—
Benny was waiting for me in this floor’s Santa’s village to perform what might have been the most dangerous, riskiest role of the day. For the next ten minutes, he had the hazardous job of pretending to be a Macy’s intern and telling parents that this Santa was on a pee break and that they should try the Santa on the second floor if they needed immediate attention. He didn’t even have a Macy’s badge—just a clipboard and a stern expression. (“People never say no when you’re carrying a clipboard,” he assured me. “If it was enough to get me backstage for Adele, it’s enough to enable your Sant-o-mime.”)
Sal’s Santa station was at the back of a sleigh. I reached under and found a full spare outfit, and grabbed the hat. There wasn’t any mirror, so I used my phone to check myself out and put everything in place. I was so focused on this that I didn’t notice the little boy in front of me until he said, “Santa, why are you taking a selfie?”
“I was just waiting for you to show up,” I said, all while thinking, How did you get past Benny, kid?
(Answer: Kids don’t give a shit about clipboards.)
Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy climbed right onto my lap and sat down on my thigh.
Fine, I thought. We’re going to do this.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Max.”
“And have you been naughty or nice this year?”
I could see him do the mental calculations, then figure out which answer led to presents.
“Nice,” he said decisively.
“Good. That’s really all I need to know. Have a merry Christmas!”
But Max wasn’t budging.
“Tanner in my class says you’re not real,” he said.
“I’m right here,” I pointed out. But that didn’t feel right. If it wasn’t a lie, it felt like a dodge. I owed Max better.
“Look, Max,” I said. “The thing to remember—what I really want you to remember—is that it doesn’t matter whether I actually live at the North Pole or whether I’m the one who brings you presents every Christmas Eve. People like Tanner are going to tell you I’m pretend, and then when you get older, people like Tanner are going to tell you other things are pretend. But you know what to say to that? So what. That’s what you tell them. Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether the story’s true or not. What matters is the care that’s been put into the story. The love. If something is pretend, that usually means someone has taken the time to build a story for you to live in. And building stories takes a lot of work. And, yes, there will come a time when you’ll see the story isn’t true. But the intentions behind it? Completely true. The love behind it? Also true.”
Max’s eyes had glazed over a little. When I was done, he blinked and asked, “But what about presents?”
“You’ll get them. And they will come from people who love you. Which means much more than having the presents come from some arbitrary guy with reindeer at his disposal.”
Max seemed satisfied with that.
And so did the girl standing behind him.
I hadn’t noticed Lily come in, I had been so focused on Max.
“Why, hello,” I said.
She’d put away Joey and the red Moleskine and the $12.21 Macy’s gift card. The only thing in her hand was the card I’d written her, with its two words: Happy Anniversary.
“Run along now,” I murmured to Max. He took the cue and took off toward Benny, who was waiting to usher him out to his parents.
“Hi,” Lily said.
“Hi,” I said.
“You’re dressed as Santa,” she observed.
“There’s no getting one past you, is there?”
“For me.”
“Let’s just say this is not a situation that would have ever happened if I’d never met you.”
Lily took out her phone and grinned. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
She took a picture. But I was really the one who wanted to have a picture—not of me in a Santa suit, but of her seeing me in a Santa suit. She looked like someone who believed I was real.
“Happy anniversary,” I told her, repeating the two words I’d written in her card.
“Happy anniversary.”
“Now come here, you. We only have a short time before another kid gets around Benny.”
“I’m not sitting on your lap,” Lily said.
I patted the bench of the sleigh. “I left you some room here.”
She put down her bag and sat next to me. She was still a little out of breath from running around.
“So,” I said, “tell me about your year.”
In response, she began to cry.
I wasn’t expecting this, but I wasn’t not expecting it, either. I knew this had been inside her. I just hadn’t known if she’d ever let it out. I was grateful that Santa decided to dress softly, because it made it easier for me to pull her close, easier to hold her there.
“It’s okay,” I told her.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not okay.”
I took her chin in my hand. Made her look past the beard, into my eyes.
“No. I mean that it’s okay that it’s not okay.”