Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I used to watch the show.
One of the things I like best about Christmastime is that we all go to pick out a tree at the same place where Dad has been going since Alexis was Abby and Otis's age. Scrapple walks under the trees and sniffs all the trunks. He says he can tell which are the freshest cut ones so I always whisper to Mom or Dad which they are. Scrapple has been right every year. "You're sniffing a thousand," Mom told him when no one but me was listening.
"Tell Mom thank you and I like the baseball reference."
"Mom? Scrapple says he liked your baseball reference." That reminded me that I asked Santa to bring Scrapple a Yankee blanket for Christmas, but I didn't tell him that because I want it to be a surprise.
The tree we got yesterday is the best one we've ever had. It goes almost all the way to the ceiling and the needles are so, so thick but not bristly at all. It took us practically the whole day to decorate even with Gram and Granddad and Alexis helping. Usually Mom goes up on the super tall ladder we have to do the stuff at the top but because she's pregnant Alexis and Dad did it.
"I'm too wobbly this year," she said. "I don't know how Santa keeps his balance with that belly of his, but maybe he never has to use a ladder." Thumby and Bumpy aren't supposed to come until the beginning of April, but I think she might get to a 48-inch waist before then. When she sits down she already doesn't have very much lap left.
It was late when we finished the tree but since it was Saturday we got to stay up long enough to hang up our stockings, even though Santa won't be filling them for another two weeks.
"Hey, Dad, next year we're going to have to put the hooks closer together because we'll have two more stockings."
"You're right. We'll have to remember to get them. Maybe you can remind me in the fall, Eliophant."
Eliophant is what Docky calls me sometimes, especially if he's talking about my memory which he says is like an elephant's. Dad never called me Eliophant before so that made me happy.
"How about right after Hallowe'en? Is that enough time to get stockings with the new twins' names on them?"
"That would be perfect."
Today Gram came over in the morning and picked up Abby for her turn for "A Day Out with Gram." Once a month she takes one of us with her for something special. It's always a surprise and she always finds something that we love and probably wouldn't have thought of ourselves. It must be something fancy today because Abby is wearing a blue velvet dress. Right after they left Otis's friend Mark and his father came to take Otis with them to play peewee ice hockey and then Dad went out because he said he still had some secret Christmas shopping to do. That meant it was just Mom and me at home so it was a good time to talk to her about something that I've been wondering about.
"Mark looks a whole lot like his father, doesn't he?"
"He does."
"But Mark has two dads, Mister Hennessy and Mister Greenberg. They're really nice."
"They're very nice."
"Since Mark looks just like Mister Hennessy I don't think he was adopted, do you?"
"You're right, he wasn't adopted."
"So who is his mom? I know only women get pregnant. Dad explained it to me last year."
"I remember. That was when you had questions about babies when your homeroom teacher was going on maternity leave."
"It's kind of a personal question so I couldn't ask Mark or Mister Hennessy."
"Then I'm glad you're asking me."
"You always say I should never be embarrassed to ask you anything but since this is about s-e-x I had to wait for Abby and Otis not to be here. Also I decided since you're the one who gets pregnant, not Dad, I'd ask you."
Mom rubbed her belly. "Then that's another reason I'm glad you're asking me."
"I'm confused because Mark's fathers have been married for ten years and Mark is only five so Mister Hennessy couldn't have been married to Mark's mom at the same time."
"Ah, I see. Do you know what 'surrogate' means? You have such a big vocabulary but I'm not sure if you know that word."
I shook my head.
"A surrogate is a substitute. People who can't have babies the way most people do–maybe there's something that keeps a woman from getting pregnant, or maybe it's two men who want to be fathers–can find someone who will be a surrogate and have the baby for them."
"But Mister Hennessy is the dad?"
"Yes, he is."
"But Mom! That means he had sex with the surrogate mom when he was married to Mister Greenberg and you're not supposed to do that. Dad said. It's called cheating."
"No, sweetheart. He didn't. I know Dad told you about eggs and sperm, so what the doctor does is take some eggs from the woman and some sperm from the man and then mixes them up together in a lab. Then if everything goes well they get a teeny embryo–you know what an embryo is, don't you?"
"Sure. I used to be one."
"Me, too! So if there's an embryo, the doctors implant it in the surrogate mother and the baby grows there just the way you grew in me."
"That's like a chemistry experiment, Mom."
"Well, I guess it was at first, but people have been doing it for a long time. It's kind of a miracle of science, too."
"It sounds a lot better than sex to me, though. When Dad talked to me about sex I said that it sounded icky and he said he felt the same way when he was my age. Then I asked him if when he met you he decided it wasn't icky and he said he definitely did."
Mom had a big, big smile and she said, "He did, huh?"
"Yup. Thanks for explaining about Mark."
