Her Secret Santa

Chapter Three

CLARA

T oday fucking sucks.

It’s been drizzling rain all day, not cold enough to snow, but cold enough for it to turn to wet, yucky sludge on the ground. After exhausting all online job openings, I thought walking through some of the busier areas of New York and showing up in person would give me a fighting chance at finding a new job. But, every restaurant that I’ve stopped by has no positions available, not even just for Thanksgiving Day.

Maybe it’s just because the holidays are right around the corner, and all positions were filled long ago, or maybe it’s simply my luck. The holiday season, more so than most times of the year, is meant to make people feel like everything is going to be ok. Everything is supposed to be okay, but instead life feels especially helpless right now.

I’ve always tried to be optimistic, but now, I just feel like crying. I can’t though. Not only do I refuse to let anyone see me cry, but I know that if I start right now, I won’t be able to stop. I don’t have time for that right now. I’m less than a block from the nursing home, and Grandma will know if something is upsetting me.

She’ll probably know anyway, but it’ll be easier to change the subject if I don’t still have tear tracks drying on my face.

I step inside the nursing home with a wide smile on my face as I walk up to the receptionist. The warmth inside is a nice contrast to the chill of the mid-winter air outside, and I take a deep, calming breath. Walking into the small, but bright and freshly cleaned lobby, I’m instantly greeted with a warm smile from Sarah. She’s been the receptionist at Brooklyn Gardens for almost a decade, and she’s always sweet to everyone.

“Sarah, hey,” I say as I pull my scarf off.

A strand of copper hair falls over her cheek as she leans back from the computer to give me her full attention.

“Clara! It’s so good to see you,” she says. “You stopping by to see Nora?”

“Yeah, I wanted to check in and see if she needed anything for tomorrow.”

A call comes in before we have a chance to chat more, and I wave goodbye to her, then head down the hall toward my grandma’s room. Her door is slightly open when I knock, pushing the door open more and waiting to hear her voice before I enter.

“Come in.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I’m here to check on my grandma, not to blurt out all my own worries. I’ll figure everything out, and then I’ll tell her, but I don’t want to dampen her mood. The holidays are a time that both of us cherish, and I want her first one away from home to be nothing but happy.

I feel a million times better as soon as I swing the door to her room open with a bright smile, my stress easier to push to the back of my mind when I see her. Her room is decorated with all the trappings of home, plush pillows and her favorite knit blanket on the bed, an endless array of soft sweaters for her to bundle up in. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she sees me, her wrinkled face welcoming as she smiles wide.

“Clara, sweetie, look at you!” she says, looking over me. “You’re all wet, come in and get warm.”

She’s sitting in her cozy maroon armchair, a blanket tossed over her lap. I’m grateful that her mind has stayed so sharp, even if her knees and hips have given out on her.

“Hi, Grandma.” I close the door behind me and walk over to press a kiss to her weathered cheek before taking a seat in the armchair next to hers. “I’ve been out running errands, and it’s been raining all day.”

The throw blanket she passes me smells like her favorite gardenia perfume, and it brings back memories of sitting just like this when I was a kid. Of course, back then, it was in the living room of her apartment, but we’ve worked hard to make this place feel like home. I still live in that apartment now, a little one bedroom that would be kind of miserable if not for all the memories of my grandma that have soaked into the walls there. I never knew who my dad was, and my mom decided drugs were more important than I was by the time I was three. My grandma is all I’ve ever had.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she says, pursing her lips a bit as she frowns. “My girl doesn’t look happy.”

I force a laugh and wave the thought away, even though I know it won’t do much to convince her. She’s always known me too well for me to lie to her, but I don’t want her to worry.

“Oh, it’s just been a long day. I thought it was supposed to snow, so I didn’t bring an umbrella, and the rain is cold.”

She watches me closely, her eyes narrowed as she tries to root out the real reason. I’ll find a new job, and then I’ll tell her, but for now she doesn’t need to know.

