Page 2 of The Santa of the Mountain

She opens the door and in bursts the hairiest, bulkiest, most flannel-clad, and out-of-tune carolers the world has ever seen.

“He sees you when you’re sleep—oh my god!”Forest says, eyes flaring when he spots me.

“I don’t think anyone wants this Santa to watch them sleep. Those brows! You could marshall an airplane with those suckers,” Ethan says.

“Guide a sleigh with those high beams is more like it. He’ll put Rudolph out of business,” Sully says, right before he slides onto my lap, wrapping his arm around my neck and whispering, “I’ve been a very good boy, Santa. Why don’t you?—”

I shove him away and then jump to my feet, snagging the rest of my costume from my bed. “Laugh it up.”

And they do. All of them. And I don’t blame them. Each year we give the new Santa a good ribbing. This is my first year on the receiving end.

“Alright,” my mother says, joining the gaggle. And when none of them respond, she busts out her “Mom” voice. “Enough.”

Haven’t heard that one in years but I think it’s even more effective with age. Everyone stops, eyes on her as she wades through my brothers.

“Another word to Cole, and I’ll make sure you’re all at the lot dressed up as Santa’s little elves.”

“Not so lit—” Forest swallows the rest of his sentence as my mother silences with a look.

“I’m sure you have trees to sell.Customersto attend to.”

They all nod in unison, making the smart decision not to open their mouths again. They all file out, kissing her head as they leave.

“Sugar cookies are cooling. Take a gingerbread man on your way out. Now,” my mother says, turning her attention to me. “Come here and give me a hug.”

I can’t help but smile. She’s always been able to lift my grumpiest of moods.

“You’ll be great this year,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “Dad would be so proud.”

A lump forms in my throat but I swallow it. “Thanks,” I say.

“Shit!” Sully shouts from the kitchen. “These suckers are molten.”

Mom laughs. “He’s always been a little thick-headed. Touched the wood stove the most out of any of you.” She smiles, looking me over, “Margot did a great job.”

“That’s a word for it,” I say, sighing. “You’re not the one who’s going to have to live with a white beard and eyebrows for the next couple of months. Might shave it all off Christmas day.”

“Brows too?”

“First to go.”

“I think you’ll come around. I always thought you’d be the best Santa. Dad too.”

I exhale slowly. She always knows how to tug at my heartstrings. “Five years,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Her eyes are glassy for a moment, but then she blinks. “Five long years,” she whispers.

I pull her into one last hug.

“Ma, you coming?” Sully calls from the living room.

“Don’t shout at me,” she shouts back. “And don’t call me Ma.”

“Hard-headed,” I mutter.

She sighs. “All of you are. In your own way.”

“And I think you like that.”

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