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Sugar

T he year leading up to my eighteenth birthday, I tried to turn myself around from being a goof off elf teenager to a more responsible adult. I studied harder and passed my exams a little early. The following year, I did more chores to help Sno, who still got around pretty well but was now one hundred years old.

Father saw my transformation and decided late summer after my nineteenth birthday it would be a good thing if I went to work for him to learn more responsibility.

I loved the idea.

Father hired housekeeping help for Sno since I wouldn’t be around to help anymore, then took me down to his personal toy factory and introduced me to his elf crew.

I’d only been inside the factory once when I was very small.

It was magnificent, a snow covered, steep-roofed warehouse with toys hanging from every rafter and crowding every conveyor belt. The air smelled of peppermint and, instead of Christmas carols, modern music played from hidden speakers. Half the warehouse had huge a second floor dedicated to electronics and gaming. Hell, yeah, I could be happy here.

“This is Elmberry,” Father said, introducing me to my new boss.

“I can certainly put him to work, Santa sir,” Elmberry said.

“Excellent.” Father smiled.

My heart rushed in my chest to see my father proud of me. Finally.

When we got home, I hugged him and said, “Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome. I love you, son. I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

For so many years, I didn’t know that. But tonight, I felt it.

The next day I woke early, had a full breakfast and headed off to work, an elf with a purpose.

Elmberry had left me a text saying he needed to see me in his office for final instructions.

When I entered, he smiled and gestured for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk. A mug of cocoa waited for me, topped with tiny marshmallows.

“I’m really glad to be here,” I said.

“Glad to hear it. Now drink up for the energy. Then I’m going to put you to work.”

I took a sip of the cocoa. It was perfection.

“About the work,” I said, wrapping my hands around the warmth of the mug. “I think I’d do really well in electronics.”

Elmberry’s eyebrows twitched. He grabbed up a tablet and tapped it a few times. “I see you have a high school GED. But nothing else, not even extra-curricular activities.”

“I was home schooled.”

“Yes. Which is perfect because you can start out here gaining work experience. Then maybe later you can take courses in what interests you. Like electronics.”

I blinked, the sweet cocoa flavor suddenly turning sour in my mouth. “Where would I start?”

Elmberry glanced at his tablet. “I’ve got openings in the mailroom and for food prep in the cafeteria.”

“This place has a cafeteria?”

“At the south end. The food is excellent, I might add.”

“I thought I’d be working with toys.”

“You can learn as you go, work your way up.” Elmberry smiled like it was no big deal.

Food prep sounded awful. “What’s the job in the mailroom?”

“Orders. Supplies. Receiving, mostly. You won’t be able to run the forklifts unless you get certified, but you can unbox and organize by hand.”

By now, the food prep sounded like more my thing. Sno had taught me how to cook. It wasn’t my favorite activity, but I could do it.

“Food, I guess. But what about toys? Isn’t there anything?”

Elmberry looked somewhat sympathetic. “There might be small day jobs in assembly. But for now, let’s put you in the cafeteria and see how it goes.”

I tried to hide my sigh of disappointment.

The cafeteria kitchen was bright and shiny, a little steamy and very busy. Elves scurried about pulling platters from ovens and stirring pots. Others sat around a table constructing the biggest sub sandwich I’d ever seen. Another table held desserts which were in various forms of being iced or decorated.

One tall elf pushed his way through the workers to stand in front of me. “Elmberry messaged me. You must be Sugar. I’m Cardamom. This way.”

Before I could answer, he turned his back on me and headed to the back end of the kitchen.

He waved his hand over two counters stacked with pots, pans and dishes. “There you are. The dishwasher has the instructions on the front. Get it all done by noon because we have dinner to prepare, too.”

“What? Elmberry told me I was food prep.”

“Yep. This is where food prep begins. With clean cookware.”

An elf walked by and mumbled, “Thinks he’s too good to do dishes.”

“Enough out of you, Sweetpot,” Cardamom admonished.

“I can do dishes.” I spoke loudly. “Not a problem.”

I didn’t want to show any weakness. I didn’t want to be bad anymore. Father got me the job and I would show him I could do it so I could move up.

I dived into the work. It was icky and hot and messy, but I did it. I had every pot and pan and cookie tray and dish shining and clean by lunchtime.

I got an hour for lunch, which I ate alone at a table while watching others gather in groups and cliques, then went back to work scrubbing, soaping, loading and unloading the three huge dishwashers.

When I got home, Father and Sno were already sitting down to dinner.

“How was your first day?” Father asked.

“What do they have you doing?” Sno asked.

