Naughty or Nice

8. Rora

8

RORA

DECEMBER 10

“ N ow, remember to be extra good, and we’ll see what we can do about getting you that racing track, Austin.”

“Thank you, Santa!”

I look up from behind my laptop as Henry helps the kid down from the throne, giving him one last hug and handing him one of the stockings we give to all the kids who visit Santa. The little boy hugs it tight to his chest.

Henry really is in his element with the kids. It’s hard to imagine him on a research station in remote Greenland with just a handful of other scientists and visitors. It’s harder not to let the sight of it turn me into a puddle.

His new job, which he officially accepted before work on Wednesday morning, sounds more like him: traveling the world and meeting new people every few weeks.

I hit send on the pictures, uploading them to the tablet by the cash register, where people can scroll through the pictures, add pre-set filters, and pick their favorites to have printed.

“Noelle will take you through the pictures at the register,” I tell Austin’s grandma, my old high school guidance counselor.

“Thank you, Rora. God, I can’t believe how grown up you are.” Ms. Herrera shakes her head like she’s offended by the mere thought of time. “Austin, honey, say thank you to Rora. ”

“Thank you, Miss Rora!” Austin throws his little arms around my legs and squeezes me.

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Have a great Christmas,” I tell them.

“I know better than to say the same to you,” Ms. Herrera replies with a laugh, waving as she and her grandson leave the grotto.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Henry says from his throne.

When I look up, he’s smiling softly, and I have to look away. Because if I look at him in full Santa attire for so long without the shield of my camera, I’ll forget everything I said about things being complicated and climb on his lap in the middle of the toy store. The past few days have been fucking torture.

“My hatred of Christmas is well known in this town. There’s been more than one intervention over the years.” Said interventions usually involved Christmas cookies, at least. “You ready for the next kid?”

“Let’s do it.”

I cross the grotto and pull open the curtain, only for a small curly-haired girl dressed head to toe in pink to run inside before I can call, Next! I share a look of surprise with Henry before taking her in. She’s older than most kids who come to see Santa and oddly familiar. Which probably means her family is local.

“Hi,” she says, looking up at me expectantly. Oh, to have the confidence of children.

“Hi. I’m Rora. What’s your name?”

“Ava.”

“Nice to meet you, Ava. Do you have a grownup with you?”

“My dad,” she replies. “But he lets me do things on my own. I’m almost nine.”

“That’s pretty grown up, but we need your dad here too,” I explain as an all too familiar voice calls her name behind the curtain.

“In here, Dad! ”

I brace myself as the curtain opens, bringing me face to face with my senior-year boyfriend.

Kenny’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “Holy shit! It’s Sour Stanley!”

Nine and a half years . It’s been almost a decade since I left, and I still haven’t escaped the fucking nickname.

“Hey, Kenny.”

He rushes forward and pulls me into a hug that I begrudgingly return.

I haven’t seen Kenny since graduation, but we broke up amicably. He was someone I liked enough to have fun with before escaping Wintermore, but it was never going to be anything more.

I look up over Kenny’s shoulder to see Henry glaring at his back. He notices my gaze and quickly changes his expression into something more neutral.

“Why did you call her that, Dad?” Ava interrupts, giving me a chance to pull out of Kenny’s grip.

His eyes widen as he realizes he has to explain the shitty nickname to his kid. “Oh, um…” He looks at me for help, but he’s not getting anything out of me. “Well, Rora was younger… She liked sour candy and didn’t smile a lot, so people started calling her Sour Stanley in middle school.” God forbid a woman doesn’t smile.

I sneak a look at Henry, who’s back to glaring at Kenny.

Ava turns to me, crossing her arms. “Why don’t you smile? Are you sad?”

Jesus Christ. “I’m not sad. I’m just not a smiley person.”

“That’s cool,” Ava replies. “My nana says you don’t have to smile just because someone tells you to.”

“That’s good advice. Do you want to meet Santa?” Ava seems sweet, but the faster I can get her out of here, the less likely Kenny is to start reminiscing.

