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25 Days Before Christmas
“Harrowhark, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Harrow finishes straightening the shelf and turns around to the sight of a very apologetic looking Ortus, her manager. How this day could possibly get any worse, she’s not sure. It’s the first of December, which means the horribly gaudy Christmas decorations have sprung up on every surface, in every nook and cranny of Canaan Mall. Here at Hot Topic, they’ve remained untouched by decorations, but that provides little respite. Management set all the radios to a Christmas station and made it impossible for stores to choose their own music. Currently, the radio is blasting a children’s choir rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” and if it weren’t specifically forbidden in her contract, Harrow would slit her wrists right here and now.
“Just tell me, please.”
“The lottery results are in.”
Harrow isn’t stupid. Bad news related to the Annual Canaan Christmas Elf Lottery? There’s only one way this could possibly be going:
“You’ve been selected to be an elf this year. I’m so sorry, Harrow.” He braces for impact.
But Harrow remains calm. “I see,” she says. She picks at a hangnail. “That is…unfortunate.”
Breathlessly, Ortus says, “It’s only for a month. Less than! Look on the bright side. You won’t have to deal with the holiday crowds here.”
Harrow gives him an unimpressed glare. “But I will have to wear an elf costume and deal with snot-nosed children screaming to see Santa Claus.”
Rubbing his neck, Ortus says, “Well…yes.”
“And the pay?”
“The same. A bonus for selling pictures.”
“When do they require my presence?”
“Now, I’m afraid.”
Without another word, Harrow collects her things—a black winter cloak and a small backpack with a thermos of soup—and leaves. No point in drawing it out. Attempting to fight it would only embarrass her, and Harrow respects the lottery system. On the way, she sneers at the Abercrombie store across the hall. At least now she won’t have to encounter that awful redheaded model who parades herself around like she’s God’s gift to the world.
Harrow makes her way towards the giant tree in the center of the mall and approaches a small group of people huddled nearby. “Excuse me,” she says. “Are you the other elves?” They all look up, openly gaping at her all-black ensemble.
“Are you from Hot Topic?” asks a woman with golden curls and a push-up bra that’s working far too hard.
“Yes, Victoria’s Secret,” Harrow answers shortly.
Another woman, who Harrow can only describe as a wrung-out version of Victoria’s Secret, laughs sharply. “She clocked you, Corona.”
“Get out of here, dear sister. It makes my heart ache, but you weren’t selected.”
“I’m only here to assess your working environment for the next month. You are accustomed to the delicate work of measuring bosoms. I fear that this elf business will be too harsh. Also, the outfit is going to be atrocious, you do know that.”
Harrow turns her attention away from the sisters’ oddly flirtatious bickering and assesses the rest of the group.
There’s a man with round glasses who looks like a human bookmark. Harrow presumes he works at Barnes & Noble. There are two teenagers, one boy, one girl, unremarkable. A woman with dark, blunt hair and bangs stands with her arms crossed and a pensive look on her face. Aside from Victoria’s Secret, none of them looks prepared to play the role of an elf. Harrow, with her slim, angular build and short stature, is quite possibly the most qualified. The lottery system, while fine in theory, does not account for the fact that parents and children have very specific expectations for Christmas elves.
“So, if we are the elves,” Harrow says, despising herself for being part of a collective ‘we’ referring to a group of elves, “then who is Santa?”
“That’s what we were discussing right before you arrived,” says Barnes & Noble. “Typically, the owner of the mall plays Santa. But this year, he’s apparently…otherwise indisposed. He’s appointed—”
“What up, minions!” calls a new voice. “Santa Claus here, at your service. Although I guess technically you’re at my service.”
Harrow bites her tongue. She knows that voice. She’s heard it countless times, usually hawking poorly made clothing for teens and young adults who peaked in high school. She smells sandalwood as she turns around and comes face-to-face with the lopsided, lazy grin of the redheaded Abercrombie model she despises.
Perkily, Abercrombie says, “Oh, wow, we got the Hot Topic hottie? How’d I get so lucky?”
“Don’t mock me,” Harrow snaps.
“Wasn’t mocking, babe,” Abercrombie says with a wink. This solidifies Harrow’s hatred of her.
“Pardon me if this is rude,” says Barnes & Noble. “You’re going to play Santa? Santa is supposed to be…” He mimes a beard and a large stomach.
“An old man? Yeah, well, I’m breaking gender stereotypes. Besides, who said Santa can’t be young and hot?”
Barnes & Noble frowns slightly and adjusts his glasses. Bangs says, “Who are you, exactly?”
Abercrombie responds by pointing at Bangs with her thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun. “Great idea, we should do introductions. All right, let’s go around, names and stores. Oh, and favorite part of your job, if you’ve got one. I’ll go first. I’m Gideon. I’m the owner’s daughter, but more importantly, I’m a model at Abercrombie & Fitch. If that wasn’t obvious.” She flexes and Harrow nearly gags. “Pops is at a bigwig international conference, and he’s trusted me with the Santa suit. Favorite part of the job is making the ladies swoon. And the gentlemen. I’m not interested but it’s flattering. Next up! You, Blondie!”
“Coronabeth. Victoria’s Secret. I love helping women feel confident.”
“Flawless. Love you already. Remind me to ask you to measure my bust. I think I’m wearing the wrong size bra. Glasses?”
“Palamedes Sextus. Apple Store Genius Bar. I like troubleshooting.”
Harrow kicks herself for getting that one wrong.
“Missed opportunity that you’re not at the adult toy store,” says Gideon.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Palamedes Sextus? Flip that around, abbreviate it, and you’ve got Sex Pal.”
Bangs chokes on a laugh. Palamedes reddens and stammers, “I…see.”
“Genius Bar is good too, I guess. Hope we’re not taking you away from any iPad emergencies.”
