How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

Cole tried, he truly did; he attempted to keep his poise.

But how could he with her? All that noise, noise, noise.

She was very unpleasant; he couldn’t stand her in the least.

Especially after she took away his chicken parm feast.

“She’s headed over right now,” Taran says. “Can you stop fumbling with that soup?”

“I’m not fumbling, I’m eating,” I say after a gulp of tomato bisque. “I’m starving.”

“It’s rude to eat before everyone is present for dinner.”

“It’s rude to hold off on showing up until Jeopardy! is over. You and I both know she’s terrible and doesn’t know a single question,” I say.

Not to mention the Kringle Krampus was soooooo slow. By the time I got up to the register to order, I was gnawing a part of my arm off. Didn’t help that I ran into Cole. Totally misjudged the dynamic. Man, the look he gave me—pure murder.

He’s sort of always been like that—a touch on the grumpy side—but this time? It was like he took on a whole persona of “look at me and die.”

But the brief look that I did take, umm…let’s just say the boy grew into a man. I’ve always thought Cole was cute. How could I not with that brown hair that he liked to flip to the side and those penetrating blue eyes that always had a heavy set of brows over them? Not to mention I’ve always tended to flock toward the grumpier sort. But wow, I wasn’t expecting to be bowled over by just how handsome he is now. How sharp his jawline is, peppered in a thick scruff, how tall…how broad. The deep tone of his voice and the even surlier disposition. Talk about the kind of hero you look for in a Lovemark movie.

In a huff, Taran turns toward me. “Can you please, please try not to be difficult?”

“How am I being difficult? I wasn’t aware we needed to stand in a single file, waiting for our aunt to greet us as if we’re the house staff.” I take another slurp of my soup. “When she finally shows up, I’ll be there to greet her—”

The front door opens, startling me, and I jump, my spoon clattering into the bowl in front of me. Anxiety zings through me as I bolt over to Taran and stand at her side, our arms pressing together as the door swings open, revealing Aunt Cindy with a walker, Martha and Mae standing on either side.

And it’s a sight to behold.

Martha and Mae both sport their signature high-rise hair—that’s what I like to call it. They like to say the higher the hair, the closer to the North Pole. But it’s the matching cerulean-blue, velour track suits that send me, because Aunt Cindy is wearing one as well.

“My girls,” Aunt Cindy coos with more enthusiasm than I expected. I might have been totally wrong to assume, but I just thought that we’d be coming here to care for an elderly woman in her bed, her shaky arm lifting up to point to her ice water for a palate cleanse. Sure, Mom said she’d had some recovery time in an assisted living facility where they focused on getting her up and walking. But this…this vibrant, smiling, velour-track-suit-wearing woman in her tinted blue glasses is not the human I was expecting.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” Aunt Cindy says, gesturing to me and Taran.

“Positively radiant,” Martha says.

“And how wonderful that they grew into their noses,” Mae adds.

Brow creased, I touch my nose and look toward Taran, who seems unfazed.

“Good to see you, Aunt Cindy,” Taran says, stepping up and hugging her. “You look so well.”

“We spent the morning watching YouTube videos of some naughty Thunder from Down Under men dressed in Santa costumes, thrusting their way around Santa’s workshop. Had no idea it was a Bawhovier tradition, but it sure did put some color in my cheeks.”

Ew.

Gross.

“Niall was her favorite,” Mae says with a nudging elbow to Aunt Cindy.

Niall?

And look at that, I’m witness to more color in Aunt Cindy’s cheeks. Not how I envisioned starting off the visit.

“Hi, Aunt Cindy,” I say, moving in and giving her a hug. “Glad you, uh, found Niall.”

Not sure why I said that. I say stupid things when I’m uncomfortable.

“Thank you, dear. He was quite charming.”

Charming is a nice way to describe a thrusting man in a G-string.

“Here, let me help you in,” Taran says. “We have dinner ready on the table.”

“How lovely.” She looks between us, a shaky smile on her lips. “I’m so lucky to have you two in my life, dropping everything to help me out.”

Ugh, when she says things like that, it makes me feel guilty for being annoyed by the horrendously cold weather, grumpy neighbor, and winking doll room.

She then turns to Martha and Mae. “Thank you, ladies, for your hospitality. Once I’m better, I’ll be bringing over brownies.”

“Not if you put those black beans in them,” Martha says with a point of her finger. “I know you’re a health nut, but black beans shouldn’t be in the same sentence as the word brownie.”

Mae nods with a snort. “I second that.”

And then together they take off toward their house, the yellow one diagonally across from Aunt Cindy’s.