“I’m really ok,” I promise, ignoring the twinge of guilt over keeping this a secret. “Just a little tired. I wanted to make sure you don’t need anything for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I’ll be here tomorrow, but I won’t be able to stay for the whole day. I promised Brooke I’d stop by and help out with the kids in the evening.

“Oh, honey,” she croons, her smile coming back tenfold. “I’m just fine. Jared, that new cook, asked me for my pumpkin pie recipe. We’ll have turkey and ham, and he has a special mashed potato recipe he’s making. He said he’s using Thelma’s stuffing recipe, and I’ve heard great things about it from the other folks here.”

It’s good to hear that they’re going to do a Thanksgiving feast. I want my grandma to have a proper holiday season, and everyone here seems like they’re putting real effort into making that happen.

“That’s so good to hear,” I say. “I’ll have to steal a piece of pie before I leave.”

“I asked him to make extra,” she tells me with a wink, reaching over to pat my arm. “I want you to take some food for yourself, but I already made sure it was ok for you to take all of the leftovers over to Brooke.”

I have to put effort into keeping my tears at bay when I hear that. I had been planning on making at least some sides and a turkey for the kids, but without a job, I don’t have the money for it. Knowing that I can help make sure they all have a good Thanksgiving with some home cooked food is a huge weight off my shoulders.

“Thank you, Grandma. I should get going,” I tell her as I pull back. “I have to stop by the craft store and pick up a few things for tomorrow. What time should I come by?”

She pats my hand, her smile wide and happy, even if I can see the worry lingering in her gaze. I really wish she’d let me do the worrying, just this once.

“You know me, I’ll be up early,” she says. “Just come by when you’re up, let yourself sleep in for once. You don’t get days off too often.”

I bite back a wince at the unpleasant reminder that all my days are currently days off, and that I really need to change that.

“I’ll be by after breakfast then.” There’s probably something they could use help with, and it’s not like anyone’s going to be calling me back about my resume on Thanksgiving. It’ll be nice to spend the day here with my grandma and the other residents.“You get some good rest tonight, ok?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says with a chuckle.

I bend down to hug her tightly one last time, the scent of her perfume a comforting reminder of home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!”

I make my way out of her room and back down the hallway, waving goodbye to Sarah as I make my way through the lobby. She’s on another call, but she waves cheerily as I wrap my scarf back around my throat and step outside. The rain seems to have stopped, which is nice, but it’s still plenty cold.

Thankfully, the craft store is only a few blocks away, and I should be able to make it before Lexi starts to clean up from craft night.

I hold the door open to let the last family out, a single mom herding three babbling toddlers covered in glitter and paper scraps. She shoots me a grateful glance, and I smile brightly at her before stepping in through the double doors.

“Clara, right on time,” Lexi says, beaming widely as she straightens up. “Don’t tell anyone, and I don’t know anything about this, but this magically appeared.”

She lifts a huge tote bag stuffed full of colored paper, glue sticks, glitter, and other craft supplies, holding it out to me. Her dark skin is covered in glitter and paint, but she looks happy as a clam. Lexi owns the store and has a huge heart. The first time I came in and asked if she’d be willing to donate leftover supplies to the children’s home, she pretty much decided to adopt me on the spot. Half the time I stop by she pushes cookies or a restaurant gift card onto me, but this is more than I could have ever expected. The kids are going to be thrilled .

“Lexi!” I exclaim, my eyes wide as I take the bag of donations from her. “This is too much! I’m absolutely going to take it, but it’s really—I owe you.”

She laughs, waving me off and tucking a loose black curl back into her bun.

“You don’t owe me anything, sugar,” she says, both firm and affectionate. “You do plenty, and those kids deserve a good Thanksgiving. I want you to have a good one too. Don’t work yourself to the bone.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise.