Harrow observes Palamedes and suspects that he is rather relieved to be away for the holiday rush. Harrow has passed by the Apple Store around this time of year before and it is always crowded with bloodthirsty suburban mothers buying electronics for their entitled children and failing elderly parents. “I think they’ll manage,” he says gracefully.
“All righty, moving right along…you.” Abercrombie’s gaze lands on Coronabeth’s sister, who is still hovering nearby like a pesky fly. “Blondie 2. What’s your story?”
“Me? Oh, I wasn’t selected. But if you must know, my name is Ianthe and I work over at Build-A-Bear.”
Everyone is silent.
“You…work with kids?” Bangs asks, incredulously.
“What, is that so surprising? I get to stuff limp carcasses and stitch them up, all day, every day. It’s an art. A dream come true. And the children take great delight in the process.”
Everyone relaxes, as if this unsettling explanation is more comforting than the idea of this grim woman liking children. Ianthe’s description is the first thing that has ever made Harrow even the slightest bit interested in the goings-on at Build-A-Bear.
“As Santa Claus, I hereby declare that you get to stay,” Gideon announces. “Kiddos? What’s your story?”
“I’m Jeannemary and I work at Chik-fil-A, even though they’re homophobic,” says the girl.
“I’m Isaac and I work at Taco Bell, even though they’re cultural appropriators,” says the boy.
“Wise words from our youth,” Gideon quips. “Who’s left? You there, with the bangs.”
“Camilla Hect. Dick’s Sporting Goods. Yes, I know I said dick, don’t even think about laughing. I like selling binoculars and pocketknives.”
“So I can’t call you Dick?”
“You may not.”
“You’re less fun than Sex Pal over here.” She jabs a thumb towards Palamedes, who tucks his hands in his pockets and gives Gideon a steady gaze that says don’t mess with her.
“So I am,” Camilla says. There’s a warning tone in her voice.
Gideon shrugs and looks directly at Harrow. Her eyes are golden. Harrow has never been close enough to notice before. She’s not pleased to have noticed, and she’s even less pleased that she thinks they’re quite striking. “That just leaves you, Hot Topic.”
“Harrowhark. I’m employed at Hot Topic. I like inventory and restocking.”
“Wow, that’s boring.”
“I won’t apologize for not entertaining you.”
Gideon laughs. “Oh, she’s feisty! Okay, minions, let’s get started. First things first: your costumes.”
Harrow gazes up at the tree and wonders how difficult it would be to impale herself on it.
23 Days Before Christmas
Harrow hates being an elf. She hates the costume, a gaudy red dress paired with peppermint striped tights, a pointed hat, and shoes that curl at the toe with a bell attached. She hates the children, who either whine in line while they wait or burst into tears at the sight of Santa. The whiners are worse, of course, selfish little brats. Harrow sympathizes with the criers. She would lash out, too, if she were forced to sit on Gideon’s lap. She hates the teenage girls who wait in line, giggling, aware that they’re too old for this and doing it anyway. Harrow overhears them fawning over Gideon, specifically, Gideon’s arms. Which is absurd, because Gideon’s arms are hidden in the Santa suit, and her muscles are barely apparent. Harrow only knows how defined they are because at her usual job, Gideon is always without sleeves. The teenagers end up on Gideon’s lap, blushing bright red, giggling through their Christmas wishes, and it fills Harrow with a blind, boiling rage.
The worst part is that Harrow is on picture duty, and required to capture every moment.
“You’re too frightening to do anything else,” Gideon told her on the first day.
“You have Palamedes on crowd control,” Harrow replied.
“I need you in my line of sight,” Gideon admitted. She winked and it made Harrow’s skin prickle.
So Harrow takes the pictures.
21 Days Before Christmas
Harrow despises being an elf. Gideon has ‘promoted’ Coronabeth to the role of Mrs. Claus and now Harrow has to endure both of their preening and prancing. Ianthe has taken Corona’s place and is now tasked with shaking toys to calm the crying infants. The sight of her only makes them more upset. It would be funny if it didn’t make Harrow’s picture-taking job even more difficult. Some of the parents think the pictures of their wailing children are hilarious, but others are not so easygoing. Harrow does not have the disposition to deal with them.
The two teenagers and Camilla have the early shift, so Harrow never sees them. She is terribly jealous. Sure, the day shift probably includes a lot of stay-at-home moms, but the evening crowds are larger, more demanding. A haggard parent waiting for a picture with Santa at 9 PM is a force to be reckoned with.
15 Days Before Christmas
Ten days into her sentence, Harrow has willed herself into a dissociative state just to get through the day. She barely registers the itchy tights and the bells jingling on her shoes. When she sees herself in the mirror during a blessed bathroom break, she does not immediately recognize herself. She looks awful in this garish outfit beneath the fluorescent lights. She longs for the dim lights at Hot Topic.
After Ianthe hits a baby with a toy—no one knows if it was accidental or on purpose, or a bit of both—Gideon puts her on crowd control and moves Palamedes to toy-shaking duty. He is much better at soothing the children. Harrow, still stuck taking pictures, appreciates that he makes her job a bit easier.
10 Days Before Christmas
Gideon never seems to tire of the Santa act. She says ‘Ho ho ho!’ and ‘Merrrry Christmas!’ and ‘what would you like, my dear boy?’ and ‘have you been naughty or nice?’ over and over, and her voice is jolly every time. Harrow doesn’t understand how she does it. She hates her even more for it.
During a break, Harrow surprises herself by marching up to Gideon, who sits lazily in the big chair with her legs crossed boyishly, and saying, “How do you do it?”
Gideon tips her head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “Do what? Look this good? Maintain such a chiseled physique? Some people will tell you it’s 80% diet, 20% exercise, but what I’ve learned is—”
“No, you insufferable dingbat. How do you do…this?” Harrow gestures at the tree, the big Santa chair, the velvet carpet that will soon be filled once again with people eager to meet Santa. “All the holly jolly Santa shit.”