The entire cul-de-sac is like a pastel Christmas palette: pink, green, light green, red, and yellow. It somehow all goes together. And with poinsettias adorning each porch and entryway, the houses have a brand of cohesiveness that says hey, we celebrate Christmas, but it’s like we’ve been designed by a single girl who decorates her house for the holidays in her own magical Barbie way.

I shut the door as Taran helps Aunt Cindy to the table.

For someone who broke her hip, she’s moving around pretty well. I know she’s had time to heal in the hospital, but it makes me wonder if she brought us here for any other reason. I wouldn’t put it past her, as Aunt Cindy has been known to pull some fast ones on people.

Once we’re all settled, she removes her cloth napkin from under her silverware—Aunt Cindy always appreciates a well-dressed table—and places it on her lap. “My, this looks delicious.”

She smiles at us and then digs her spoon into her soup, indicating that we’re allowed to do the same.

Thank God, because my body is starting to fail me from lack of nourishment.

Sure, I might have eaten an entire bag of pretzels on the way up here, along with two clementines, a box of Raisinets, and three applesauce-to-go pouches, but it clearly wasn’t enough.

“How was the drive in? Good thing you were able to make it on a nice day when the sun was out and the roads were clear.”

“It was a great drive,” Taran says.

“So sunny I had to put on my sunglasses,” I add.

“See, I told you it’s the same here as in California,” Aunt Cindy says.

Yeah, not even close.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful here. With the Rocky Mountains as the backdrop, it almost feels like Kringletown is inside a movie set, but California doesn’t quite reach the kinds of temperatures that would freeze my nipples off.

“So,” I say, wanting to change the subject and not talk about how much Aunt Cindy wishes I’d give up my bikini for a pair of snow boots, “how is the hip feeling?”

“Okay,” she says. “I can get around at a slow pace, but everyday activities are difficult, which is why I’m glad you’re here. Why I’m glad you’re both here.” She sets down her spoon, pats her face with her napkin, and says, “I actually have something to speak to you two about. It’s quite important.”

Mom warned us about this.

It’s the death talk; I can feel it. Mom said Aunt Cindy was in her feels about her broken hip and how that ultimately leads to death for old people, so I’m mentally prepared to assure Aunt Cindy she’s not dying and I know Taran is as well.

“What do you need to talk to us about?” Taran asks in a calm, almost sweet voice. It’s nice that at least one of us gets to hear it.

“As you know, Kringletown means a lot to me.”

“Yes,” Taran says. “We’re very aware.”

“And for the last few years, I’ve taken part in the Christmas Kringle contest. A contest the town puts on every year where we name who is the most Christmas-y of them all.” Hmm, is this where she says she’s going to keel over before she can enter? “And for the last few years, I’ve come in second, meaning I haven’t earned the title of Christmas Kringle.”

“Second place is better than last,” I say with a lift of my spoon.

Aunt Cindy flashes her weary eyes at me. “Second place is still a loss.” Should have seen that coming, given her competitive spirit. “And last year, after I took second again, I decided that I was going to step up my game.”

“Oof, such a shame you broke your hip,” I say. “At least there’s next year.”

“There will be no next year,” Aunt Cindy says with a hint of sass in her voice.

I set my spoon down as well, looking toward Taran, who seems to prefer observing rather than joining the conversation. She does that a lot, stays quiet while I do all the talking. She’s been like that my entire life.

“We love you, Aunt Cindy, and I say this with the utmost respect, but you thinking you’re going to die at any minute from a broken hip has to stop.”

“What are you gabbing on about?” she asks. “I don’t think I’m going to croak this very second.”

“Well, I mean, I wasn’t saying that, but—”

“If you’d let me finish, you’d know that I don’t plan on participating this year…but you are.”

Umm…say that again? I think candy canes were stuffed in my ears because it almost sounded like she said I would be the one entering the Christmas Kringle contest.

I glance at Taran and when I’m greeted with a grin that tends to eat…something, if you catch my drift, I realize I heard correctly.

Holding one finger up in question, eyes squinted, I clear my throat. “Funny, I thought I heard you say one of us would be participating.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

I nod and lean back in my chair. Looking at my sister, I say, “Well, Taran, good luck with that. If anyone can do it for the family, it would be you with your boundless determination and need for perfection.”

Taran slowly shakes her head. “Afraid it can’t be me.”

“Why? You said you were staying.”

“I am, to take care of our dear aunt Cindy.”

“Oh”—I wave her off—“I’ve got that covered.”

“You do? So you don’t mind giving her sponge baths?”

