Page 27 of Scrooged for the Holidays
“Watch.” He stops me. “I’ll explain later.”
I don’t know why I listen, but I huff and turn my attention back to the two girls, even though I know where this is going now.
“Santa’s not going to bring me one,” Past Me says.
“Why not?” Avery responds innocently. “You still have time to put it on your list! And we’ve both been good this year.”
My nostrils flare. “That won’t matter, Aves.” Aves. I forgot I used to call her that.
“Of course it matters, Santa is magic. He always gives you what you want if you’re good!”
“Being good has nothing to do with it.”
“It does—I got what I asked for last year!”
“That’s because your parents buy you everything!” Past Me yells. The words come out mean—meaner and louder than I remember them sounding.
“They do not!” Avery shoots back.
“They do, too. You get everything on your list because they buy it.”
“But Santa—”
She snorts and cuts her off. “Santa isn’t real. Santa is your parents.”
My cold heart pounds in my chest as Avery’s little face falls. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Aves. We’re ten now.”
She sits up in the snow, and Past Me goes along with her. Avery wrings her mittened hands, and it’s hard not to miss the tears forming in her eyes. “My mom and dad said he’s real.”
“They’re lying to make you feel good.”
Avery sniffles, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“But he eats all the cookies I leave out, and my parents are asleep when he comes down the chimney.”
“Don’t be dumb. They sneak downstairs when you’re asleep! They eat the cookies themselves or throw them out.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not! My cousin told me. He said my parents can’t afford to get me the things I want, which means Santa can’t get me what I want. Because they are him!”
Avery sniffles again and wipes at her pink cheeks. “You’re just jealous that Santa must like me more than you.” She stands.
I see my past self get angrier, and I turn to look away, but Kai stops me, closer to me than he was before.
“Almost done.” His warm breath tickles my skin, and I look back despite myself, even if there’s an itch in my throat to ask him how he knows what’s going to happen since this is my memory—dream—whatever it is.
“I’m not lying, Avery.”
“No! Santa’s real.” She turns on her booted feet and runs toward her house that’s lit up with Christmas lights. It looks exactly how it does to this day—or least what it looked like the last time I saw it. Three stories, white siding with green shutters, and a wraparound porch.
This neighborhood is older, so a lot of the homes were redone, like Avery’s had been, while my parents’ and a few others stuck out like sore thumbs. Especially during the holidays, when the newer ones were all decked out. Avery’s dad made sure all the lights he put up were expertly done and on timers to come on as the sun went down. It’s funny, because there was a time I dreamed of my future residence looking likeher parents’ house at Christmas. Now I avoid all decor and have a sleek condo instead of a cozy home.
The echo of Avery’s loud sob rings through the air before the front door to her house slams shut. The larger and prettier wreath on her door swings and nearly falls to the ground at the force. Past Me exhales a tight breath as Cooper comes running back after attempting to chase Avery. He barks at her as if he’s mad at her, too, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
“She had to know, Coop.” The dog barks in question. “She did. Life isn’t nice to you just because you’re good. Like my cousin said, there’s no such thing as Santa.”