“Ah. Well, my dear, let me explain. Here, sit on my lap.”
“I think you know that I will do no such thing.”
Gideon shrugs. “Worth a shot. First of all, you’re as cuddly as a cactus, as charming as an eel, a bad banana with a greasy black peel.”
Harrow doesn’t react.
“Really? You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch? The iconic 2000 Jim Carrey star vehicle?”
“I know the reference. I prefer the original animation. The Jim Carrey version is too over the top and crude for me.”
“Huh. Boring take, but okay. What I’m trying to say is that, like the Grinch, you have a tiny, shriveled up heart. See, my heart is huge.” Gideon thumps her chest. “Literally, because I work out to keep it in tip-top shape and have a genetic condition, but also metaphorically. These people want to see Santa, you’d better believe I’m gonna give them Santa. It makes me happy to see them happy. Also, I have an insatiable ego and the long lines of people fighting to see me are really good at keeping it fed.”
Harrow tosses back her shoulders and lifts her chin. “So you’re a narcissist.”
“Eh, maybe. But does it matter, if I’m making other people happy? It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
“Symbiosis can refer to commensalism, mutualism, and parasitism. Calling something a symbiotic relationship says nothing about its nature.”
“Oh, I hate you, you know that?”
“The feeling is mutual. Not to be confused with a mutualistic relationship. We don’t benefit from each other.”
“I benefit from you, Harrowhark,” Gideon says, more serious now.
Harrow crosses her arms and scowls. “If you’re referring to my work here, then yes, I suppose you do, but I promise there are plenty of people who would do a much better job.”
Gideon leans forward. “Do you want me to send you back to Hot Topic?” It sounds like a challenge.
“Is that permitted?” Harrow feels, for the first time since this nightmare began, a glimmer of hope.
Slumping back in the chair, Gideon throws up her hands and says, “’Fraid not, and even if it was, I wouldn’t do it. I’m keeping you around. We’ll get you in the Christmas spirit yet, She-Grinch.”
9 Days Before Christmas
Harrow arrives at the mall and relieves Camilla from the photo booth. “Rough crowd today,” Camilla says, blowing her hair out of her eyes in a quick puff. Her costume looks haphazard. She isn’t even wearing her hat.
“Why?” Harrow asks.
“Getting down to the wire. We’re very close now. People are getting…testy. Anyway, good luck.” She leaves Harrow and strides off, jingling all the way. Harrow sees her cross paths with Palamedes and briefly embrace him. She looks away.
For no particular reason, definitely not because a narcissistic Santa with golden eyes called her a She-Grinch, Harrow is determined to be jollier today. She doesn’t have a jolly bone in her body, but she spent all of last night watching Elf—three times, to be exact—and she thinks she can pretend well enough to convince Gideon. Of course, she has nothing to prove to Gideon. That would be ridiculous.
When Palamedes arrives, Harrow says, “I want to trade jobs.”
Palamedes cocks an inquisitive eyebrow. “You do recall that I’m the Chief Smile Attendant, yes? Ianthe is the Candy Lane Marshall now.”
It is news to Harrow that their positions have idiotic names. “Yes, I know,” she says. “I know what your job is. I was not aware of the title. What’s mine?”
Palamedes gives her a smile that’s halfway between amused and apologetic. “You’re the Memory Lane Magician.”
Awful. “I want to switch.”
“You want to be the Chief Smile Attendant? You?”
“If you’re implying that I’m not capable of smiling, you’re wrong. I simply don’t waste smiles.”
“It takes less muscles to smile than it does to frown!” chirps Corona, flouncing onto the scene.
“Fewer muscles,” Palamedes corrects her, as Harrow snaps, “Shut up, Corona.” She arranges her facial muscles into a smile, just to prove a point.
“That’s Mrs. Claus to you, elfie,” Corona says, tapping Harrow’s nose. “Enough lollygagging. Where’s Gideon?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Palamedes says. “Must still be on break.”
Five minutes later, the line snakes around the tree, and Gideon is still nowhere in sight. Corona is showboating, improvising some monologue about the best kinds of cookies and the simplest way to wrap gifts. Palamedes mutters something under his breath and shoves the camera back at Harrow. “You’ll have to do both jobs,” he tells her.
“Why? Where are you going?”
Palamedes pushes up his glasses and sighs. “I’m going to be Santa.”
Harrow doesn’t know where he finds it, but Palamedes returns a few minutes later in a full Santa costume. The ‘ho ho ho’ he lets out to announce his presence is less resonant than Gideon’s, but it’s acceptable. He makes up some excuse about a North Pole emergency and takes his seat on the throne.
“Welcome back, my dear!” Corona trills, planting a kiss on his cheek, just above the fake beard. “The children have been waiting.”
“They will wait no longer!” Palamedes announces, before backtracking to add, “We will respect the line. Those who are in front shall wait no longer. Those behind them shall have a wait time corresponding to their place in line.”
Ianthe flits around, making sure no one cuts in line, and Harrow works on her smile as the first child approaches Palamedes. She can’t decide if she should show her teeth. She settles on a big, toothy smile and says, “Say Santa!” in her cheeriest voice. The child stares at her, mouth agape, and Harrow snaps the picture. This is no time for perfectionism.
“Mommy, the scary elf smiles like a wolf,” Harrow hears the child say. The mother shoots her a dark glance. Harrow dials back her smile.
The hours past in a whirlwind, as Palamedes, Ianthe, Corona, and Harrow attempt to make the operation work without Gideon. Harrow, with all the hatred she holds for Gideon, should be thrilled to have a day off, but she’s not. She’s annoyed that she worked on her cheer and Gideon isn’t here to see it, and she’s also slightly…worried.
