Page 7 of Under The Meh-stletoe

"Hell yes, it's a huge problem," she said. "Santamakesthe cookie decoration competition! The kids ask for him! They line up to take pictures with him. And I can't imagine the big party without him. No. Ale. This can't be."

The panic that settled in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"It's okay." I rubbed her shoulder in what I hoped was a soothing gesture. I wasn't sure; comfort came naturally to me in most situations, but not when the words building on my tongue were,relax, who cares? It's just a guy in a red suit."Ren, it's okay."

"But we need to find someone! Right away. We don't have enough time! We might have to pick someone without a beard. No. No. Ale. We can't put someone in a fake, plastic, white beard. What if a kidpullsit?!"

Not a big deal.

But she blanched, so I pushed the thought down. "I'll get a high-quality beard, I promise. We’ll glue it on if we need to."

I checked my phone. No answer from Daniel.

"But for whom?" she continued. "We might need to reach out to people living in acreages. Far away ones—"

Was she scared because of her accident? Was the idea of traveling long distances scary to her these days?

"I'll get Daniel to take me if I need to." I took her hand and squeezed. "We're good."

Still no text from him, though.

"I'll have to go through my list of backup Santas," she said. "You can go beg them to volunteer."

"Now we're talking. That's an actionable plan. Why don't you send me the list?"

"I'll write it up while you go find Daniel. Then I'll text it to you."

"What? Why do I need to go find Daniel?"

"He needs to know there's an emergency. He could have access to resources we don't, like lists of people and their ages and locations—"

"Sooo… I'm not finding him to ask him to dress up like Santa?" I entertained the image for a glorious second. It made me laugh.

"No! He's too young. And too hot."

Well, that he was. I didn't entertainthatthought for long.

"He's too grumpy, too." I frowned. "Isn't Santa supposed to be smiling all the time?"

"That too! So, no. You could pester him about calling the police department and ask them to run a search for folk of the right age—"

You've got to be kidding me. A police search?

"It's not that serious," I interrupted. "Is it?"

"It's only a month until Christmas. Yes, it's that serious. Things move faster than you think, preparing for the season. We're supposed to make miracles happen!"

I barely held back from rolling my eyes. If miracles happened, they could happen at any time of the year. Or Halloween, maybe; that was a holiday that whispered magic. Christmas? It was a season of toxic positivity, in my opinion.

But my sister loved it, so I didn't say much.

"I know you're indifferent to the holidays." She put her free hand on top of mine, forming a tower of comforting hand squeezing.

I stared at it. It was okay if she believed I was indifferent to Christmas; it was better than her finding out it annoyed me to no end.

She continued, "I'm already so so so thankful you're taking over the organization of all the events. That you're running things for me."

"Of course. I'd do anything for you." And that was true.