Dear God in heaven.

Hold back the dry heave.

I glance over at Aunt Cindy, hiding the shiver that races up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight into the air.

“As, uh, as tempting as it is to have such a deep-rooted bonding moment with someone so important in my life, I just don’t know how good I’d be at getting…all the crevices. But, hey, how about you take care of the bathing.” I point to my sister. “And then I will take care of the rest while you work tirelessly on becoming the Kringleton.”

“Christmas Kringle,” Aunt Cindy corrects me.

“Right, the Christmas Kringle.” I take my spoon and dip it into my soup. “Glad we settled that.”Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

“I’m afraid that can’t be the case,” Aunt Cindy says as I have my spoon halfway to my mouth. She leans over, pats my hand, and looks me in the eyes. “I love you, sweetheart, but unfortunately, I don’t trust you with my life.”

Wow!

Okay, that stings.

Uh, can we say a bit harsh?

Taran snorts but is smart enough not to make eye contact with me.

Keeping my expression controlled, I say, “As nice a compliment as that is to Taran, may I ask why?”

“Oh Storee, you’ve never been the caring kind.”

Now, there’s shocking someone with an opinion, and then there’s straight up insulting someone to their face.

Seems like Aunt Cindy chose violence today.

“I do too care. I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask. Ha! Got her there.

“Yes, and I appreciate that, but as you know, your sister is a nurse and just…more equipped for taking care of me in a way that I need to survive this horrible tragedy.”

My God, she broke a hip while retrieving gingerbread cookies. It’s not like she got mauled by a bear and her body is being held together by stitches and glue.

“And I’ll be sure to give you the best of care,” Taran says.

Does that care include sticking your nose up Aunt Cindy’s ass? Because if so, show me the way to the Kringle award—I will not stoop to such levels.

“I know you will, dear,” Aunt Cindy says and then turns to me. “Which means you, my Storeebook, will be my protégée.”

Yup, don’t like the sound of that.

I check my nonexistent watch on my wrist. “Oof, as great as that sounds, I just remembered I need to—”

“You will do this for me,” Aunt Cindy says, using her stern, don’t-mess-with-me voice. The only other time I ever heard her use such a tone was when Taran and I accidentally chopped down her most prized potted poinsettia in her front yard. It took her a whole year to forgive us.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Um, okay, but you know, you will make it through this hip thing, and there’s always next year. Also, ever think about the sympathy you can garner from participating with a broken hip? It’s practically a fast-track right to first place.”

“I refuse to wait another year with the bias floating through this town—no one will believe I’m up for it next year if I don’t already have a representative on the throne. I need someone young, a whippersnapper who can lead the charge, impress the judges, flirt with them, pull out all the tricks to secure the title.” From the drop of spittle that flew out of her mouth onto the fine lace tablecloth, I’m getting the impression that this award means a lot more to her than I thought.

“I first want to say thank you for calling me young. Coming up on thirty has made me feel like I have one foot in the grave. So, bless you. But unfortunately, I don’t know anything about this Kringle thing.”

“That’s why you’ll be my protégée. While your sister cleans my crevices, you shall perfect the act of becoming the Town Kringle.”

The image of all of that is just too disturbing.

I offer my aunt a gentle smile, trying to ease her into accepting that I won’t be participating. “It really sounds like a great time, but I must admit, I’m not sure—”

“I had your application dropped off today. Bob Krampus is excited to see what you can bring to the competition.”

My expression falls. “You already gave my application to Santa? A forged application?”

She nods. “Yup. Quite thrilled you’re giving your performative spirit another try.”

And there it is…a mention of the past that still likes to haunt me in my dreams.

“Aunt Cindy—”

“It’s a done deal,” Taran chimes in. “You’re going to participate in the Christmas Kringle, and I’m going to take care of Aunt Cindy.”

“But—”

“You know, I’m feeling a little weak,” Aunt Cindy says, bringing her hand up to her cheek. “I think…I think I should lie down.” Oh my God, a few seconds ago she was frothing at the mouth, excited about the Christmas Kringle, and now she’s feeling weak. Someone has been attending acting school.

“Let me help you to your room,” Taran says as she assists Aunt Cindy to a standing position with her walker.

I sit back in my chair and watch as my great-aunt hunches over, pretending to be feeble and incapable when minutes ago she was blushing from the thought of Niall, the G-string-thrusting Santa.

I knew I was going to get played. I just didn’t realize it was going to be like this.

“That should do it,” I mutter to myself as I finish turning all the dolls in the room around so I don’t have to look at their faces.