“Dishes in the warehouse cafeteria,” I replied, trying to sound matter of fact. I didn’t want them to know how disappointed I was. I could do this. I could show them I was a grownup now.

I watched Sno and Father exchange glances at my answer, but they said nothing.

Three weeks passed. I went to Elmberry every day, asking if there was other work, especially in toys. He always said no.

Another three weeks passed. Dishes were a dead end. I could see that now. I wasn’t working toward anything or learning about toys. I wanted to quit, but I couldn’t do that to Father. What would he think? What would he say?

Seriously, though, I had no intention of staying at this job if it didn’t amount to anything.

No one complimented me on my work, so I let things slide a little. I didn’t rinse before loading the dishwashers anymore. I let pans soak until the water went cold and slick, and I escaped out the back door for long periods to the game room on Ornament Avenue or visited the bakery on Cookie Street to eat fresh donuts in the summer sun. I took long walks. I returned to work just in time to deliver half washed cookware and take my lunch hour, which I now spent away from the warehouse and out at any restaurant I could find. I lingered at lunch, often getting back to a full sink where dinner prep dishes were waiting.

I refused to put in overtime, so I cursorily washed whatever was around and stored the rest, still dirty, in cabinets.

Cardamom came to me several times saying, “There have been complaints. The dishes need to be a bit cleaner.”

I didn’t argue. He was right, of course.

After about the fourth time Cardamom spoke to me, there were no more lectures. A few days later I was called into Elmberry’s office.

Elmberry did not have cocoa waiting for me this time. Nor did he ask me to sit.

I stood, my hands in front of me, as he spoke.

“Cardamom has written you up.”

“Okay.”

“Do you understand why?”

“He said I wasn’t getting the dishes clean enough.”

Elmberry looked down at his tablet. “He says you’ve been missing from your post a lot, too.”

“Sometimes I have errands on my breaks that take a little long,” I lied.

“All right. But don’t let it happen again. Back to work now.”

I walked out of his office, shaking my head. I’d thought he was going to fire me. Then I’d have an excuse to never come back to this warehouse again.

Nothing happened to me. No one yelled at me. I continued my shoddy job at doing the dishes and played most of the day away in posh restaurants and the game room. So what if dishes didn’t get cleaned on time and super perfect. It wasn’t the end of the world.

One day, I’d leave the job anyway for something better. What that was, I didn’t yet know, but it would happen.

At dinner one night, Father said, “Sugar, you’ve been written up twice at work. Why?”

I glanced up from the wonderful spaghetti Sno had prepared. “What? I thought it was only once.”

“Twice,” he repeated.

“Why do you know anything about it?”

“Because that is my toy factory and Elmberry reports to me, in detail, every day about what is going on there.”

“Oh.” I kept eating, not looking up.

“Are you unhappy?” Father asked.

I could see without looking up that Sno glanced from me to Father with wide eyes.

“Unhappy? About doing dishes every day when we don’t even need the money? Hell, no, Father.”

Father blinked at me. “This isn’t about the money, and you know that. It’s about learning responsibility.”

“I know, but it’s the worst job in the whole place. And what’s even more demeaning is they all know I’m your son and I’m sure they’re laughing about it.”

“No one is laughing, Sugar,” Father argued.

He didn’t know. I could feel it even if they hid it from me. No one had even attempted to make friends with me at the factory.

Later that evening, Father passed me on the staircase. “Sugar, work builds character. That’s all I’m saying. You’re young. You certainly won’t be doing dishes for the rest of your life.”

I fumed. Who was he kidding? “Easy for you to say, Father. You have the greatest job of all. And you have magic to help you. What do I have? Chapped hands. And the legacy of nothing but living in your shadow for the rest of my life.”

“Excuse me?” He puffed out his chest, his long white beard ruffling under his heaving breaths. “I work twelve-hour days.”

“Yeah. I know. Which is why Sno raised me and not you. Sno, who’s a hundred and two now and has cooked and done dishes his whole life.”

His eyes stopped their usual Santa twinkle and nearly popped from his head.

I wasn’t going to stand on the steps like a fool waiting for his response. I scurried to my room and slammed the door.

The next morning, Elmberry called me in. There was cocoa waiting for me on his desk again. He even smiled.

“Looks like we have an opening in stockings,” he said. “Are you up for it?”

“Stockings?” That involved presents. Toys. “Yes. I am!”

Had my father arranged this? I was both excited and ashamed if he had. But at least I wasn’t going to be doing dishes.

The stocking department didn’t smell of old food and greasy dishwater. Instead, peppermint, chocolate and orange aromas filled the air.

I faced stacks of different colors and sizes of stockings, some plush, some silken, all beautiful. Different stacks had different instructions printed on them.

