Candlelight Christmas

“‘Don we now our gay apparel,’” sang the radio.

“I love that line,” said Darcy.

“But what’s gay apparel, anyway?” asked Aunt India.

“I think,” said Dad, “it looks like something like this.” And without warning, a large hand swooped down, grabbing Charlie around the waist and hoisting him to his feet.

Charlie yelled and started laughing. “We were trying to sneak up on you,” he said.

“Because we’re starving,” added Andre.

“Then we’d better feed you warriors,” said Dad.

They climbed up on a pair of bar stools at the counter and regarded the feast. “See what I mean?” Charlie murmured to Andre. “Epic.”

In addition to the bacon, there was a big dish of berries and a tray of eggnog pancakes, which Dad only made at Christmastime. The maple syrup was warm and served in a pitcher, and there were big glasses of cold milk to drink. There was cereal, fruit, eggs and potatoes, a tray of pastries and bright red berry juice. Charlie was in heaven.

“He said your breakfast is epic,” said Darcy.

“He’s right,” said Dad. “Try this.” He fed her a bite of eggnog pancake, dipped in syrup.

She made a funny face, eyes crossed, hand over heart. “It’s like I’ve seen the face of God,” she said.

Darcy was funny. She seemed nice. If she was going to end up being Dad’s girlfriend, Charlie figured he was okay with that. Of course if they stayed together, she would become the stepmonster. His friends who had stepmoms called them stepmonsters. It was a risk.

At the moment, he wasn’t going to worry about it because the breakfast was delicious and the day was shaping up to be a total blast.

“First,” Dad said, “we are going to hit the slopes.”

“Hit them with what?” asked Andre.

“Ha-ha,” Charlie said. “He means skiing or snowboarding.”

“I only had a couple of lessons,” said Andre. “I’m not very good at it.”

“I’ve got you all set up for Powder Hounds. They’ll help you out,” said Dad.

Finally a sport Andre didn’t dominate. In all other sports, he was the best.

“Later, we’re going to town for a little shopping, to watch the tree lighting and the Christmas parade. You’re all going to see Santa, too,” said Aunt India.

“Do you guys believe in Santa?” Bernie demanded.

The song on the radio switched to “Jingle Bell Rock.”

And there it was. The horrible question Charlie did not want to think about. Yet it was the one that pressed like a big invisible weight on his mind.

Here was the thing. There were some kids in his grade who claimed there was no such thing as Santa Claus. And they were always the cool kids, so if you said you did believe, then you were toast because they totally made fun of you and made you feel like a complete idiot.

But Charlie couldn’t not believe. He knew, deep down in the most secret part of himself, that Santa Claus was real.

Now he and Andre looked at each other. It was a stare-down. Who would blink first? If Charlie said what he really believed, he risked looking like a fool in front of his friend.

But if he said he didn’t believe in Santa, and then it turned out Andre was a believer, then he would be messing with a kid’s true belief, and that just wasn’t cool.

They were waiting for an answer. “Well,” he said, “um...”

“Are you kidding me?” Darcy burst in. “Why do you even have to ask? Anyone with half a brain believes in Santa. These guys look like between them they have half a brain. Together they probably have a whole one. Hey —‘Good King Wenceslas,’ my favorite carol. Turn up the radio, would you?”

Whew, thought Charlie. He didn’t have to answer. He glanced at Andre, who looked equally relieved, though Charlie wasn’t sure why.

“Have you been really good all year?” asked Aunt India.

Charlie stared at the floor.

“What is it, buddy?” asked his dad.

“I got in trouble at school.” He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to confess, but his dad had a way of finding stuff out.

Dad frowned. “You’ve never been a troublemaker at school.”

“I brought something for show-and-tell I wasn’t supposed to have. This kid Isaiah said they were called Ben Wa eggs. The teacher told me to put them away This Very Instant.”

Darcy and Aunt India had a fit. They tried to stay quiet, but he could tell they were dying. Charlie still wasn’t a hundred percent sure why the little boxed set of balls was such a problem. His mom had said she’d explain when he was bigger.

“Yeah, uh, it’s probably a good idea to check with an adult before you bring something to show-and-tell. When I was a kid I brought in a snake. We practically had to peel the teacher off the ceiling.” Dad was grating a chocolate bar into a pot of cream for hot chocolate, which made everyone stop talking about getting in trouble.

While they gorged themselves on breakfast, the other kids and grown-ups showed up, and the kitchen and dining room got very loud with clattering dishes and talking and making plans for the day. Andre’s sister, Angelica, was the last to arrive, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked really cute in her pink fuzzy slippers, clutching a patched-up stuffed dog she called Patchy Bowwow.

“I bet you’re hungry.” Dad hoisted her up onto her bar stool.

“Can I have a pancake?”

“You bet.” Her face lit up when she saw that the pancakes were shaped like stars and trees. That was Aunt India’s doing. She was a professional artist and she couldn’t help making things fancy. She had used a metal cookie cutter to pour the pancake batter in.

“We get to see Santa today. What are you going to ask Santa for?” Bernie asked her.

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Angelica. With all those missing teeth, she didn’t really say the letter S right, but she was getting better. “I’m going to tell him I need to see my mom, because I want her to be there when I sing my song at the church on Christmas. Logan’s friend Maureen is in charge of the Christmas pageant, and she gave me a song to sing.”

Charlie whipped a glance at Andre. But Andre was already carrying his dishes to the sink. “Let’s go get ready,” he said, and went down the hall and up the stairs without waiting to see if Charlie followed.

Alone in the bunk room, they pulled on long johns and snow pants, getting into a suspenders-snapping contest neither of them won, but it made them both giggle like hyenas. Under orders from Grandma Marion, they made their beds. The beds never looked the same as when a professional grown-up did it.

“At least we made the effort,” Charlie said, mimicking his grandmother, which made them both laugh again.

“Hey,” said Andre, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

And there it was. That question again. Did he say yes and be accused of being uncool? Or did he say no and risk losing his Christmas dream?

“Do you?” he asked Andre.

“The whole world is all about Santa Claus, everywhere you look. Decorations, stockings, songs, school plays, everything. How could the whole world be wrong?” He frowned, then snapped his fingers. “We should figure out a way to prove it, once and for all.”

“Yeah!” Charlie said. “Let’s do it.”

“How? Do we set a trap or something? Or a camera?”

“What’s this I hear?” Darcy stuck her head in the doorway. “We’re talking about trapping Santa?”

Charlie’s cheeks felt hot.

“You know the part of the song that goes, ‘You’d better watch out’?”