Worried! About Gideon! About the nepo baby, Abercrombie model, hot Santa Gideon.
(Hot Santa refers, of course, to Gideon’s approach to the role, and does not denote perceived hotness.)
They close an hour before the rest of the mall, so that they can get through the existing line without gathering more people. Tonight, though, word seems to have spread that the usual Santa has been replaced by a soft-spoken imposter, and there are only a few people waiting in line when closing time comes. Instead of going home after the final visitor, Harrow changes into her combat boots—they’re quite a look with the elf dress and tights—and goes looking. She doesn’t know why she thinks Gideon is still in the mall. Hours have passed. If she was going to skip work, why would she stay in the building? She doesn’t know why she even cares. And yet—Harrow searches.
She checks Abercrombie first. No sign of Gideon. Harrow takes a brave step inside, is assaulted by the smell, and immediately departs. She looks wistfully at Hot Topic before walking to the other side of the mall to check Planet Fitness. Gideon isn’t there either. She’s not in Dick’s Sporting Goods, or at the food court, or at Victoria’s Secret, or at the Sunglass Hut. Harrow is about ready to give up and go home when she happens to see a shock of red hair through the window at Sephora. She tugs her hat off and runs her fingers through her hair, though she knows she doesn’t have a hope of reversing hours of hat hair.
It is her, there, browsing the lipstick. “Gideon?” Harrow says, approaching slowly from behind, careful not to get too close.
Gideon turns around, tube of lipstick in hand. Her expression changes from surprise to outright confusion when she registers Harrow. “Harrowhark? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, idiot. What are you doing here? You abandoned us.” Abandoned. Is that really the right word? It brings to mind orphaned kittens in cardboard boxes.
“Oh. Yeah. Uh, sorry about that.”
“You should be. Palamedes filled in for you.”
“Sex Pal? Oh no, the sacred name of Santa Claus is forever tarnished.”
“I thought you’d have more to say than that.”
Gideon sets the lipstick down and casually delivers a complete non-sequitur: “Hey, you want a makeover?”
Harrow does not want a makeover. She can’t think of anything she wants less, except for a hug from Gideon, but that’s so far off the table, it’s not even in the oven. She doesn’t know why it comes to mind. “You don’t work here.”
“Owner’s daughter,” Gideon says with a smirk that turns into a sigh. “I can work wherever I want.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Dulcie,” Gideon calls sweetly to someone Harrow can’t see, “Can I give a makeover?”
“Sure, darling, whatever you want,” comes the reply.
Gideon lifts her hands, palms upturned, and looks pleadingly at Harrow. Harrow rolls her eyes. “If I say yes, will you tell me why you ditched work?”
“Deal,” Gideon says, offering Harrow her hand. Harrow’s hand develops its own agency and takes it, wrapping her cold fingers around Gideon’s warm ones. “Cold hands, cold heart,” Gideon remarks.
“I believe the phrase is ‘cold nose, warm heart,’ and it refers to dogs,” Harrow retorts, regaining control of her hand and tugging it free of Gideon’s grasp. She stalks to a salon chair and sits down, arms crossed, scowling into the mirror. Her hair is flat from the stupid elf hat. “I practiced smiling today,” she says as Gideon picks up a palette and a set of makeup brushes.
“Oh yeah? How’d that go?”
“One kid said I looked like a wolf. Another one cried and called me a witch.”
“Hm,” Gideon replies. She tucks a brush between her teeth, holding it there while she fiddles with the clasp on the palette. “Well, it was only your first try. Right? You’ve never smiled before today in your life, have you?”
“Ha ha.”
“She laughs, too! We have a catch on our hands, ladies and gentlemen.”
Harrow crinkles her nose in disgust. “Just ladies,” she corrects. She’s immediately mortified. That is not the kind of information she shares with anyone, and certainly not with someone she patently hates. What is happening to her?
In the mirror, Gideon gives her a wicked, joyful grin, like she knows Harrow has just revealed confidential information. “Not one for the gentlemen?”
Harrow changes the subject. “Why weren’t you at work today?”
Gideon leans over and begins swiping at Harrow’s face with some kind of wipe. It smells of roses. “Technically, I was at work today. Just not…all day. I left at the shift change.”
“Was it too busy? Camilla looked frazzled when I saw her.” Even as she says it, Harrow knows it doesn’t make sense. Gideon seems to thrive on the hustle and bustle.
“No.” Gideon picks up a jar and begins dusting powder on Harrow’s face. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have…anyway. My dad’s not coming home for Christmas. That’s all.”
Harrow doesn’t understand. “Was he supposed to?”
“Yeah. Usually, he works here all December and then takes advantage of cheaper flights on the 25th to jet off somewhere. This year, since he left earlier, he was supposed to come back. I guess I just…whatever. Like I said, it’s stupid. Sorry I made your day harder.”
Normally, Harrow would reply that her day was better and easier without Gideon there, Gideoning everything up, but she can’t find the words. “It’s fine,” she says. “Sorry about your dad.”
Gideon takes Harrow’s chin in her palm and lifts it. She turns Harrow’s head left, then right. She puts down the powder and picks up a palette. “Close your eyes,” she instructs.
Harrow does. A brush tickles her eyelids, and she feels her eyelashes flutter. Gideon holds her chin steady. Harrow doesn’t hate it.
