Do You Believe In Santa Claus?

Chapter One

My parents were thrilled when they learned the news that they were going to have a baby girl.  Immediately, they began to plan for their new arrival. My dad swore up and down that his unborn daughter wouldn't date a man until she was thirty. My mother daydreamed in pinks and ballerina tutus. They painted the nursery and packed the overnight bags, ready to bring home their bundle of joy.

I was born, bright and early, on Christmas morning. Every year, my mom and dad would tell me about how I was their greatest gift. How Santa Claus didn't come down the chimney with me. No, he brought me through the front door. Because he knew just how special I was and I needed to be treated a lot differently than the other presents in his huge, red bag. 

Of course, I hung on to every single magical word. As I got older, I think my parents thought I'd grow tired of hearing the story of my birth. But it was just the opposite. I never stopped believing in the magic of Santa Claus, much to their dismay. 

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Now, I'm a single, twenty-five year old woman with a Santa Claus fetish. Or that's what my best friend/roommate, Chloe, likes to say whenever she's in the mood to make fun of my beliefs, which is often. 

We're sitting in our living room, as per usual for a Saturday night. I'm putting the final touches to our Christmas tree and she's painting her toenails a bright orange to fuck with me. She does it on purpose this time of year, when everything is decked out in reds and greens. It's her sole purpose in life to disrupt the status quo. 

I hold up to similar ornaments. "Which one should I use?" I ask her, already knowing her answer.

"Gee, I don't know, Mistletoe Whore, the gold one." She points at the one in my left hand. It's sparkly and twisted in an intricate design. 

"They're both gold." I frown at her, putting the chosen ornament on the tree. "And, for the record, I'm not a mistletoe whore." I stick my tongue at her, causing her to giggle.

Chole screws the cap back on her nail polish and sets it down on the coffee table. "Oh, come on, Amelia, you get like super horned up for everything related to Christmas." She directs an arched caramel eyebrow my way. "And you know it."

I don't respond to her. She has a point. This holiday is my absolute favorite. It may have something to do with the fact that my birthday is on the exact day that Santa travels the world on his magical sleigh.

I finish with the ornaments and move onto the tinsel. It's old, something I picked up at a flea market last year, but I adore the red and green that twists through it. There's little snowflakes dotting it, here and there. And, to top it off, the older woman who sold it to me told me it was known to grant wishes. 

Obviously, I didn't actually believe the last part but I thought it was such a neat story to tell my future children so I bought it. And, now I was wrapping it around my tree, allowing myself to give into the tall tale. 

Please, oh please, let me find someone to spend Christmas with this year.

I would never tell Chloe about my wish. She'd feel guilty that she was going to be in Minnesota with her family and try to talk me into going with her, again. I just couldn't do it this year. As gorgeous as Christmas in the snow was, her family was a little too extreme for my tastes.

They were loud and enthusiastic about one another. As an only child, I wasn't used to all the commotion. So I told her that I wanted to have the apartment to myself as a present from her. Of course, Chloe and her perverted mind came to the conclusion that I would be entertaining a man and lectured me in the practice of safe sex for an hour.

I allowed her to believe it and I wouldn't sulk at my decision. It was my choice and as lonely as it would be, it would also be relaxing. Just as long as the bittersweet memories stayed away. 

It didn't used to be just me during the holidays. I used to go home to San Diego to spend them with my parents. But two years ago, they passed away in a car accident. Things just haven't been the same since then.

"Hey, shall we crack open some wine and toast to you finally getting some?" Chloe pulled me out of my thoughts. She had gone to the kitchen and was holding up some Merlot in one hand and two glasses in the other. "Or do we need something stronger?" She said when I didn't respond.

I laughed and shook my head. "Wine'll do." I choose not to comment on the 'getting some' part of her question. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her.

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