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“You really are real,” the boy whispered.
“That’s right, and I know when you’ve been naughty or nice,” Papa joked, but it was awkward, of course.
Papa whisked me away, and the boy ran to the window and called out, “My name is Lars! What’s yours?”
I screamed back, “Natalie!”
When I think back on it, I realize it was the first time I ever got to introduce myself. I’d known everyone at the North Pole since I was a baby, and they all called me Natty, because that was what Santa called me. It was my first time being Natalie.
* * *
We’re all still standing near the refreshment tables when my papa comes bounding into the party, waving and ho-ho-hoing. The elves go wild. Elves don’t normally give in to big displays of emotion, but they make an exception where Santa is concerned. He’s a rock star to them. “Happy December First!” Papa calls out.
“Happy December First,” everyone shouts back.
“You’ve all been working so hard, and I’m just so darn proud of you. It’s going to be a real push to finish in time but we’re going to get it done, just like we do every year. Have a great time tonight! And tomorrow it’s game on!” Everyone claps and Papa looks around the crowd. “Where’s my Natty? Natty, come up here and say something to the troops.”
It’s the last thing I want, but the elves pull me forward and deposit me next to Papa, who puts his arm around me and looks at me the way he always looks at me, doting and proud. I wipe at the stains forming on the front of my dress. It’s a good thing my dress is the same color as the punch.
Papa beams at me. “Say something, Natty.”
What am I supposed to say? I’m just the boss’s daughter. “Um, merry Christmas,” I say, and everyone claps out of courtesy.
Papa signals to the elf band, who launch into a rousing rendition of “Last Christmas,” my dad’s favorite Christmas song. The elves all think it’s Elvis’s version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” but I know the truth. Papa loves Wham!
“Dance with your dear old dad, Natty,” he says, taking my hand in his. He leads me in a foxtrot, and I do my best to keep up. I can feel all the elves watching us, feeling sorry for me that I’m here dancing with my dad and not an actual date. “I bet your dance card’s been full all night. Natty, tell me what you want for Christmas.”
I ca
Papa gives me a knowing look and pats me on the shoulder before he twirls me. You’d think I’d know better than to lie to Santa Claus. “Dearest one, if you believe, I think you will get exactly what you want.”
I want to believe. I want so badly to believe.
There are two kinds of children. The kind who believe and the kind who don’t. Every year, it seems there are fewer in the world who do. Papa says it’s not an easy thing to ask a child to believe in what they can’t see; he says it’s its own magic. He says that if you have that magic inside you, you should protect it all your life and never let it go, because once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.
After the song is over, Papa wishes everyone a good night and goes back to his office. I want to follow him and fall asleep by the fireplace watching him go over his Naughty or Nice lists. But I don’t go, I stay in the Great Hall and sway to music and watch everyone else dance. Sondrine glides up beside me and says she likes my dress, which I know she doesn’t, but I say thank you anyway because she’s only trying to be kind. At least I’m not standing alone. Sondrine tells me about a dancing-elf video game they cooked up in the gaming department, complete with nonslip dance pad. At first it was a joke, but then they all got really into it, and now it looks like it might end up under a few kids’ Christmas trees.
But then Roan, a puppeteer elf, asks Sondrine to dance, and she skips off with him, smiling from pointy ear to pointy ear. When I was little, I used to tape my ears to try to get them to point. I was unsuccessful.
Elinor and Fly
* * *
At lunch in the workshop last week, Elinor asked me, “Who are you going to the Snow Ball with, Natty?”
There was a long silence. And then I said, “No one.”
“Oh,” she said, and there was so much pity in that one little word I couldn’t stand it.
I swallowed a bite of mooseloaf and then I said, “I thought about flying in this boy I know who lives in Sweden, but—”
“Who do you know that lives in Sweden?” she asked.
When I told her the story of yellow-haired Lars and the Swedish candy, her eyes got that squinched look they get when she doesn’t believe you. “Hmm,” she kept saying.
“So why is this the first we’re hearing about him?” Elinor ran her fingers through her silvery hair. “It sounds like you two had a strong co
I bit my lip. “We did have a strong co
“I think you should find this boy, Natty. See if it’s meant to be.” Then she called out, “Fly
“What?” he said at last.
Sweet as spun sugar, she said, “We need you to look up a boy named Lars from Sweden. Natty, did you say what he asked for? We can cross-reference his Christmas wish with Swedish boys with blond hair named Lars.”
Fly
“Don’t be such a Scrooge,” she said, and she went over to the computers, and nudged Fly
I nodded.
She typed some more. “Hmm. I don’t see anything.”
“Maybe it wasn’t Sweden. Maybe it was Norway. Or Finland. It could have been Finland!” I could hear the note of desperation in my voice, and they heard it too, and it was unseemly.
Elinor straightened up. “I should get back to the BB gun station. Ever since they started showing A Christmas Story on TV all day, it’s all kids are asking for.”
When she was gone, Fly
“I didn’t make it up,” I said. “I was telling the truth! And you’re supposed to be my friend, which means you’re supposed to believe me.”
“I am your friend, Natty. And as your friend, I’m telling you, you shouldn’t make up stories anyone can easily disprove.”
“I’m not! There really is a boy named Lars! I don’t know why he’s not in the database, but there has to be an explanation.” I let out a big sigh. “And I wish everyone would stop calling me Natty. My name is Natalie.”
“Sorry. You’re not a Natalie to me. It sounds so … grown up.”
“Well, I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said, putting my head down on the table.
“Whatever you say,” Fly
I sat there with my head on the desk, watching him work. He gets a very intense look about him when he works. Silver head bent over a toy, eyes narrowed in concentration. When he’s working, he doesn’t like to be disturbed. No elves do.
To his back, I asked, “Who … who are you taking to the Snow Ball, Fly
He hesitated. And then, without turning around, he said, “Elinor,” and I could feel something in me wither.
“Why?”
“Because I always go with Elinor.”
“Oh. Right. Of course you do.”
If I had outright asked and not only hinted, would he have said yes? Would he have changed course? Or would it have been the same as it is every year?