“Yesterday you asked me how I do this,” Gideon says. “I only sort of told the truth. The truth is that I have terrible memories of Christmas. My mom died when I was a baby. My dad refuses to tell me anything about her. I honestly don’t know if it’s grief or if he just…didn’t like her, or something. He’s owned the mall forever, since before I was born, so it’s more of his baby than I ever was. Do you know what the profits at a mall are like from Black Friday through the end of December? They’re insane. Given the choice between profits and me, he chose the money. So, I spent every Christmas with a different nanny. Not even the same one!” The brush is exchanged for a pen that feels cool on Harrow’s skin. “Guess Pops didn’t pay all that well, even with the big bucks rolling in. Or maybe the nannies didn’t like raising me. I dunno. Where was I? Right. Christmas sucks. But then Pops fucked off to wherever this year, and said, ‘Gideon, you’re putting on the Santa suit,’ and I thought hey, I’m the big guy in the red suit, the reason for the season—aside from Jesus, you know—”
“I’m Catholic,” Harrow says, eyes still closed.
“Oh. Sorry. Hail Mary.”
Half of Harrow’s mouth quirks into a smile. “That’s not at all what you think it means. Go on.”
Unruffled, Gideon continues: “Anyway, I figured this was my chance to help some kids have a good Christmas. I know it’s not the same as like, donating presents, or working at a soup kitchen, or marching up to some absent father and saying, ‘yo, pal, pay attention to your kid,’ but anything helps, right?”
Harrow thinks about Christmas with her family. It’s a somber affair, just her and her parents opening one gift apiece and eating dry chicken. The most exciting part is the midnight mass, which is not an event most people would describe as riveting. (Harrow does find it riveting, though. The story fascinates her, and the songs, so melancholy for a celebration, lodge into her soul and stay there. The only time Harrow sings is at Christmas Mass.) She never went to see Santa Claus as a child. Her parents do not believe in celebrating Christmas as a commercial, secular holiday. It is the birth of Christ and nothing more. “I suppose,” she says.
“Pucker up, princess,” Gideon says. Harrow experiences a moment of blind panic before she purses her lips and feels lipstick being applied. She relaxes. Gideon places her thumb on Harrow’s chin and pulls down, opening Harrow’s mouth to fill in the corners of her lips.
“There. You can open your eyes.”
Harrow opens her eyes and looks in the mirror. Gideon has given her a perfect smoky eye and done some sort of contouring that makes her nose and cheekbones look incredible. The lipstick is inky black. She leans forward and examines herself from different angles. Behind her, Gideon bites her lip. “This is very good,” Harrow says.
“You don’t hate it?”
“No. I wouldn’t have suspected that you like makeup.”
“Oh, I don’t. I don’t like anything that conceals the true nature of things.”
Harrow meets her eyes in the mirror and says nothing.
“For some people, makeup hides who they are. Makes them fake. I’m one of them. On other people, though, makeup tells the truth. Expresses who they are,” Gideon says. “I guessed that you were part of the second group. I was right.”
Harrow touches her own face in the mirror and turns around. “I don’t know if I like what that says about me.”
“Why? Isn’t your whole thing being dark and harsh and mysterious?”
Harrow doesn’t have an answer to that.
“There’s nothing wrong with liking the dark,” Gideon says. “As long as you remember to let in the light from time to time.”
“You’re very strange, Gideon Nav.”
“So are you, Harrowhark…”
“Nonagesimus.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
“Then don’t use it.”
“I won’t.”
Harrow stands up and turns around to face Gideon. Outside of the Santa suit and the mandated Abercrombie tank top and jeans, she doesn’t seem so awful. For reasons that she can’t articulate, Harrow takes a step closer to Gideon and reaches up to lay her palm on her cheek. “Come to work tomorrow, you lazy nepotism beneficiary,” she says. It doesn’t sound as harsh as it ought to.
Gideon laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”
Harrow goes home. It takes her a long time to fall asleep that night.
4 Days Before Christmas
Harrow has been working very hard at appearing cheerful, and it’s exhausting. She’s not sure why she bothers. Sure, she made some children whimper and received plenty of glares from parents before she started trying harder, but it’s not as though she gets paid more. That’s not entirely true—she has been taking better photos, and consequently selling more, so that bonus Ortus mentioned is well within reach.
Worst of all, every night since the Sephora incident, she’s gone with Gideon after work to visit different stores. Gideon knows the mall so well that Harrow suspects her palms are lined with a map. They’ve twisted pretzels at Auntie Anne’s, tested massage chairs at Brookstone, tried lotions at Bath & Body Works, and sniffed candles at Yankee Candle. Gideon almost got a piercing at the Piercing Pagoda, until Harrow yanked her away and lectured her about the dangers of piercing guns. When she finally relented, Gideon laughed and said, “Why are you so worried about the structural integrity of my ear cartilage? I thought you hated me.”
To which Harrow said: “I do. The fact that you would go to a chain mall kiosk instead of seeking out a trained piercing professional only makes me hate you more,” but there was no malice behind it.
Harrow has no idea what’s happening to her.
All she knows is that she’s not herself, not on alert, and next thing she knows they’re all dealing with a Code Peppermint.
A Code Peppermint is not the worst thing that can happen to a team of mall elves. The worst is a Code Sugarplum, which means that someone has pulled a weapon. Second worst is a Code Candy Cane, which means physical, unarmed assault against an elf or a patron. A Code Peppermint is below these two, and refers to any tantrum, thrown by anyone of any age.
Today’s Code Peppermint is a double feature, beginning with a child tantrum and leading to an adult tantrum, which then leads to a riot, and escalates the situation to a Code Candy Cane. It is all very stupid, leaving everyone involved with a decimated sense of self-respect and more than a few bruises.
“Let’s go to the Lego store. I think we deserve a little treat after that, don’t you?” Gideon says to Harrow that evening, after they’ve given their final testimony to mall security. She retrieves her fake beard, yanked off during the incident, and gets to work removing the tree needles.
“The Lego store? Isn’t that for children?” Harrows asks. She dabs at a cut on her arm that is still bleeding. Several drops of blood have stained her tights. As it turns out, a sharpened candy cane can do some damage when wielded by a determined eight-year-old.
