Work Text:
“How old were you when you stopped believing in Santa?” Beth asks.
She and Lindsay and cuddled up in front of the fireplace. Lindsay was almost asleep, but Beth’s words wake her up.
“I dunno,” she mumbles, yawning. “I think Mom and Dad told me when I was, like, fourteen, because they didn’t want me to get picked on at high school for still believing in Santa. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Beth says. She rests her head against Lindsay’s shoulder. “I was about twelve. I worked it out eventually. It was the chimney thing that got me. I mean, how can a grown man get down a tiny chimney?”
Beth laughs. Lindsay looks at her girlfriend in the dim light of the fire, and smiles.
“The whole story’s pretty crap, really,” Lindsay says, laughing. “I mean, I fell for it, but moms and dads don’t really try very hard. Like with the chimney thing.”
“I know, right. If you’re going to make this sort of thing up, at least put some effort in,” Beth says. She scoffs. “That’s parents for you.”
Lindsay grins. “That’s parents for you. And anyway, Christmas is still cool without Santa.”
Beth kisses her. “It certainly is.”