Page 7 of Kringle and the Kraken

But I wouldn’t be sharing any of that with my mom. At least not today when she was in full-on holiday battle strategy mode.

“Uh, I’m going to have to give it some thought.”

She nodded. “Okay. Good. You do that, and bring your plans on Thanksgiving or before so we can get the signs for the parking lot set up.”

I nodded and gave her a salute, and she smiled, temporarily pacified, then she segued into interior plans, which had nothing to do with me. Thank god. They’d tried to make me play an elf when I was in my teens, but after I made three kids cry because they didn’t like the “grumpy one,” they reassigned me to the tree farm, which was more than fine with me.

Ten minutes later, my siblings were in deep debate about the type of evergreen garland they should hang over the barn doors when my dad walked in.

“What do we think?” He held his arms wide and spun in a slow circle. “This is the new workshop outfit. Thinking I might also wear it for the chamber of commerce pancake breakfast.”

Kurt Kringle looked like he’d been born to play Santa, complete with a full white beard, requisite rosy cheeks, anddelicate gold wire-rimmed glasses that habitually sat low on his nose. All his padding was authentic, and his costumes were custom-made by a lady in New York. It wasn’t unusual for kids to walk up to him in town and lay out their Christmas lists even in the dead of summer when he was wearing shorts and sandals with socks, a habit my mother had been trying to break him of for years.

“Oh, honey!” My mom clasped her hands to her chest, and her eyes twinkled with unshed tears. “You look fantastic! Mirabel has outdone herself!”

“I think so too. It fits like a glove.”

My siblings and my mom all ran over to where my dad was modeling his new ensemble. I stayed right where I was, reluctantly turning my attention to the scale model and pushing the little Matchbox Christmas tree truck around the parking lot, trying to visualize traffic through the lot and where we could put the baler to keep traffic moving.

“Kristopher!” My mom’s angry voice cut through my concentration.

“What? I’m working on the traffic pattern like you asked me to.”

She blew out an exasperated sigh and pointed at me. “Do you see, Kurt? This is what I’ve been dealing with all day.”

My dad pushed through the crowd and put a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Son, your mom and I were just talking about how maybe it’s time to start getting you fitted for your own costumes.”

The mini tree truck in my hand fell to the table with a thunk before it rolled off and landed on the floor.

“What? Me? Oh hell no.”

“Kristopher!” My mother glared at me again. “You’re going to have to take up the mantle sooner or later.”

I held up a hand. We’d had this argument too many times to count. “No. No, I absolutely do not.” I scanned the crowd for my brother. “Kevin is rocking a dad bod, and I know he wants to do it.”

My brother shook his head. “You know I can’t grow a beard for shit.” He rubbed a hand over his baby-smooth jaw.

“Get him a fake beard.” A collective gasp echoed around me, and I rolled my eyes again. Heaven forbid the Kringle Family Santa’s Workshop experience be anything but one hundred percent authentic. “Fine, Keith can do it.”

“He’s too young.” My sister Kimmy rested her hands on her baby bump.

I crossed my arms defiantly. “I’m absolutely not doing it. You put me in charge of the tree farm for a reason, remember?”

Their faces twisted into winces.

“He has a point.” Kennedy, my youngest sister, nodded. “I mean, it kinda ruins the magic if the kids are crying.”

Everyone nodded, and my dad squeezed my shoulder again. “I think you just need a little romance in your life to loosen you up to the idea. The holidays are the perfect time for finding love.”

A vision of Levi standing in his shop in his punny T-shirt flashed behind my eyes.

My dad dropped his hand and stepped back, looking at me curiously. “Kris, is there something you want to tell us?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

My sister Karla, the shortest of us, pushed through to look at me. “Are you seeing someone?”

They all leaned in closer.

---