Chapter Fourteen – If you want to destroy my sweater

Molly opened the front door to Scott's house to be met with loud voices coming from the kitchen. She paused, unsure as to whether it would be beneficial for her to interrupt or to leave this one to them to sort through. A quick glance at the shoe mat beside the doors showed Charlie was not present, making Molly feel slightly relieved that he wasn't there to witness another argument.

"I thought you were going to talk to him about this!" Laura yelled. The sound of her hand smacking on the countertop echoed into the front hall. "Damn it Scott, I knew letting him spend more time with you would come back to bite me. Did you know an older boy punched him in the face at school today? Charlie came home with a bloody nose after getting in a fight with a kid over whether Santa is real."

"Did he at least hit the kid back?"

Molly winced. Poor timing on that one, Scott. Really poor timing.

Laura let out a frustrated noise and started pacing the kitchen. "It's just like you to treat this like a joke. Your son is getting himself into trouble because he believes you are Santa Claus and that he went to the North Pole. And you're encouraging him!"

"You asked me to talk to him, and I did," Scott retorted, his voice starting to rise. "I can't control what Charlie does or says when I am not around!"

Laura began to shout back, and Molly took that as her cue to leave them be. There was nothing she could say to mediate in this – they would need to sort it out on their own. She slipped off her shoes and hung up her coat as quietly as possible, then snuck downstairs, closing the door softly. Although she could no longer hear what they were saying, their voices were loud enough that she could still hear the fight between them. A knot formed in her stomach. Molly hated conflict, hated arguments, and not being able to help only sparked her anxiety further.

Between walking into this and everything that had just happened with Bernard, she found herself wishing if just for a moment, that she could go back home.

"I didn't mean that," she immediately said out loud, worried that some force of the universe, whatever had brought her there, might be listening and whisk her back to her world. When nothing happened after a few moments, she let the tension in her shoulders drop, then sat down on her bed, staring at her hands in her lap.

As she attempted to ignore the shouts from above, she replayed the conversation with Bernard over and over in her head, the tightness in her gut growing with each revisit of it. What had suddenly spooked him so much. She closed her eyes, remembering the shock of heat and trembling excitement she had felt at his touch when he had brushed the hair out of her face. The moment seemed to have lasted forever, and a part of her had started wishing he would kiss her. She replayed the conversation again, pausing at the hair incident. She revisited the expression on his face, trying to remember and assess what the emotions playing across it had been. Surprise, confusion… longing? Was that right?

Was it imagination, her own longing influencing her memory, or had Bernard's eyes drifted to her mouth for a moment before his strange behaviour began? With a frustrated groan, she stood and walked over to the cd player sitting atop the white shelf she had been using as a dresser (once plain and boring, but now covered in random band stickers, and decorations) and flipped through the cds she had collected since arriving. One thing Molly had been grateful for was that the bands seemed to replicate those in her own world. She paused as she lifted Green Day's Dookie off the pile, then eyed Weezer's Blue Album sitting atop the remaining stack of cases. Green Day was more fitting for her frustrations – and was one of the albums she had worn out at home – but she sat the album down, then inserted the Weezer disc into the player. Skipping to track five, she stuck it on repeat, before slumping over to the bed, turning around, and flopping backwards, so that she stretched across it, arms splayed out like a starfish, and stared at the ceiling.

The familiar notes to the start of the Sweater Song began to drift through the room, acting as a slight buffer to the shouts from above. As she sang along softly, picturing as she always did, the lead singer walking through the party with an unending string of yarn following behind him as his sweater disintegrated into nothing, her thoughts began to shift into a panic spiral about how her next meeting with Bernard would go.

If, her anxiety tore through her, he ever even wants to see me again.

Scott watched as Laura turned from him with one final protest in frustration and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. He winced as the house shook, then dropped his head into his hands, shaking it in disbelief.

This shouldn't be so hard. All he had to do was tell Charlie the truth. His son would still love him even if he shattered his dreams, wouldn't he? The answer to that, he knew, was that he wasn't sure at all. Of course, he had grown closer with his son over the past year, but was it all superficial, built on this fantasy of Charlie's that he was somehow Santa Clause?

The house was quiet, but he knew Molly was home, had seen her sneak past quietly while he and Laura fought. He couldn't blame her for not interrupting; had he been an innocent bystander to an argument like theirs, he would have hidden too. But even knowing she was downstairs, the quiet felt deafening and hollow all at the same time.

He had to tell Charlie the truth, had to end this before Laura carried through on her threat to cut off his visitation rights. After all, what kind of father let their kid believe that egregious a lie about themselves?

It was a lie, wasn't it? Scott paused, something tingling at the back of his spine. He was so sure it was a lie, and yet every time he tried to deny it he felt this pull, this sensation that made him question it. Santa Claus wasn't real, was he?

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, surprised he even had to ask himself that. Of course Santa wasn't real. As he thought that, a voice echoed in his mind, familiar but strange. And somewhat annoying.

You wouldn't want to be responsible for ruining Christmas, would you Santa?

Scott froze at the statement, realizing he was no longer sure about anything.

