Page 42 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ve had better days,” I admit. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No one could have,” she says with a small laugh. “That was wild.”
I nod, acknowledging the understatement. The room feels too quiet now. It should be a relief, but it’s not. It just feels heavy.
Everything that happened today is still hanging in the air, unresolved.
Sunny leans forward slightly, a hint of curiosity in her expression. “So, Christmas Prince, why are you so unfestive?”
There it is.
The question that’s been lingering between us ever since Lisa walked into this hotel.
It’s not that I haven’t thought about answering it. It’s just that every time I do, I find myself wishing I could say more, something that makes it all seem less complicated.
I exhale slowly. “I was a child actor. My parents pushed me into it. I didn’t have much choice.”
She nods, waiting for me to continue. I can feel her eyes on me, and I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or just trying to make sense of the mess that is me.
“Christmas was always a performance,” I continue, a little rougher than I expect. “A way for my parents to keep upappearances. We’d go to these glitzy Hollywood events, all dressed up like a picture-perfect family. But it was never real—just a backdrop, fake smiles, and fake snow.
“Everything about it was designed to make us look good to other people, not for us to enjoy it. My parents didn’t care about the holiday or about me and my sister, Claire. It was all about fitting in, about showing up where they were supposed to be. And I?—”
I can feel the years of it, the bitterness, tightening in my chest. “AfterSnowed in With Santacame out, and the sequel flopped, the roles dried up. And so did my parents’ interest. I was just a meal ticket that stopped paying out. Once I couldn’t bring in the checks anymore, they didn’t care.”
I don’t look at her as I say it, afraid that if I do, I’ll see pity in her eyes. I don’t want pity.
I’m quiet for a long moment, my fingers tracing the edge of my desk. “That’s why I hate Christmas. It was never real for me. It was just another obligation. Another stage. Another mask I had to wear to keep people happy.”
I stop there, the words hanging in the room between us. For a long time, there’s just the silence, and I feel the pressure of everything I’ve said pressing down on me.
Sunny doesn’t rush to fill the space. She’s quiet for a moment, too.
“I get it,” she says. “You’ve been carrying that for a long time.”
I finally look at her then, and I’m surprised to see something other than judgment or sympathy in her eyes. She’s not pitying me. She’s not trying to fix me. She’s just listening.
“I didn’t have the family Christmases everyone else had. I never got to make any real memories of the season. It was always just another job,” I say, quieter now. “But I still remember themoments that felt real even if they didn’t last. Even if they were all just fleeting glimpses of something that didn’t quite fit.”
I pause again, the words coming slower now.
“I guess that’s why I’m so defensive about Christmas. It’s not about the presents or the decorations. It’s about everything I missed. And everything I couldn’t be.”
Sunny is quiet for a moment, and I find myself holding my breath, unsure of what she will say next. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle, almost teasing.
“Well,” she says with a small, knowing smile, “I think I know exactly how to change your mind.”
I blink, taken off guard. “What are you talking about?”
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with an air of casual confidence. “I’m going to take you out tonight. Show you what Christmas really is. Not the fake stuff, not the acting, not the cameras or the forced smiles.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think one night is going to fix all of that?”
She shrugs, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Maybe not all of it. But it’s worth a shot, right?”
I open my mouth to protest, to remind her that I’m not some project she can fix with holiday cheer, but she cuts me off before I get a word out.
“You’ve spent your whole life seeing Christmas through a lens that doesn’t feel real. So, let’s give you a new lens. A real one. One you can experience without all the baggage.”
