Page 79 of Santa Daddies

Checking It Twice

By Maggie Ryan

Chapter One

Marcie

No!

No… no… no…

This wasn’t happening, I had to be seeing things. This was a nightmare.

That was it!

Itwasa nightmare. I just needed to open my eyes and all this would be over and my life would be all shiny tinsel and glittery snowflakes. Right?

Right!

Oh, but first, I had to close my eyes before I could open them. I squeezed my eyes shut until all I could see was absolute nothingness. I counted to three, then decided ten would be better and added seven more Mississippis. When I hit double digits, I left one eye shut and barely lifted the lid of my other just to take the tiniest peek. At the sight before me, I moaned and slammed it shut again. It would just take a teensy bit longer and then?—

“Marcella Christine McKinley!”

I must have jumped two feet off the ground as the roar washed over me. That was most definitely a sound heard in a nightmare and certainly not the soft, sweet, docile tone of a loving Daddy. I chanced a brain aneurism by squeezing my eyes even tighter, holding my breath, digging my fingernails into my palms as I crossed my wrists and then my ankles in fervent hope that, by the time I opened my eyes again, all the elves in the North Pole had arrived to save me from the problematic proliferation of plump pink porcine packages currently covering every single flat surface in the kitchen.

“Newsflash, little girl. No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how many times you click your heels together and chant, you’re already home. Now, breathe before you pass out, open your eyes and explain to me why our kitchen has turned into a box store.”

Where was an elf when you really needed one?

Silly, they’re sitting on shelves, of course.

“Silly? You think this is…”

My eyes flew open to discover I hadn’t been having a nightmare. I’d been having a daymare! Evidently, I’d also been talking out loud.

“You spanked me!”

“I beg to differ. I simply got your attention. More importantly, no, I do not find anything about this the least bit silly.” He paused to flip back the top of the only box I’d opened. His brow furrowed as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. When he lifted an item from the interior, the fact that those lines remained just as prominent didn’t bode well. “What in the world is this?”

Was that a trick question?

“Um, a pig?”

Those eyes… I could now say I knew exactly how poor Oliver must have felt when asking for more porridge from that grumpy old man at the workhouse.

“You know, like Wilbur or Babe or Porky? Well, I guess they’re more like Piglet because they are?—"

“I’m well aware it’s a pig, young lady.”

Uh oh, he calledme ’young lady’.

I mentally shushed Ms. Snarky so I could concentrate on what else he was saying.

“Are you telling me all of these boxes are full of pigs?”

“Well, yes, but they’re not real pigs. They’re not oinking or…” Wow, who knew those lines could deepen? I was pretty sure I could plant some seeds in those furrows and something would grow.

Right. If you’re lucky it will be grain for all the pigs.