As long as I think about all the good things coming up, it’s a little easier to breathe. My grandma will have a good Thanksgiving, and I’ll be able to take food over to the kids. Brooke will be excited to know the kids will at least have a proper dessert that’s not from the store. And I know Steele will be over the moon about getting to make a mess during craft time. He and Nina will probably be covered in glitter for a week to come. They’re siblings, both of them only five, and craft time is their favorite by far. I’ll have to let them know Santa sent these specially for them.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I shift the bag to one arm so I can pull it out. I’m hoping it’s something important. I can’t afford to miss out on an opportunity. Allie’s name is flashing across my screen, and I feel a little disappointed before I actually read the text.

Allie: SOS good news babes!!!! May have found you a job, get your butt over here!

My brows shoot up toward my hairline in excitement, and I shoot her a response before turning back to Lexi.

“I have to head out, but seriously, thank you for this,” I say emphatically, pulling her into a tight, one-armed hug.

“Nothing to thank me for,” she says, a warm smile on her face as she pats me on the back. “Go do what you need to do, girl, I’ll see you next week.”

I thank her again before rushing back out onto the street, booking it toward Allie’s. I make it there in record time and hoof it up the stairs to her apartment to knock rapidly on the door. She opens it moments later, the wreath hanging on it swinging dangerously as she shoots me a wide smile and yanks me inside for a hug before I can catch my breath.

“Ok, so, I’ve been working on the Hawthorne Mall branding redesign, right?” She babbles before I even set the tote down. “We were there today to get an idea of what they want some of the new logo placements to go, showing them mock-ups and everything, and I just so happened to overhear that the head elf for their Christmas Santa display quit out of nowhere!”

I laugh, excited and confused in equal measures, and follow her down the narrow hallway into the kitchen.

“Head elf ?” I ask.

“Yeah, the one who, like, leads the kids to Santa and takes the picture and everything,” she says as she pulls a bottle of cheap wine from the fridge. “It’s only temporary, but they’re keeping it set up for all of December, and the pay’s pretty decent.”

I stare at her in shock, tears of gratitude welling up in my eyes as I watch her pour us each a glass of wine. She not only found me a job in a day , but she found me something that I’ll actually be good at and enjoy.

“Is there an application online?” I ask, already pulling my phone out. “Should I head to the mall and drop off my resume?”

Allie turns and holds out an overfull glass of chardonnay to me, looking exceptionally smug.

“I already talked to the mall manager. The job’s yours,” she says, flipping her hair back in a teasing gesture of pride. “If you want it, obviously.”

“If I want it?” I ask incredulously. “Holy shit, of course I want it!”

We hug, giggling and bouncing in my excitement. Sure, it’s nothing permanent, but something steady through December will take so much stress off my shoulders. I’ll be able to pay rent and the nursing home bill for December, both of which I have been worrying about.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I gush into her hair before pulling back to beam at her. “You’re an angel.”

“Fallen one, maybe,” she jokes, clinking our wine glasses together. “Besides, this was mostly selfish. I’m going to go insane if I have to be at the mall regularly over the holiday season, and now I’ll be able to bother you.”

A thrilled laugh bubbles from my lips, and I shake my head at her as I swallow a sip of wine. I can’t deny that I’m excited to get to see her more often. I usually have so little free time that we only see each other on the weekends, and even then it’s hit or miss.

Allie orders us pizza with a coupon she has and we settle down on the couch she’s had since college, as she tells me all about the rebrand she and her team is working on. She works for a graphic design company—one that she’s tried to get me into, but they require a college degree, so no luck there—and she gets to do some of the coolest stuff.

“You know what?” Allie says as she drains her third glass of wine, a tipsy grin on her face. “No more moping! We found you a job, and we’ll find you something long term before January. Things are going to be totally fine, I just know it!”

I grin at Allie affectionately, cradling my wine glass against my chest. She’s always been the confident one between us, and it’s nice to live vicariously through her sometimes. The twinkling of the Christmas lights she has pinned up on her walls makes her living room feel cozy and a little dreamlike, and it’s easy to imagine that either of us can afford more than on-sale wine and tiny apartments. It’s nothing more than a silly daydream, but maybe one day she’ll have real plants in her apartment instead of framed pictures of pretty trees that she prints at work.