“And adults who know how to live,” Gideon says.
“Fine,” Harrow says. “Let me change out of this outfit.” Yes, Harrow brought extra clothes to work, with the expectation that she’d be hanging out with Gideon after her shift. She decided that if she’s going to debase herself, she may as well change out of the elf costume. And it’s a good thing, too, since her tights are bloody and ripped.
It’s been quite the day.
“Did I hear something about the Lego store?” Corona asks, joining them and tugging on Harrow’s hat. She escaped mostly unscathed, but her hair is frazzled, frizzed out to a crown around her head.
“Yeah, we’re heading there now.”
“Ooh, can we come?”
“Sure, the more the merrier,” Gideon says. She winks. Harrow feels as though Gideon overdoes it on the winks, handing them out left and right, cheapening them.
“Ianthe!” Corona calls to her sister. “We’re going to the Lego store!”
Ianthe limps over (she tripped over a fake giant ornament and twisted her ankle) and Harrow slips away to the bathroom to change. When she returns, Ianthe and Corona are flanking Gideon, and the three of them are laughing about something. “I’m back,” Harrow announces.
Gideon looks at her and raises her eyebrows. “Hot Topic called. They want their—”
“Best employee back? Yes, I know, I spoke to Ortus yesterday. He sounded rather desperate.”
“You ruin every joke,” Gideon says glumly.
“Apparently not, as you three were just chuckling about something without me.”
“Yeah. Key words: without you.”
“Oh, please let’s go before it gets too late,” Corona pleads.
Gideon extends a hand, palm up, to Corona. “M’lady,” she says.
“M’lord,” Corona replies, taking her hand.
They set off, hand in hand, leaving Harrow to walk beside Ianthe. Ianthe tries to make small talk, and Harrow ignores her, keeping her eyes trained on Gideon the whole time.
3 Days Before Christmas
It’s the busiest day they’ve had so far, and they’re all called in to work double shifts. The teenagers and Ianthe manage the crowds, Palamedes calms the children, Harrow takes the pictures, and Camilla convinces people to buy them. She’s efficient, good at talking up the memory value of even the worst picture. Harrow doesn’t mind working with Camilla; in fact she very nearly enjoys it.
During a lull, Gideon gets up from her throne and does some stretches. She holds her arms above her head and then in front of her, using one hand to pull back on the fingers of the other. She bends her neck left, then right, then rolls it in a circle. Harrow is oddly captivated.
“You’re staring,” Camilla says. Her tone is teasing.
“I’m not,” Harrow says, even though she very plainly is. “I’m still trying to figure out how any of these children could possibly believe that she is Santa Claus, that’s all.”
“I didn’t know you were such a Santa Claus purist.”
“I don’t believe in him. Never have. But if I did, seeing her in the role would certainly make me question that belief.” She pauses, seeking an analogy. “It’s like seeing a pimpled pre-teen boy play Joseph in the church nativity scene. It casts doubt on the whole affair. You know?”
“I’m Jewish,” Camilla says.
“Oh,” Harrow says, in the same way Gideon did when Harrow said she was Catholic. “You must hate this.”
Camilla shrugs. “Not at all, actually. Christmas has been co-opted by the secular community to the point that it’s hardly a religious tradition. I prefer celebrating a holiday that reaffirms my faith and is often overlooked by the general public. It makes it more sacred. They can have Christmas, for all I care.”
“That makes sense,” Harrow says. Her parents spend nearly every Christmas lamenting its commercialism. To this day, one of their staple decorations is a lawn sign that reads, ‘In this house, we celebrate CHRISTmas, not Xmas!’
“Anyway, you’ve changed the subject.”
“From what?” Harrow asks, innocently.
“How you’ve spent the past three weeks staring at Gideon like you’re a hungry lion and she’s an injured gazelle.”
“Are my looks really that murderous? I’ve been trying to appear more pleasant.”
“You look like you want to eat her.”
Harrow scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rolling her eyes, Camilla says, “Fine. I shouldn’t sway the bet, anyway.”
“What bet?”
Camilla drums her fingers on her thigh, looking indecisive. “Oh, Pal and I have a little bet going. He thinks you’ll kiss her before Christmas. I said no way, it’ll take at least until New Year’s.”
“That’s disgusting. How did you even come up with that?”
“You can lie to yourself, that’s fine, I’d rather not fork over twenty bucks.”
“We’re not racehorses,” Harrow says. “You can’t bet on us.”
She’s saved from continuing the conversation by the arrival of more customers, and Camilla doesn’t mention it again. But Harrow can’t stop thinking about it. The audacity. It’s bad enough that they think Harrow has a thing for Gideon, and even worse that they’re betting on it. The subject is moot, because while Harrow may have warmed up to Gideon slightly, she certainly doesn’t have romantic feelings for her. She’s better than that.
And then, at the end of the day, Gideon looks at Harrow with those golden eyes, says, “Where should we go tonight?”
and Harrow says, “Wherever you want,”
and suddenly she’s not so sure.
2 Days Before Christmas
Harrow hates being an elf. Why have so many people waited to visit Santa? Do they really think the North Pole is capable of rushing gifts at this point? Don’t they know the supply chain is fucked?
Harrow realizes she’s acting as if the North Pole is real, as if any of this is real, and she wants to choke on a jingle bell.
Later, when Gideon asks if she wants to go somewhere, Harrow says no.
“No?” Gideon repeats, sounding wounded.
“This is almost over,” Harrow says. “We need to stop pretending that we’re friends.”
But that’s not it at all.
1 Day Before Christmas
The final day of her sentence passes in a blur. After nearly a month of this, Harrow is almost convincing as a cheerful Santa elf. She’s determined to get through this last day, get back to her regular job, and pretend none of this ever happened.