I take a step back, observing my work, making sure I didn’t miss any, when there’s a knock at my door.

Taran appears, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “You really think that’s going to help?” she asks.

“It will,” I say and then look her in the eyes. “And I swear to God, Taran, if you come in here and turn one of them around, I will be a fixture on that trundle bed, offering you zero privacy with Guy.”

She smirks, as she probably already had the thought to mess with me. But at least the threat is out there. I will not tolerate any sort of funny business when it comes to me and these dolls.

“Did Aunt Cindy go to bed?”

“Yes,” Taran says while I take a seat on the bed.

“Now, about this Christmas Kringle thing. Do we think that she is possibly mistaken, that maybe she turned in an application for herself? You know, I think I saw an article somewhere that linked dementia with broken hips. Maybe dinner tonight was a dementia moment for her.”

“First of all, dementia is not something to joke about.”

“I wasn’t joking. I’m serious about the article,” I say.

“And secondly,” she continues, completely ignoring me, “she was very serious. While I was helping her into her nightgown, she made me promise her that I’d make sure to keep you in the competition.”

“And you said no, I’d never do that to my sister, right? After everything she’s been through, I wouldn’t torture her like that?”

“I told her you’d do it.”

I flop back on the floral bedspread and stare up at the canopy. “Taran, why? You know I can’t…I can’t do anything that requires performing.”

“You don’t even know what the Christmas Kringle thing is,” Taran says.

I sit back up, propped up by my hands behind me, and say, “Uh, yeah, I do. While you were combing Aunt Cindy’s hair, I was looking it up online. There are several competitions required to become the Christmas Kringle, and they all play out in front of the town. I’m not doing it.”

Taran sighs and walks over to the bed, where she takes a seat. “Storee, don’t you think it’s time that you get over your fears?”

“Get over my fears?” I say, exasperated. “Taran, I was humiliated in front of this town. The last thing I want to do is relive that.”

“You were eighteen.”

“Which was a very impactful year for me. A fresh adult with possibilities in front of her. And then for that to happen…” I shake my head. “I won’t relive it.”

Taran takes my hand in hers. “You tripped over your elf shoe and knocked over a cutout wooden present. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Uh, are you forgetting the fact that the wooden present knocked into Mrs. Fiskers, who lost her balance and tumbled down the hill and into the river, where there was a rescue effort full of fireman, police officers, and medics to pull her out?”

Yeah, that happened.

I sent a lady in her fifties tumbling down a hill and into a freezing cold river.

“It was humiliating, Taran. I didn’t want to do the stupid Santa reveal in the first place, but I needed the volunteer hours for school, so I was forced to parade around in an elf costume. I should have known it wasn’t going to go well.”

“Didn’t you forget a line you had to say too?” she asks, just sticking the knife further into the back of my memories.

“Thanks for bringing it up.” I lean against the headboard and draw my knees into my chest. “Ever since then, I’ve made it my mission to always be the person behind the screen, editing out the embarrassment, rather than the girl in front of the camera.”

“And you’re very good at your job,” Taran says, a rare compliment from her. “But this is going to be different. You’re older now. Less…clumsy.”

“I’m still clumsy, and the town knows it—they don’t ever forget anything. They didn’t forget about the hot chocolate shortage of 2012. They didn’t let me live down the signature tree-tipping over in Baubles and Wrappings. And they most definitely will never forget about Mrs. Fiskers being knocked into the river.” Whispering, I add, “They had to treat her for hypothermia. The river was mostly frozen, but her elbow hit the ice, cracked it just enough for a rush of water to wash over her.

“I think she was being dramatic. It wasn’t that cold out that day.”

“Doesn’t mean the water wasn’t cold.”

Taran sighs and then places her hand on my knee. “Storee, I understand that you’re nervous, and rightfully so. You haven’t had the best of luck in this town, but this is for Aunt Cindy. She’s the one who created all of the magical Christmas moments we’ve had in our lives. It wasn’t Mom and Dad; it was her. And she’s asking for help, so I think we owe it to her.”

I groan because I know that she’s right.

Aunt Cindy was the one who welcomed us into her house during Christmas, wrapped us in the deepest and warmest hugs, included us in decorating the tree, made cookies with us, and allowed us to use her dining room table as Santa’s sleigh and her chairs as the reindeer.

She was the one who created the magic.

I lean my head back. “Taran…I’m going to humiliate myself again.”

“You won’t,” she says. “You’re older, wiser, and you have Aunt Cindy mentoring you. If anything, you’re going to succeed. Promise.”

Why do I feel like this is a disaster waiting to happen?