I’m wearing an elf costume. And not just any elf costume—the most elaborate elf costume I’ve ever seen. If Santa himself saw me right now, he’d scoop me up in his sleigh and take me to the North Pole.
For what feels like the millionth time, my eyes rake over my reflection from the top of my red and green hat to the bells of my pointy-toed felt shoes. I’m standing on a small round platform in front of a full-length mirror in the dressing room of Santa’s Village. I’ve had a whole twenty-four hours to let Celia’s emotional blackmail—because let’s be honest, that’s what it was—sink in, and now here I am, being fitted for costumes for my new part-time job. Because the full-time career I already have isn’t enough, now I’ll be spending weeknights from six to nine thirty roaming Santa’s Village doing a myriad of odd jobs until Christmas.
The costume designer, a middle-aged woman named Bree, whose hair is as red as the stripes on my candy cane stockings, re-enters the room. “Here we go,” she says, brandishing a box with pins inside. “Just a few more adjustments and you’ll be set.” She slips her glasses from the top of her head into place on her nose, and sticks a few pins between her lips while assessing me. The costume—a long-sleeved green dress with red trim that hits me mid-thigh—is made out of thick material that’s surprisingly soft.
After some swift pinning, Bree steps back and does a visual sweep of me. “I think you’re good to go. I’ll have these ready for Monday. Come in a bit early to pick them up and get dressed, and then they’re yours to keep until Christmas.”
I attempt to muster some enthusiasm as I say, “Great. Thanks, Bree.” The costumes are truly a work of art; it’s not her fault I allowed myself to get sucked into a job that requires me to wear them.
Bree bustles from the room so I can get dressed in the jeans and pullover I arrived in. As I peel off the tights, I laugh to myself. I haven’t worn tights since I was a little girl and my mother used to dress me. How did I let this happen? How did I let Celia talk me into this?
I fold the tights and leave them, along with the booties and hat on a chair for Bree. I can do this. Not only does Celia need this job, she also needs the boost in confidence that comes with basically creating her own title. It’s all for the greater good. At least that’s what I kept telling myself earlier as I was led around the grounds for orientation with a handful of other new recruits, most of whom were high school or college kids in need of part-time seasonal work. I’ve reconciled myself to being exhausted and having no life until Christmas.
A small part of me reasons this will actually be a fun place to work. Orientation was led by Meredith, a woman around my age who’s one of the Village’s assistant managers, and who also happens to be a fellow elf. She made this seem like the ideal place to work. Half the staff have jobs in the same area every day, and the other half get rotating assignments to either wander the Village throughout their shift, or be in a specific area. I’m part of the latter group, which means I could be working as a greeter one day, in the wrapping station the next, in a shop the next, and so on. It all sounded a bit complicated at first, but Meredith assured me the place runs like clockwork and it’s easy once you get the hang of it. Compared to my day job, it seems like there’ll never be a dull moment here. Since I’ll likely be running on fumes most nights, it’s a good thing I’ll be busy.
A soft tapping draws my attention to the door. I call for whoever it is to come in, and Meredith peeks her head around the door. “Got your costume fitted?”
“Yep. Come next Monday, I’ll officially be one of Santa’s elves.”
She gives me a dimpled grin. She’s the perfect elf—sweet smile, bright eyes, lots of enthusiasm that doesn’t seem fake or forced. Silver specks of glitter on her cheeks and in her long blond hair catch the light. “Do you have any questions?”
“I can’t think of anything. You were pretty thorough in your orientation tour.”
She laughs lightly. “I was a campus guide and then an RA at university,” she explains. “Kind of a hard habit to break, but it comes in handy here when we get new recruits.” Her smile dims a notch. “Was it too much?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not at all. I was impressed. This place is huge, so you have to cover a lot of ground and a lot of information.”
Her grin returns to full wattage. “Thanks. I heard your cousin is starting on Thursday as the…what did they decide on? The Grooge?”
I almost snort. “They wanted to avoid copyright infringement, so they combined Grinch and Scrooge.” I don’t bother correcting her about the ‘cousin’ part; for some reason, Celia decided it would be easier to introduce us as cousins and I didn’t argue. Maybe that odd familial-without-being-blood-relatives link we have is part of the reason I let her get away with so much. “And yeah, Thursday. Bree is putting a rush on her costume.”
Meredith nods. “The woman is a genius with a needle and thread. She works at the playhouse the rest of the year.”
That explains her quick fingers and familiarity with the costumes. “If I have to wear an elf costume, I’m glad Bree is the one making it. I would have thought they’d be cheaply made since there have to be so many of them, but they’re quality material.”
“That’s just one of many surprises you’ll come across at this place,” Meredith says, her eyes almost twinkling with mischief. “I think you’re going to be happy here, Ivy.”
Her words make my lips inch upward. “I think so too.”
Meredith waves for me to follow her out. I walk with her through the small one-story building dubbed Elf Central. The long hall from the dressing room is lined with changing rooms and lockers, and leads to a lounge with couches and chairs. Off to one side is a lunchroom much like the one at Quest, with a few groupings of tables and chairs, plus a fridge, coffee maker, and microwave.