"You're welcome. Thank you for coming to me about it."
And then Mom said she wanted a snack, so I did, too. I bet Thumby and Bumpy told her they were hungry! I wonder if they'll like candy canes? Santa always puts them in the top of our stockings.
Now it's Monday afternoon. All that happened yesterday and I was so happy about Christmas then. You probably know that Dad really, really, really loves Christmas and I do, too, but he's the champion of decorating and making cookies and things. But now I'm so sad about Christmas I want it to go away and never come back.
Sarah our baby sitter picked us up from school. The twins were jumping around all excited about something and I wasn't really paying attention and when we got home Sarah said, "You're awfully quiet today, Eliot. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just thinking about something."
That was a fib, the first part. Everything is the opposite of okay but it wasn't a fib that I was thinking about something. Sarah gave us clementines for a snack. I told her I would eat mine in my room because I had a whole lot of homework and she said that was fine but I think she might not have believed me.
I've been sitting in my room for ages but not doing my homework. I did some but I couldn't concentrate because what's filling up my whole head is what Aiden who was sitting next to me in English said. He's 13 and usually he's pretty nice but he's been cranky lately and today when Mr. Simpson called on him he didn't know the answer and then Mr. Simpson called on me and I did. I could tell that made Aiden mad. When class was over I was trying to think of something to cheer him up so I said, "What did you ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?"
"For someone so smart you're pretty freaking stupid, you know?" He didn't say freaking but I'm not allowed to say the word he really said which was much worse. "Kids with half your brain know Santa Claus isn't real."
"Yes, he is."
"Ask anyone here. They'll all tell you you're an idiot. Santa Claus is your parents."
"He is not."
"Okay, let's ask someone else." He leaned over to the next row. "Hey, Hudson. How old were you when you figured out there wasn't any Santa Claus?"
He kind of made a face and shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. Six, maybe?"
"Told ya," Aiden said. "Flying reindeer? Give me a break."
Luckily it was the last class of the day. I ran down to the boys' bathroom on the kindergarten floor and stayed in there until I could make sure I wasn't going to cry or anything in front of the twins.
All I've been thinking about is Santa. If there's no Santa, who makes all the toys? Are they just made by regular people and then everybody's parents go and buy them in the store or order them from Amazon and say they're from Santa? What about the elves? And the reindeer? If there's no Santa there's no Dasher or Dancer or Prancer or Vixen or Comet or Cupid or Donner or Blitzen and especially no Rudolph who even has his own song. Is the only thing at at the North Pole a lot of ice? And who eats the milk and cookies that we always leave out for Santa? Mom and Dad? On Christmas morning we see the big dent in the sofa cushion where Santa sat down to eat our cookies, so is that a big fat fake? And do Mom and Dad fill our stockings? What about the letters that we write to Santa? Do Mom and Dad not mail them? Do they just throw them away after they read them and find out what we want?"
If there's no Santa, Christmas is just a day with presents from Mom and Dad. It's fun to get them, but it's not the same. Not at all.
And here's what might be the worst part of all. Mom and Dad lied to me.
Just when I decided that someone knocked on my door and I was so surprised that I jumped up from chair.
"Eliot?"
It was Mom.
"May I come in?"
"Okay."
"Sarah was worried about you. She said you didn't seem yourself. You didn't come out of your room when Dad and I got home and it's suppertime now and you're still here. That's not like you, either."
"I'll come down now."
But instead of leaving the door open, she closed it and sat down on the edge of my bed. She patted the spot next to her. "Why don't we talk a little while first. I can tell that something's bothering you a lot."
I was still standing by my desk. "Let's just go eat supper."
"It can wait. You look like you just lost your best friend, sweet pea."
I wanted to be mad at her for lying to me about Santa. But she was so nice and she called me sweet pea and I couldn't be mad because there must have been a reason why she and Dad wanted to make me believe in Santa.
"I never felt like a dumb bell before, Mom."
"You? A dumb bell?" She smacked her hand against her head. "I must be hearing things. Next thing I know you'll be telling me you don't like dogs."
Scrapple barked.
"Hey!"
"That won't ever happen, Scrap. I love dogs and you're the best one ever."
"I'm sorry, Scrapple," Mom said and scratched him behind his ear. Then she looked at me again. "Did something happen at school today?"
I couldn't look at her so instead I looked at my shoes. "Yes."
"Something that made you feel like a dumb bell? I can't imagine what that could be."
"It was Santa."
"Santa?" She looked gobsmacked, that's what Gram calls it
So I told her about Aiden and Hudson and how I was dumb to think Santa was real when it was just her and Dad all the time. "And you lied. And there's not even an elf. Or Rudolph."