She almost succeeds. After the last child has departed, smiling big and babbling to his parents about how great Santa is, Harrow gathers her things and changes out of the elf costume for the last time. She comes back to drop it off, and there’s Gideon, still sitting on the throne, legs crossed, stroking her fake beard.
“Hey,” she says. “Leaving already?”
“I have to get to church,” Harrow says, buttoning her coat.
“You’ve got a few hours still, don’t you?”
“Don’t you need to get back to the North Pole?”
Gideon smiles crookedly. “The reindeer can wait.”
Harrow tugs her black knit beanie further down on her head and says, “What do you want?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No more than usual.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
“Again, I ask, what do you want, Gideon?” Harrow takes a step closer.
Gideon uncrosses her legs and sits up straighter. She looks uncertain, almost undone. “I want to know if you’ll ever talk to me again, after this.”
“Why?”
“This might shock you—it definitely shocks me—but I enjoy your company, Harrowhark Nonagesimus.” She doesn’t stumble over the name.
“Hm.”
“The nice thing to say is ‘hey, Gideon, my buddy my pal, I enjoy your company too!”
Harrow thinks about that and says, “I tolerate you.”
Gideon laughs mirthlessly. “Why are you like this? Why do you have to pretend to hate me? Is there a blood curse on your family that kills you if you ever express any form of affection?”
Harrow doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have an answer.
Gideon spreads her palms in a gesture of peace and says, “Look. Everyone else already left. They’re spending Christmas with their families. I know that’s where you’re headed, too, but you don’t have to go yet. I don’t have anybody. So, as pathetic as it sounds, could you do me the favor of pretending to be my friend for one last night? So I can say I spent Christmas Eve with a friend?”
It’s the saddest request Harrow has ever heard, and she’s compelled to say, “Yes.”
Gideon smiles brighter than she ought to and stands up. She tosses aside the coat and hat, then wriggles out of the red pants. Beneath the costume, she’s wearing a tight white v-neck shirt with grey sweatpants. Harrow averts her eyes. “Aren’t you cold?”
“I don’t get cold.” Gideon loops her fingers around Harrow’s wrist and begins walking, dragging her along. “You don’t have to tote me,” Harrow says indignantly.
Gideon slides her hand down and links their fingers. “Is this better?”
“I’d rather be handcuffed.”
“That can be arranged.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“You know what I mean, you suggestive ass.”
“Take pity on me and let me hold your hand?”
“Fine,” Harrow says. Gideon’s hand is warm, anyway. Harrow shoves her free hand into her coat pocket to maintain a similar temperature. “Where are we going?”
“Everywhere,” Gideon replies.
They traverse the whole mall, darting in and out of stores. Gideon swipes small tokens from every place they visit, and when Harrow asks if she’ll get in trouble, Gideon assures her she will not. By the time the mall closes, she has a Lord & Taylor bag filled with stolen merchandise. She takes them down and hallway and presents Harrow with a delicate gold chain necklace. A bejeweled skull pendant dangles from it.
“I’m allergic to most jewelry,” Harrow says. It’s true, and a good excuse to refuse the gift. “Unless that’s real gold, I’ll break out in a rash.”
“14 carat gold, diamond encrusted,” Gideon says.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because,” Gideon says, “I thought you would like it. Isn’t that the point of a Christmas gift?”
“You’re not getting me a Christmas gift.”
“I already did.”
“I don’t want it.”
Gideon shuffles behind Harrow and encircles her with her large arms, settling the necklace in the hollow of Harrow’s throat. She clasps it around Harrow’s neck and leans down to whisper, “Too bad.” Her breath tickles Harrow’s jaw. “I’m yours.”
After a moment, Harrow realizes that she misheard, that Gideon said it’s yours, but it’s too late. She has strayed too far to the cliffs’ edge, and the only thing left to do is fall, leave the rest to gravity.
“Let’s go check out Camilla’s stomping grounds,” Gideon says.
“Okay,” Harrow says faintly. She sounds like a weak-willed damsel. She really ought to go home.
She doesn’t.
She follows Gideon to Dick’s Sporting Goods. The mall is well and fully closed now, but Gideon snags an electric lantern and turns it on, holding it in front of them. “Welcome to Dick’s,” she says. She turns to Harrow and smirks wistfully, face shadowy in the lamplight. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“I’m sure you have,” Harrow says, regaining some of her senses as she remembers that she’s with a dick-joke making, full-of-herself Santa impersonator, and not some mysterious seductress. The candy canes they kept the elves supplied with must be laced with something. She truly is losing her mind.
Gideon takes a box from the shelf and guides them to the camping section, where there are hammocks and tents on display. Gideon opens the box and sets the machine inside on the ground, pressing a few buttons that cause the thing to project light. Harrow looks up to see that a circle of the ceiling is now covered in constellations.
Gideon hops into one of the hammocks, dangling her legs over the side. She reaches down for Harrow, and Harrow allows herself to be pulled up into the hammock. She has never hammocked before. It’s unseemly, not to mention unsafe. Anyone who sleeps in a hammock deserves to be eaten by a mountain lion.
She tries to sit sideways with her legs out, like Gideon, but the hammock isn’t very sturdy and soon they both tumble in, Gideon instinctively wrapping an arm around Harrow. Harrow closes her eyes, as if braced against a fall, and when she opens them she is staring into Gideon’s golden eyes. They seem to be their own light source, nearly as bright as the lantern. Heat rolls off Gideon in waves, and Harrow tries to squirm away, but there is nowhere to go. She is trapped.
Gideon mumbles, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you like the stars?”
“Yes,” Harrow says, adjusting her body so she can gaze up at the projection of constellations. “I’ve always liked space.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
Harrow mulls that over. “Because it is unknowable. No matter how much we study and learn, we will never truly know what’s out there. Not to its full extent.”