I got to work, collecting toys and candy from various bins around the room to fill each one. I had so much fun, I finished early and went to lunch, staying out a little late to celebrate.

When I got back, Elmberry and two older elves stood by my worktable with their arms crossed. Not a nice greeting after all my hard work.

I shrugged and gave a little wince. “I had an errand to run so took a longer lunch. Sorry. I won’t take my afternoon break to make up for it.”

There were a thousand stockings, all piled neatly, all done. What was their problem?

“Sugar, this just won’t do,” Elmberry said.

“What?”

“The stockings must all be redone.”

“Why?”

“Did you not read the instructions? These are the diabetic stockings. You put regular candy and bubble gum in all of them.”

“What? I didn’t see that on the instructions.”

Elmberry grabbed one of the gilt list sheets, thrusting it in my face. I blinked. He pointed at the very top. In large, bold letters it said DIABETIC STOCKINGS. The words were not in the list itself, but at the very top.

Elmberry threw the list on the floor. “With a name like Sugar, you’d think it would register.”

He was right, but in all fairness to me, the word was sort of off my radar. Elves didn’t get diabetes.

“You are fired.”

My throat closed up. I couldn’t speak. Could he do that? Santa Christero was the real boss. But when I thought about it, my father probably would have fired me long ago.

I turned without a word and ran outside. There was nowhere to go but home.

When I came in, Sno started to greet me. “Sugar, what are you doing home so early?”

Without replying, I ran upstairs to my room and buried myself under the covers of my bed. I was hopeless. A very bad elf. It was a truth that couldn’t be denied. Once I accepted that, I fell into the deep slumber of escape.

I woke to voices, one loud, one soft. Then clomping bootsteps on the stairs. My bedroom door flew open without warning.

“Get up!” Father’s tone was serious.

I poked my head out from under my blankets.

“I said, get up!”

I’d never seen my father so angry.

I pushed myself out from under the covers and stood before him, my hair in my eyes.

“You were fired! Do you understand that? Do you know how that makes me look?”

I gulped, feeling anger building inside me again. Nothing was fair. It wasn’t my fault.

“It was my first day in stockings. I made a mistake.”

Father shook his head, disappointment radiating from his entire magical being. And what a magical being he was, my father, twice my size with beautiful white hair and a beard down to his belly. Santas in the human world were depicted as heavy, but Father was pure muscle all over with a strong jawline and brilliant blue eyes. I was nothing compared to him, puny, without magic, omega to his powerful fatherly alpha presence.

“You keep making mistakes. You don’t pay attention. You don’t take responsibility for anything.” Father’s voice rose. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore. Everything you touch becomes chaos.”

That wasn’t fair. But then again, regarding the job, he was right. And as I started to think about it, he was describing my entire life.

Father began to pace, his hands curled into fists, his breaths coming in noisy huffs.

“You need to learn a lesson.” He turned, his blue eyes like flames. “And you can’t be here to learn it.”

“What? Are you throwing me out?”

“You’re nineteen.” He waved his hand in front of me. “Go find your life!”

Suddenly, my entire body froze. I could still see and hear, but I couldn’t move. And everything in the room looked bigger. Huge. My bed. My desk. The windows. Father himself looked like a giant as I gazed up at him.

I heard a voice at my door. “What are you doing?” Sno asked.

“He needs to learn!” Father said, waving his hand again,

Everything went black, their voices muffled. Sno and Father spoke back and forth, then silence.

I blinked in the new darkness and tried to move my arms. Nothing happened. I was frozen solid. Around me, there was a slight rustle as if I was caught up in a big swath of tissue paper.

Father’s voice rose again until I could understand him. “Go out into the world and find yourself. Santa’s Village isn’t for you, Sugar. Find yourself. Find love. Find your mate. You have until Christmas, or you will become an elf figurine forever.”

I heard soft crying. Sno. “You can’t do this to him. It’s too much.”

“He’s strong. He’ll figure it out.”

“What if he doesn’t?” I’d never heard such a sound come from Sno. Like a wail.

My father’s voice softened. “I am a Santa. Trust my magic.”

Then I felt movement outside the darkness. Whatever I was encased in was being lifted or—was I flying?

Time passed. I was very afraid. After a while, I slept. I woke. Nightmares and fear ruled. I never felt hungry, but the flying sensation seemed to go on for days, and the loud sound of wind filled my frozen ears.

When it finally stopped, everything went still. I heard nothing.

After what seemed like hours, there was a sudden loud pop. Snow surrounded me. I still wore my red elf suit from the toy factory, but no boots. No coat. No hat.

Before I could lift my head to look around, dizziness overcame me and once again I was plunged into the dark.