The snow fell softly in Elfsburg, big, large flakes landing on piled that slowly climbed higher, glittering in the moonlight. Bernard stood on the small balcony that led out from his bedroom, looking over the picturesque little town. Soft Christmas lights sparkled, sending blue, green, red, and yellow hues dancing over the freshly fallen snow. It was like staring at a Christmas card, the scene so picturesque it couldn't be real.

Bernard had a conflicting relationship with the snow and his town on nights like this. When things were going well around him, it brought him joy – he could almost feel the magic of Christmas in the air, feel that wonder and beauty that it created. On nights like this, when he found himself filled with emotions he didn't want to deal with, the quiet and still night left him without answers or direction and felt fake and forced. A terrible, awful thought for a Christmas Elf, especially for one in his position, but there it was nonetheless. Especially in the months leading up to Christmas, when decorations were sprung and the atmosphere turned festive once again, Elfsburg could often feel out of touch with reality.

The twinkling lights, bright and cheerful decorations, polar bears directing tra— Okay, he thought, I suppose the polar bears technically are a bit out of reality for most people. But the overall feeling it was… as if the harshness and complications of real life didn't exist.

He knew of course, that wasn't representative of the elves or the inhabitants of the town. There were still complexities and troubles, but it was the appearance of Elfsburg itself that felt deceiving in these moments of heaviness.

Bernard sighed, trying to sort through what had happened earlier, where his head was at, what he was going to do about it. He couldn't very well abandon Molly, leave her in solitude to face the rest of this. But he didn't feel he could trust himself around her either, not if that evening had been any kind of indication.

He lifted the mug he held in his hands, steaming and filled with a rich, creamy brown liquid, and took a sip, the hot coffee momentarily giving him a reprieve from the chaos in his mind. A hint of hazelnut, and a deep, full flavour. Coffee – something he had never drank until Molly. Just one more thing Molly had changed about him without actually doing anything. It had just sort of happened, Bernard's own curiosity finally getting the better of him one day. He had asked her to pick something for him to try and much to his surprise, he had liked it quite a bit. Now, a coffeemaker stood in his kitchen where the hot chocolate dispenser once happened, a carton of milk replaced with a carton of cream.

"Ugh, why does everything lead back to thoughts of her?" he grunted, frustrated that his mind wouldn't even allow a beverage to give him a break.

The muffled thud of footsteps on the snow made their way to him and Bernard glanced down to see Judy making her way down the street to his house. She grinned as she caught his eye and waved.

"I thought you could use some dinner," she called up to him.

He stared at her, giving a semi-dopey wave back as he tried to decide whether company was even welcome. Judy paused below his house, one hand on her hip, the glitter she always wore almost giving a radiating glow from the light.

"Well, are you going to come downstairs and let me in, or am I breaking down your door?"

Bernard sighed, then went inside, making his way to the ground floor, then opened the front door and stared his friend down. "Why are you here?"

Judy pushed past him, snowflakes that had gathered on her forest green cloak fluttering behind her before falling to the ground. She didn't answer him as she sat down a red bag, trimmed with gold edges, then hung her cloak and removed her boots and other outdoor clothing. Now after hours, her usual festive outfit was replaced with a pair of jeans and a casual Christmas sweater. Bernard swore the woman didn't know how to dress without some kind of holiday cheer. As he closed the door and followed her into the house, he watched wordlessly as she unpacked a hot roast beef dinner, retrieved two plates and utensils from his kitchen, then set two places on his dining room table.

She turned to him and pointed at the chair. "Sit. Eat."

Bernard just nodded and joined her at the table.

"I'm here because I saw you return to your office then sneak out of the workshop with the most sullen expression I have witnessed on you in years," she said quietly as she cut through the food on her plate. She paused to take a bite, chewing with a thoughtful expression on her face.

Bernard said nothing, picking up the fork and poking at some of the vegetables on the plate. Eventually, he jabbed a carrot and some peas, and put them in his mouth.

"Bernard, we have been friends for hundreds of years. I know your tells. I can read your face, and most of the time, I know what you're thinking when you are looking at someone," Judy went on.

"Oh yeah? What am I thinking right now then?" he challenged, though he knew it would be fruitless.

"You're thinking "where is Judy going with this? Why does she refuse to let me mope alone?""

That was close enough. Bernard grunted in response.

"The way you watch Molly, the way your face lights up when you see her…you didn't even look at Arella that way."

He flinched at the mention of his ex, fork hovering above his plate. "That's because Arella was a manipulative—"

Judy cut him off. "That's not the point Bernard. You still had feelings for her. Clearly, they don't compare to what you're feeling now."

Bernard continued chewing his food, slowly, too frustrated to enjoy the flavour of it all, refusing to look at Judy. Arella had nearly destroyed him, and Judy had been left to help him pick up the pieces, to rebuild after it all. Judy was the one who knew he had sworn off getting involved with anyone again, and when he said it, she had supported him.

"Why are you here?" He repeated his question from earlier, knowing his tone was harsher than he had intended. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having. He didn't want to be having any conversations at that moment.

Judy didn't flinch at the way he spoke to her, turning back to her food and cutting the roast beef on her plate slowly. "To tell you to get your head out of your ass, Bernard, before you screw up the best thing to walk into your life."