Everyone’s gone. That’s weird.

I step into the cold snap, burying Gigi’s present into the wool coat’s pockets. I got her the perfect gift. For days I racked my brains on what to get her. At first, I wanted to extend the cock imagery and buy more dick-related things, but that was before our weekend trip. I needed something that drove her into my arms—not out of them. And it had to be meaningful. She wouldn’t take me seriously if I made it another prank.

I keep insisting I’ve changed. It’s time to show her.

I walk up my empty driveway, head turned toward Gigi’s house. The curtains are shut, but her bedroom window flickers with phallic-shaped lights. She must’ve hung them there, knowing I’d see them.

A happy glow pulses beneath my chest. I look for her, but everything’s dark and her mother’s car is gone. I turn away, facing the blinding-white sidewalks. Every lawn is deserted. It’s not that cold, and the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day for making snowmen or sledding or—shit.

The parade is today. I grab my barely charged cell phone. A missed notification blazes on the screen.

Holiday Parade - 10:30AM

"Fuck!" How could I forget the damn parade? Gigi’s gift drove it clear from my mind.

I have ten minutes to get there.

I practically bowl down the door. I track snow into the foyer—Mom will be pissed. Blindly, I charge into the red-and-green living room before remembering the suit. Mom hand washed it. It was hanging to dry in the shower.

My feet pound the floor as I sprint into the bathroom. I rip aside the shower curtain, expecting to run into a red costume.

It’s not there.

"Where the fuck is it?" I search the rooms for Mom and my brother, but they’re gone.

Maybe she put it on my bed. I left early this morning to buy Gigi’s gift. It’s possible she thought I’d come back. I burst into my bedroom, scanning for the bright-red fabric. I slide open the closet. I comb through my bed sheets.

It’s not here, either.

Searching the laundry reveals nothing. It’s not in the garage. I run outside and check the backseat of my Audi. My boots are gone. The belt, suit, everything.

Who steals a fat suit?

My mind lists the possibilities: Gigi, Liam—Liam. My stupid-ass brother. He did this.

"Oh, you’re so dead." I jump into my car, furious with myself. "She’ll be pissed."

That bastard probably thought it’d be hilarious. I’ll find him, force him to strip, and everything will be fine. I hope I’m not too late.

I pull from the driveway and speed through winding roads, but I’m already late as fuck, and traffic is horrible. Everybody’s en route, trying to get downtown.

A sea of red lights greets me as I turn onto Main St. The road is jam-packed with hundreds of hopefuls trying to find places to park. A few blocks ahead, the streets are congested. Families with children swarm the roads. Red-and-white streamers fill the sky, rippling from the local businesses.

I check the time. 10:45 AM.

A marching band’s drumbeats drift through the wintry air, as I steal someone’s parking spot. The man who claimed it first pops his head from a window, red-faced with fury.

It’s an emergency. I’m Santa Claus, for Christ’s sake.

I slam the door, lock the car, and sprint toward the barricade. Throngs of people choke the sidewalks. I dash past dozens of food vendors, which already have long lines. Cotton candy. Hot dogs. Falafel. There’s even a beer garden cordoned off by ropes. Going through it will get me to the parade faster, but a husky bouncer palms my chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. ID please."

"I only need to cut through! I’m part of the parade."

The bouncer doesn’t move. "ID."

I pat my jeans, growling. By the time I’ve shown my license to him and slipped through, there’s a crowd blocking the exit. I push couples aside, and someone spills their beer. Angry shouts chase my back as I throw a hurried "sorry" over my shoulder.

I burst onto the sidewalk again, facing a troupe of high school kids banging cymbals to the beat of Frosty the Snowman. It sounds like a car crash more than music, but everyone smiles and claps.

More entertainers fill the street. Male and female Santa Clauses do back flips and wave streamers. I push through the attendees, fighting to make it to the end of the parade. Spencer said we’d be the coup-de-grace of the show.

There was still plenty of time to fix this, if I can only get there.

It will be impossible to push through. Hundreds of people block me from the tail of the procession. The whole thing can’t be longer than thirty minutes.

I leave the confines of Main Street and sprint down the much less-crowded block. I round the corner, heading backend to the parade to gauge the progression of the floats. Four men hold a floating specter of Rudolph upright, the fabric billows a cartoonish deer head with a bulbous red nose. Behind them, a pale blue float slowly approaches. It’s richly decorated in frosty blues. Fake snow blows from fans, drizzling the mob with white flakes. Plastic icicles run down the float’s sides, which are shaped like a scene from Santa’s workshop. Children dressed in green tights and frock coats pull stuffed animals out of a raging furnace, which is really a hole covered with flowing strips of red and orange paper. They toss toys into the crowd. The elves sort through brightly-colored boxes, wrap them, and shove them into a huge red bag.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

My gaze snaps at the second tier of the float, where an ornate throne sits on a towering block of fake ice. Two female adult elves with striped legging stand beside the imposter in my suit, whose maniacal grin is a dead ringer for Liam.

Where the hell is Gigi?

I fight toward the edge of the crowd, screaming my brother’s name. "Liam, come down from there! LIAM!"

He can’t hear me. The Christmas music is too loud, and the crowd drowns my voice anyway. It’s too late to make the switch, but I need to haul him off the float because he’s fucking wasted.

Liam’s fake beard barely hangs on as he sways his hips to the music, gyrating with the female elves in a suggestive dance. Adults in the crowd glance at each other, frowning.

"Jesus, Liam. Get down from there!" I wave my hands, hoping he’ll see me. "Hey!"

A microphone attached to his suit suddenly blares on. "Marry—merry Christmas." Liam’s slurring voice booms over the music. "What the best way to cure frostbite to your chestnuts? Roast them over an open fire. What do you call it when a snowman orgasms? Sleet."

I groan. "Shut up and wave!"

The blonde elf beside Liam hesitates before clapping.

"We should be kinder. We should love each other—you know what? Forget all that shit. I want to do something crazy. I withdrew a thousand dollars in singles from—"

The sound cuts off as Liam’s mic is shut off, but he doesn’t seem to care. Grinning, he reaches into his pockets and withdraws fistfuls of cash.

Is he insane?

"Merry Christmas!" he roars, throwing the money. "Merry Christmas to all!"

The singles burst into little clouds that drift down. The crowd shrieks with delight. More cash flies from Liam’s hands. People sprint over the road, scrambling to pick up the bills.

A police officer breaks from the barrier, screaming at my brother to get off the float. My brother gives him a cheeky grin.

The officer isn’t amused. "Get off the float, now!"

Oh shit.

"Liam!" I try to push through, but another cop shoves me backward. "No, that’s my brother. Let me through!"

The crowd watches as police officers chase Liam on the float, laughing when he’s finally pulled away, in handcuffs. I follow them to the squad car. It takes two officers to shove Liam’s fat suit inside.

I can’t allow this to happen. Mom will have a heart attack.

I jog to their side. "Please, officers. Let my brother go. He’s just an inebriated idiot."

"Your brother could’ve caused a riot." The cop clearly has no patience for drunken assholes. "I’m taking him to the station."

"Please, man. It’s Christmas." My plea falls on deaf ears as he enters the car and drives Liam away.

The bottom of my stomach drops.

My stupid brother has ruined Christmas.