The second the question crosses my lips, Ava’s entire demeanor changes. She shrinks, shadows crossing her face .

“Come on. You wanted to do this,” Kenny complains.

I ignore him, crouching down so I’m at eye level with Ava. “What are you thinking?”

She bites her lip. “Some boys at school said Santa’s not real and I’m too old to sit in his lap for pictures.”

I wasn’t raised to believe in Santa, but my parents made damn sure I knew other kids believed and it wasn’t okay to tell them otherwise. I still remember how devastated Noelle was when she found out.

“Well, that’s just silly of them, isn’t it?” I tell Ava. “Of course Santa’s real. He’s right there.” I point to Henry, and Ava peeks shyly over her shoulder.

Henry gives her a little wave, smiling widely. “Hi, Ava.”

She gasps, turning back to me, her eyes sparkling. “He knows my name!” she whisper-screams.

“Santa knows everyone’s names. He’s magic,” I tell her, and her eyes go wide with excitement. “And you don’t have to sit in his lap to get your picture taken.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope. In fact…” I reach behind my little desk setup and pull out a fluffy bear in an elf costume. “This is Snowball, and she’s Mrs. Claus’s favorite bear. Mrs. Claus really wants some pictures of Snowball and Santa together, but Snowball doesn’t like sitting on Santa’s lap either. Maybe you could stand beside Santa and hold her so I can take some pictures for Mrs. Claus?”

She practically tears the bear out of my hand, skipping excitedly over to stand beside Henry.

Kenny whistles. “Shit, you’re good at this.”

“I’ve been doing it a long time.” I love taking pictures of kids. They usually don’t have the same hang-ups about the camera that adults do, and I love seeing their personalities shine through in pictures. They just need to feel heard.

We’re only three hours into the day, but my neck is killing me. I need to get a more comfortable camera strap. Rolling my neck, I pull my camera over my head. I don’t often take pictures without it, but it’s not like my camera is at risk in the grotto.

Ava is a lot less shy with the bear in her arms, giving a toothy grin to the camera.

“I think we got it,” I call, giving Ava a thumbs-up after flicking through the previews. I transfer the images to my laptop and set my camera on the table while Henry does the usual “what do you want for Christmas” routine. Usually, grownups hover near the throne to listen, but Kenny barely spares a glance for his daughter. I make a mental note to check with Henry what Ava wants for Christmas so I can pass it on later.

Kenny leans over the desk, propping his face up on his elbows. “How long are you in town for?”

I sort through the pictures on my laptop, not looking up. “Not sure yet.”

“We should hook up while you’re here. Go out for a drink or something.”

Noelle and I are going to be having a talk after work. She checks everyone in for Santa pictures; a little warning that Kenny was in line would’ve been nice.

“I don’t think so, but thanks.”

“Come on, Ror. It’ll be just like old times,” Kenny whines, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Apparently, becoming a dad hasn’t matured him any. “I’m not with Ava’s mom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nope. I just don’t want to.”

A shadow looms over Kenny’s back, and I look up to see Henry walking over with Ava in tow. He rarely leaves the throne while families are in here, but he also doesn’t usually glare daggers at them.

“You did great, Ava.” I hold out my fist, and she bumps it before handing the bear over. “Mrs. Claus is going to love these pictures. ”

“Thank you for letting me hold Snowball. I can’t wait to tell everyone at school!”

Beside her, Kenny rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that. You’re just going to get upset when they?—”

“Actually, Ava,” Henry interrupts Kenny, smiling down at her. “We try not to tell too many people about Snowball, so she stays nice and safe. We wouldn’t want everyone rushing in here and asking to take pictures with her.”

Ava mimics locking her lips. “I’ll keep your secret.” She flings her arms around my waist.

I like these kinds of hugs. But when Ava lets go, her dad surges forward, spreading his arms wide and saying, “My turn.”

I watch in horror as his arm connects with my camera, launching it from the desk. Time stands still for a moment as both Henry and I lunge for it, but not long enough for either of us to stop it connecting with the hardwood with a sickening crunch.