“Is that why you believe in God?” Gideon asks.
“Maybe,” Harrow says.
“Do you still hate me?”
“I think I will always hate you a little bit.”
Gideon laughs. “I’ll take what I can get.”
“Do you hate me? You ought to.”
“No. I never hated you at all.”
And Harrow, who is so accustomed to people disliking her because she acts as though she wants to be disliked, who simultaneously wishes to be hated and wishes to be loved—
Harrow
kisses
her.
It’s sharp, quick, almost clinical in its brevity.
But when Harrow opens her eyes, Gideon looks astonished, like she’s just gazed through a telescope and seen the galaxy. “Yeah?” she asks, bright and hopeful.
“Yes,” Harrow says.
Gideon initiates the next kiss, and the one after that, and the following one, until they all blend together in one seamless, breathless kiss. Harrow’s body feels like a violin string, taut and vibrant. Her mind is wiped clean, thinking of nothing except Gideon’s lips, Gideon’s eyes, Gideon’s hands.
“I’m going to be late to midnight mass,” Harrow manages to say. She has no idea what time it is. She doesn’t know if they’ve been kissing for minutes or hours.
“You’re not going,” Gideon tells her. She adds hurriedly, “I mean, unless you really want to. Religious freedom, and all that. Not trying to deny you—”
Harrow silences her with another kiss.
Harrow does not attend mass. She finds another way to worship this Christmas.
0 Days Before Christmas
Midnight comes, and Harrow is still at the mall, in a display hammock at Dick’s Sporting Goods, cradled in Gideon’s arms.
And as it turns out, Harrow doesn’t mind being an elf so much, after all.
An Amount of Time After Christmas
“Good morning, Harrowhark.”
“Good morning, Ortus.”
“I’m so glad to have you back.”
“I’m sure you are. I’m indispensable.”
“Did you have fun?”
“No.”
“Did you make friends?”
“No.”
Ortus gives her a knowing grin. “Are you sure about that? When I got here this morning, there was a young woman waiting outside. Waiting for you. Come to think of it, she looked a lot like that model you’re always whining about.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ortus,” Harrow says, though she knows her face betrays her. Now that she knows how to smile, her mouth wants to do it all the time.
“Hm. Must be losing my mind. But just in case I’m not, maybe you should run over there and set the record straight, so that she doesn’t bother us again.”
“What an excellent idea,” Harrow says. She turns away before she can do something embarrassing, like blush. “I’ll go over right now. Be right back.”
She thinks she hears Ortus say, “Oh, you won’t be,” but she can’t be sure.
For once, Gideon isn’t lurking outside Abercrombie, so Harrow has to go inside. She finds her in the back, organizing the clearance rack. She allows herself five seconds to stare at Gideon’s shoulders before she says, “Don’t come to my place of employment asking around for me.”
Gideon jumps, then turns around and relaxes when she sees Harrow. “My dad owns your place of employment,” she says. “I can do whatever I want.”
“Don’t be so cocky,” Harrow warns her. “Why were you looking for me?”
Gideon rubs her neck, looking almost bashful. “I haven’t seen you since…you know…and you didn’t give me your phone number. I thought I should say hi and find out if that was deliberate, if you intentionally ghosted me.”
“If I planned on ghosting you, would I be here now?”
“Maybe? You confuse me, Harrowhark. Lots of mixed signals.”
“I assumed the mixed signals were part of my appeal.”
“Oh, believe me, they are.” She glances down and her eyes catch on Harrow’s chest. Before Harrow can say, my eyes are up here, Gideon says, “You’re wearing the necklace.”
Harrow touches the necklace. They are both quiet for a moment, and then Harrow says, “You can have my phone number—”
“Hot diggity dog—”
“—if you promise not to abuse it. That means no memes, no funny videos, no texts at 3 am that just say ‘sup?’”
Gideon clutches her heart. “Those are my top three means of communication.”
“I will not text you more than is necessary to make plans. I will not talk on the phone. I will not send you nude pictures—”
“Whoa, okay, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I’m just setting some ground rules.”
Gideon taps her chin and points at Harrow. “Can I tell Coronabeth we’re banging?”
“You may not.” Harrow suddenly remembers Camilla and Palamedes’ bet. She supposes Palamedes won, but neither of them knows about… “Gideon,” she says, abruptly changing the subject. “Are there security cameras in Camilla’s store?”
“In Dick’s? Yope, there’s cameras everywhere in this joint. Pops loves the panopticon.”
“So that means…you know what? Never mind.” Some things are better left unsaid, uninvestigated. “You can have my phone number. Don’t misuse it. Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“So that I can enter my own contact information, text myself from your phone, and prevent a situation where you give me a stupid name in your phone and yourself an even worse name in my phone.” She hands Gideon’s phone back.
“Smart, but I can still change your name in my phone. Do you prefer Sugar Lips or Hot Topic Hottie?”
“Harrowhark Nonagesimus will do just fine.”
Gideon shakes her head even as she smiles at her phone. “You’re so dull. Anyway, does this mean I can take you on a real date? Like, at Shake Shack?”
Harrow looks at her sharply. “I cannot express to you in words how very little I wish to spend any more of my free time in this mall. But yes. You can…take me on a date.”
Once again, Gideon says, “Hot diggity dog.”
“Never say that again.”
“Can I give you a high five?”
“I think you know the answer.”
Gideon grabs her hand and wrangles her into a high five anyway, sneaks in a kiss, and says, “I should get back to work.”
Harrow refrains from making a jab about the kind of ‘work’ Gideon does, and instead says, “Yeah. Me too.”
“See you later?”
“Maybe.”
And so, Harrowhark leaves Abercrombie & Fitch and heads back to Hot Topic feeling, for possibly the first time in her life, jolly and full of good cheer.
Some might even say her heart grew three sizes that day.