Since 3:00 I had been trying not to cry but then I did. And Mom just hugged and hugged me even though because Thumby and Bumpy are getting so big it's kind of hard for her to do.
"You know, even before you were born you were so smart. So you will never, ever, ever be a dumb bell. But that's not what really upsets you, is it? That Aiden made fun of you? It's that you don't believe in Santa anymore, and you love him. You love everything about him. I want to tell you a story, all right?"
"Okay."
She had her arm around me and put her hand on my head so I could lean against her.
"When I was three years old I stopped believing in Santa. You know why?"
"No."
"Because we didn't have a chimney. Simple as that. I loved Christmas, I just didn't think there was such a person as Santa. You know that my mother died when I was nineteen. She was killed right after Christmas. But what I've never told you is that we still had all the decorations up. And that ruined Christmas for Granddad and me. I shoved everything in boxes and taped them shut. The next year we didn't sing carols or give presents or hang up stockings or send cards, and we definitely didn't have a tree or even a wreath on the door. We didn't do any of that the next year or the next or the next."
"You sound as sad as I feel, Mom."
"I'll always feel sad about that, but that's not the end of my story. Years went by, and Granddad and I still didn't celebrate Christmas, and then I met Dad. And when we fell in love he gave me a wonderful present."
I could see it on her left hand, which was in her lap. Her not very much lap. So I touched her finger and said, "Your engagement ring."
"That was a wonderful present, but I'm thinking of something else. You're my science guy, and you looooove science. When you prove things in science, you have evidence, right?"
"Right. Kind of like you at work. You have to have evidence."
"That's true, except in science and in math, sometimes you can't actually see the evidence, can you?"
"Nope, sometimes you can't."
"So science guy, do you know what faith is?"
"Believing in God?"
"That's one kind of faith, but there are a lot of other kinds. Like I have faith in you, that you'll always do the right thing. There's a saying that I love about faith. It's that faith is the evidence of things not seen. Something that you and I love is magic, and you can't see that most of the time, can you? The present I'm talking about is that Dad gave Christmas back to me, and eventually to Granddad, too. Dad made us see the magic of Christmas again. And that includes Santa."
"But Santa doesn't exist."
"Santa may not be a flesh-and-blood person like you and me, but he exists." She moved her hand down from my head and put it on my chest. "He exists right here, in your heart. I guess you could say that Santa is an idea, but he's a pretty great idea, isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"Dad believes in Santa, just not the way he did when he was a little boy, but he believes in the magic of Santa, and so do I. I don't want you to think that we lied to you about Santa, but we wanted you to believe in him. And we knew when you got older you'd know that he isn't real in the way we are, but that you would understand that in a way he is. He makes us happy, doesn't he? It's a sad day when you find out that Santa isn't at the North Pole with the elves and the reindeer, but it doesn't have to be sad for the rest of your life. You can be as happy as I am now about Christmas. That would be a great present that you could give to me, to make me know that you're still happy about Santa. Will you think about that?"
"Yeah. You're a good explainer, Mom."
"You're a good listener. I have a favor to ask you, though, and it's important. I don't want you to tell Otis and Abby about this. Let them believe in the old way about Santa. They're only five."
"Okay. I won't say anything."
"Now, what about supper? You think you're ready for that?"
"I guess so."
"Good boy. You grab Scrapple, and we'll all go down together."
All during supper I thought about what Mom said. When she was helping Dad put food on our plates in the kitchen I knew she must have told him about what happened because her head was right next to his and I could tell she was talking.
I was still thinking about what Mom said while I was fast, fast, fast finishing my homework. The twins go to bed before I do, and Mom and Dad came into my room together after that.
"I heard you had a tough day," Dad said.
"Yeah."
"You feeling a little better?"
"Yeah. Mom talked to me a lot. Hey, you know that game we play where we say, 'What's the magic word?' "
"Sure. I love that game."
"Okay. Here goes then, Dad. What's the magic word?"
"I don't know, Eliophant. What's the magic word?"
And then I looked at Mom and smiled at her and she smiled back and nodded at me like she knew what I was about to say and she probably did.
"The magic word is MAGIC!"
"That's my boy," Dad said and picked me up and hugged me.
"Thanks, Mom and Dad," I said, and they kissed me goodnight.
When they were going down the stairs I jumped out of bed and ran after them. "Shhhh," I said. "I don't want Scrapple to hear this. I just want to make sure that you will get him that Yankee blanket for Christmas. You know. From Santa."
"That's a deal," they said at the same time. See? Magic. And they kissed me again. "Go back to bed."
I did, and Scrapple was right next to me the way he always is.
And just like Santa says? To all a good night.
TBC
A/N Thanks to all you readers and reviewers, with special thanks to all the guests, including hawkie and Moochiechat, whom I can acknowledge only here.
