’t explained that I only wanted one paper and one envelope. I was only planning on writing back to one of Santa’s letters. Now I’m loading the box into my truck and wondering if I can just get out of the whole thing. Maybe Mrs. Harris would never know?

  But what about next Christmas?

  I drop my head to the steering wheel and let out a groan. I’m so stupid. Why did I do this? I just subjected myself to more Christmas crap than anyone ever needs, and I endured the pain of that just to get a fancy paper to write back to Jayda, who probably won’t even care, and it’s not like I have anything insightful to tell her anyhow.

  Stupid, stupid.

  Maybe I won’t write her back. I don’t know what I’d say anyhow. I remember Mom telling me that she had a way to reply to kids whose letters asked for way too much, like a pony or their own airplane. She’d say something like Santa’s elves work very hard but they can’t make gifts that would be a burden on children’s parents. Or she’d tell them that Santa picked out the best gifts for them and that he knows they’ll be happy with them because he’s magic and knows the perfect gifts.

  I don’t think that will help in Jayda’s case.

  I’m trying to word the perfect reply in my head when I see that shock of red hair at the bus stop. She’s sitting there, shivering in the cold, staring at the phone in her hand.

  I don’t even think it through—I just pull over.

  “Need a ride?” I ask, flashing her a smile.

  She stands up. “Where do you live?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  She bites her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’m sure the bus will be here soon.”

  “The bus makes a stop every five minutes,” I say, waving my hand for her to join me. “I’ll get you home faster. And nothing is out of the way here in this town. It’s like two miles long.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips. She gets in my truck and I hope she doesn’t look in the backseat, where the box of stationary is. She might ask about it, and I don’t want to lie to her.

  I guess the irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m about to go home and write her a letter and pretend it’s from Santa.

  Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Heat rushes over me as I climb into Connor’s truck. He’s got the heater on full blast and it draws me to it like a moth to a flame. I hadn’t realized how cold I was at that bus stop until now. I lean forward and hold my hands and face in front of the air vent.

  “This feels amazing,” I say, closing my eyes as the heat blows through my hair.

  Connor chuckles. “I wish I had driven by sooner. How long have you been waiting there?”

  “About ten minutes.” I sit up and click my seatbelt into place, then wriggle my chest out of the chest strap so I can keep leaning close to the air vents. “I live in Oakridge Apartments.”

  “Cool,” he says, driving back onto the road. “That’s on my way.”

  I know I should be making conversation with my friend who was nice enough to give me a ride, but I’m still fighting back the stress of Mom’s phone call. I’m happy that the money in my pocket will keep the lights from being turned off, but it feels like such a punch in the face. Like I took one step forward and two steps back. Keeping the lights on is important, but so is Christmas.

  My whole body hurts knowing that I still don’t have anything to put under the tree for Max. And if there’s not going to be any presents, I don’t want to get the free tree from Mr. Harris. I think it would be better to just pretend Christmas doesn’t exist than to make it obvious that there are no gifts this year.

  I really hope nothing comes up next weekend that way I can spend my next eighty dollars on Max.

  “You seem stressed out,” Connor says, breaking my internal thoughts.

  I shake my head as I turn my hands over in front of the air vent. “I’m fine.”

  I try not to look over at Connor while he drives, but I can’t help it. There’s something about him, and I wonder why I never noticed it before. He’s not like the other guys at school. He hasn’t even made one dirty joke since I hung out with him in detention.

  The silence feels a little awkward, so I look around and try to think of something to say. I see a photograph on his dash by the speedometer. I lean over and get a closer look. “Aww, is that you?” I say, looking at the smiling toddler who is sitting in his mom’s lap while she takes a selfie.

  “Yep,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Your mom is really pretty,” I say.

  “Yeah, she was.”

  A lump rises in my throat. I stare at the picture and then glance at Connor, and I’m filled with so much dread and guilt. I can’t believe I forgot! The whole school was talking about it sophomore year. Connor’s mom died of cancer. It was right around Valentine’s day, so it hasn’t even been a full year yet.

  “Connor—” I touch his arm. “I’m so sorry. I… I forgot. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  He gives me a sad little smile before glancing back at the road. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about my mom.”

  I take my hand off his arm because the touch sends a weird shiver through me. “I’m sorry she’s gone,” I say, knowing there’s no words that would make him feel better. For everything my family has lost this year, at least we still have each other.

  “Thanks.” Connor adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and glances down at the photo. “I found that picture the other day when I was going through her things. I dunno, I thought it would be nice to keep it in my truck for a while. I really miss her.”

  I smile, but silence quickly takes back over. I don’t know what to do, or what to say. As we drive past holiday decorations and beautiful lighting displays on people’s houses, I know this holiday is hurting him too. It’s his first Christmas without his mom and that is a million times harder than not having money for presents.

  “Say something,” Connor says. “I don’t want to feel sad. Say something upbeat.”

  I take a deep breath. “Um… did you have fun at the crazy Christmas store?”

  He snorts. “I’m not sure I’d call that fun.”

  “What did Mrs. Harris want with you?”

  He shrugs, and a weird look crosses his face that makes me immediately regret asking. “Uh… she just had to give me something. Something that was my mom’s.”

  “Oh.” I bite my lip. “Crap. Okay, I’ll think of something extra upbeat,” I say, smiling. My heart pounds because I’m trying not to mess this up. I want to make him smile. I want to take some of that pain away from his expression. “You know how Brian Paine went on that Snapchat rant about how stupid vapes are?” I ask.

  Connor nods.

  “Well guess who got suspended from school this week for having not one, but three vape pens on him?”

  Connor snorts. “That guy is such an idiot.”

  I nod. “All of the basketball guys are complete jerks.”

  Connor stiffens for a split second and then he turns up the radio a little. “Do you like t
his kind of music?”

  “Sure,” I say, but I’m not really paying attention to the song. I’m looking at his features, his expression, and how whatever I just said seemed to strike a chord with him. I don’t know if Connor plays any sports anymore since I think he quit the baseball team after his mom died. But I definitely know he’s not on the basketball team with Ricky.

  And then I remember something else about Connor. We were at Tisha Meyer’s pool party a couple years ago—a party I would later discover is when Ricky told his friends he was going to ask me out. I went inside to refill my soda and Connor stopped me. We were science partners back then.

  “You shouldn’t date Ricky,” he had said.

  “What?” I said, feeling my cheeks blush. Ricky and I had been flirting on Snapchat for a couple of weeks and I had desperately hoped he’d ask me out.

  Connor just shrugged. “I’m just looking out for you,” he said.

  Instead of taking his words to heart, I just rolled my eyes. “I can look out for myself,” I snapped, before going back outside to the party.

  I angle my body toward Connor, internally cringing at the memory of that pool party. “Hey,” I say. He glances at me before looking back at the road. “You probably don’t remember this, but a couple of years ago you told me not to date Ricky. I should have listened to you.”

  Connor’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his gaze on the road. “I remember that day. I shouldn’t have told you what to do. You are your own person and you can make your own choices.”

  I shake my head. “No, I should have listened. You should have taken my shoulders and shook me and said don’t do it!”