We step outside and both pause to breathe in the crisp November air. “I guess all that’s left is for you to meet the big guy himself,” Meredith says, pointing into the distance toward Santa’s House. I saw it briefly on the tour, but Santa was on a break at the time. “This is usually a busy time for him. A lot of families come for dinner and then to see Santa. You might have to wait until Monday, unless you want to stick around.”
“I think I’d better head home,” I tell her, stifling a yawn even though it’s barely six o’clock. “I won’t be having many relaxing nights for awhile.”
She nods in understanding. “Okay. Well, I look forward to working with you as of next week. I’ll find you at the beginning of your shift to make sure you’re all set.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Oh! I almost forgot.” Meredith holds up a finger for me to wait while she dashes back inside. She returns with a box the size and shape of a hardcover book. “Your elf makeup,” she says, handing the box to me. “I know you’re picking up your costumes before work on Monday, but this way you can have your makeup done before you come.”
Hesitantly, I open the box to find a jar of rouge, a tube of red lipstick, and what looks like a compact with sparkly powder. It reminds me of the glitter I wore in the ’90s during my Spice Girls phase. I’d noticed Meredith’s blush-tinged cheeks during orientation, but hadn’t given much thought to having to wear the makeup myself. With my super sensitive skin, I rarely wear more than a swipe of mascara and a coat of tinted lip gloss.
At this rate, Celia owes me so big, she’ll never be able to repay me.
*****
“You know I’m going to come visit you and take a ridiculous number of photos, right?”
I whirl around from where I stand in Quest’s break room and stick my tongue out at Bridget. Since we’re the kind of besties who share pretty much everything that happens in our lives, I’d texted her a mirror selfie while Bree was fitting me for my costume.
She holds her phone up toward me now with said selfie on the screen. A wicked grin overtakes her face.
“All while mocking me mercilessly, right?” I ask, turning back to the kettle and switching it off.
“Um hi, have we met?” Bridget comes up behind me and pokes me in the back. “I’m the Queen of Christmas. If I’d known about Santa’s Village at this time last year, I’d have been down there with my résumé begging for a job.” She sighs wistfully. “You’ll have to tell me everything so I can live vicariously.”
“That’ll be a role reversal.” Without asking if she can stay, I grab a second mug and tea bag and pour two cups.
“Oh come on, my life isn’t worth living vicariously through.”
“No, of course not,” I say, rolling my eyes. God help me, I’m turning into Celia. I’ve always been fairly sarcastic, but in the last few months it’s practically become a second language. I begin ticking items off on my fingers. “Super hot Brit boyfriend. Great job where you make gobs of money.”
“Amazing best friend,” Bridget interrupts. She sits at one of the tables and motions for me to join her. “I’ll admit the super hot Brit boyfriend is totally worth envying, but the job…” She trails off, sighing. “The job is great, but it’s a hell of a lot of work. Long hours, a lot of responsibility. I don’t get to be as creative or work directly with clients. I don’t get to work side by side with you anymore.” She sticks out her bottom lip. The pout is followed by a quick laugh, but her eyes hold a hint of sadness.
“I miss it too.” I almost say ‘I miss you’, but she’s here right now and I don’t want to make her feel worse. It’s moments like this when I realize how much I miss being so connected to her and spending most of my free time with her. I don’t envy her job, and I don’t begrudge her spending time with David, because I know they’re the real deal. Lately I’ve had to remind myself that even at twenty-nine, I still have some maturing to do. It’s not always easy, and it comes with growing pains and learning a new normal.
“Anyway,” I say, wanting—needing—to lighten the mood. “You can come by whenever and take as many pics as you want. Honestly, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. The air smells like pine and cinnamon and peppermint. There are Christmas decorations everywhere, plus lots of places to eat and shop. You’ll love it.”
Bridget’s grin grows as I speak. “It does sound like heaven. It might end up being my new favorite hangout until Christmas.” She sobers suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I’m just worried you’re going to burn out. I know it’s only for a few weeks, but that’s eight hours here and then three and a half hours there, five days a week.”
I cringe. I’ve been trying not to think about the long hours, and comforting myself with the fact Celia will be working Saturdays, which means I’ll have an entire day to myself each week. “It’ll be okay,” I say with an optimism that’s only partially forced. “My workload isn’t too heavy right now. I’m doing a social media campaign for the local hockey team and working on an ad strategy for that new shoe store downtown. Neither of them takes that much brain power.” If anything, I’ve been a bit bored with my job lately. It’s the same thing day in and day out. Working at Santa’s Village might be exactly what I need to add some variety and fun to my life.
“If you’re sure. Because as you know, there are certain perks to being tight with the boss.” She wiggles her eyebrows. Then, with a forlorn look at the clock over the sink, she drains her tea. “See how things go your first week and we’ll do some readjusting here if we need to. If you find yourself exhausted or crunched for time, you can come in later or leave earlier, depending which works better. We’ll make it work.”
I stand and collect both our mugs, then bend to give Bridget a loud kiss on the cheek. As she laughs, wiping at the moisture I left on her skin, I say, “That, Bridget Higgins, is just one of the many reasons I love you so much.”