“Ok, listen,” she says, standing and immediately pausing to find her balance before rounding her rickety old coffee table and rushing into her bedroom. “We’re making wish lists! Christmas lists! It’s going to be our tradition from now on!”

I can hardly even hear her through the walls, but I giggle drunkenly in agreement. We’ll probably forget about this by the morning, but it sounds like a great idea right now. She bursts back into the room with two pens in one hand and way more paper than we could possibly need in the other. I laugh at her exuberance as she rushes back toward the couch and sets paper and a pen in front of me.

“You have to make a Christmas list for you ,” she says firmly, wagging her finger at me. “I don’t want to see anything about making time for other people or donating more money or volunteering more. You have to be selfish, just once, ok?”

I laugh at the suggestion. She’s always on my case about doing more for myself, but I get by just fine. There are plenty of people out there who need help way more than I do.

“What would I even write?” I ask. “I barely even want anything.”

She hums thoughtfully, leaning over to grab my glass of wine for herself. I nudge her with my elbow playfully, but there’s no way I’ll finish it on my own, so it’s better if it doesn’t go to waste.

“You want a laptop,” she says, pointing at the empty page triumphantly. “You want a laptop and a job in graphic design.”

My nose crinkles when I grin at her, but I obediently write both of those down. I don’t know if wanting a job really counts as being selfish, but working in graphic design as anything other than a freelancer is kind of a pipe dream, so it’s close enough.

“And you want to put money in savings when you get your new job instead of giving it all to Brooke and thrifting stuff for the residents at the nursing home.” That one may not be something I want , but it would be selfish of me, so I write it down without complaint. It’s not like this is some kind of binding contract. “And you definitely want to take your very best friend in the whole wide world for a spa day with the money from your new job.”

That makes me properly laugh, and I toss my head back in mirth before writing it down.

“What about a perfect white Christmas?” I ask, already jotting down notes.

“Ooh, yes, you have to go window shopping and make snow angels and ice skate,” Allie agrees immediately. “And maybe even go to a fancy Christmas ball or a gala or something you have to get dressed up for.”

“That sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” I tease, but I write it all down anyway.

It’s not like I don’t want to live in a fairy tale, it’s just that I can’t . It’s not real life. But dreaming about it is fun.

“What about a boyfriend?” Allie suggests, tapping the page excitedly. “Write down that you want to meet someone special.”

A boyfriend is too much right now. I can barely even make time to see Allie, much less date and get to know someone completely new.

“I don’t have time for a relationship, Allie,” I whine, rolling my eyes.

She huffs out a sigh and finishes the last of the wine.

“Alright, then how about experiencing your sexual desires, or something like that?” she asks. “I know what you read, little miss, and I know some random hookup will not give you what you want.”

I blush furiously at hearing her say it so frankly, shaking my head and burying my face in my hands. I’m not exactly shy about sex, especially when I’m talking to Allie—she knows about all of my fantasies, from the collars and ropes to the whips and chains. I just don’t have a lot of experience, and the guy who took my virginity was really only interested in getting himself off. It was… less than pleasurable on my end. I’ve been too nervous about having another shitty experience to actually go after it.

“Clara,” she wheedles, “this is supposed to be selfish . Just write it down. This is about what you want.”

She’s always been too damn good at reading me, and even better at talking me into things. If it was as easy as having what I wanted, I’d have been tied up and choked and made to cum until I couldn’t talk years ago. People don’t just get everything they want, and I’ve resigned myself to my fantasies.

Still, though, this list isn’t anything but a fantasy either. It’s not like any harm can come from writing it down, even if it is embarrassing.

I quickly add one last line about buying my grandma presents for Christmas, just to make myself feel better, and then push the paper away from myself.

“Alright, your turn,” I say, pointing at the empty paper in front of her. “You don’t get to torture me and not make one yourself.”

“Oh, I already have so many ideas,” she says, laughing brightly.

It’s nice to be able to focus on her wants, but I think I’ll keep my list with me. It can be a perfect reminder that maybe being selfish, just once in a while, wouldn’t be the worst thing.