Page 36 of Have a Bear-y Little Christmas

“Do you think you’re ready to join the line? If you need a minute, that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Just a little bit of pride, that’s all.” Her eyes brightened, and the smile on her face seemed pretty darn genuine. “Back when things first started going down, I refused any help at all. Thankfully, I learned my lesson, but sometimes it rears its ugly head back up.”

“I get that. It’s like my mother-in-law always used to say, sometimes your first reaction to things is just what the world’s trained you to do. It’s your second reaction a few seconds later that speaks to what your soul actually wants.”

Her pupils dilated slightly at that, and her eyebrows almost shot up to her hairline. “I... I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put that way before. I always thought your first reaction was kind of your inner voice, and that’s why sometimes I get so disappointed in myself because it can be kind of mean.”

I shook my head. “Nah, definitely not, I think. You know that one phrase, how we’re all unlearning stuff throughout our lives? Like say racism, sexism, or being judgmental? The way I see it, we’re trained by the world to see things in a very specific way and react to specific stimuli with specific actions, so that’s where that split-second mean voice can come from. The important thing is that you rebut that mean voice and counter it with what you know to be true.”

I didn’t quite have words to describe the expression that crossed her features, but it made me feel—huh, I didn’t have words for that either. This night sure was full of firsts.

“You are quite the philosopher, aren’t you, Mr. LeBeau?”

“I ain’t sure I’ve ever been accused of that before,” I said. “but I ain’t gonna argue with you, Miss...” And now it was my turn to realize I had no idea whatherlast name was.

“Wolfe,” she answered with a light chuckle, and I nearly choked on my own spit. “What?” she asked, having no idea why that was so damn funny to me. Man, life sure had a sense of humor sometimes.

“Nothing. Just a unique name.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head to the side. “I chose it because I thought it was pretty but normal.”

That caught my attention as we began to walk to where our children were waiting and singing. “You chose it?”

“Yeah. Technically, my name is Juniper Stardust Aurora Wulfhunde, but believe it or not, I had a real hard time getting a job with that on my résumé, so I saved up and legally shortened my name to Jeannie Wolfe. I think it fits me better.”

There was a whole story there, and I would really love to hear it, but now wasn’t the time.

“Yeah, I agree,” I said instead.

And I meant that, too.

I liked to think that Jeannie could tell as well, but it was impossible to ask her over the din of nearly two dozen kids singing. And I wasn’t about to be the Ebenezer Scrooge and tell them to quiet down their Christmas cheer.

It would have done me well to bring earplugs, however.

Potential bleeding eardrums or not, we made it through the line in relatively good time, and soon my daughters were sitting on Santa’s lap. Well, Eva was. Addy chose to stand beside him, her hand resting on his chair like she was some sort of Christmas advisor. They took a couple of photos, which showed up on the elf-assistant’s tablet, and they showed them to me so I could pick my favorites. I ended up picking out three, because I was asentimental bastard, and my hand was already reaching for my wallet when Addy called out.

“Come on, Max, take some pictures with us!”

“Me?” Max asked, sounding just as surprised as I was. “Don’t you want pics with your daddy?”

“We’ll get him next. We want some with you!”

Max’s cheeks were already red from the cold, but it was cute to watch that flush grow much more vibrant. “Okays. If you’re sure…”

“We are!” Eva insisted just as loudly as her sister.

Cue several more photos, and I made sure to buy all four of them. It could have been in my head, but I swore the elf photographer took extra care to organize the three so Max didn’t look like he was taking a separate photo because of his chair. I admired that, and I resolved to leave him a tip if I was able to.

“Daddy, now it’s your turn!”

“That’s my cue,” I said, hurrying to them. It felt the tiniest bit strange to have Max in the pictures with me, but he looked happy enough to cry, so I wasn’t about to remove him. Especially when he beamed at his mother with his big, hazel eyes that so matched hers. Jeez, his father’s genetics hadn’t even tried, had they?

“Mama, would you take my chair for a minute?” he asked after we took several of him sitting.

“Are you sure, big man? You were awfully tired earlier today.”

“Yeah, I can do it. I promise.”