How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

Narrator: Did you notice how I came full circle with the chicken parm? Clever, right?

“Are you really trying to get me to boost your ego?”

Narrator: You’ve been a complaining ass the whole time. It wouldn’t hurt you to throw me a little love.

“I am what you made me.”

Narrator: Uh-huh, okay, want to play it that way? I can go back and make it so Storee has a hard time finding your erection.

“Are you really going to act like a child? You just finished the book.”

Narrator: I did, and it wouldn’t kill you to congratulate me.

“Congratulations. Thank you for letting me end up with Storee.”

Narrator: That’s more like it.

“Now, how about a little recap for the readers so they know how well Storee and I are doing?”

Narrator: I can arrange that. How about we start it with a year later?

“Sure, but what about who won the competition and what the present was that Storee got me?”

Narrator: You act as if I’ve never done this before. *Cracks knuckles* Watch and learn.

“Careful, you have to unwrap Baby Jesus Fonz carefully,” Storee says from where she’s sitting on the couch, nursing our baby girl Florence, or Flo for short.

“Hold on…baby girl?”

Narrator: Do you really think you could get away with not getting that girl pregnant from the way you humped her through the story? Just be glad she didn’t give birth to a pineapple-flavored candy cane. Now, back to my epilogue.

“I’m being careful,” I say as the bubble wrap nearly flies out of my hand along with Baby Jesus Fonz.

Holy fuck, that was a close one.

“So did you see who entered this year’s Kringle competition?” Storee asks as Aunt Cindy comes into the living room carrying a tray of eggnog and Grinch cookies—my mom’s recipe. Last year for Christmas, Storee surprised me with a tin full of them. She found the recipe in my kitchen and made them for me. They taste exactly how my mom made them, and it was easily the best present I’ve ever received…well, that and being able to call Storee mine.

“Ursula, of course,” Aunt Cindy says with a roll of her eyes. “The minute that woman heard my name was in the ring, she filled out the form.”

Storee laughs. “She did. Also, she RSVP’d to the wedding but made a note that she thought it was rude that we were getting married on Christmas Eve.”

“Because the woman can only complain. It’s her only form of communication.” She sits down next to Storee and the baby. “Cole, careful with the Fonz.”

“I’m being careful,” I reassure her even though my hands feel a touch shaky.

“Anyway, I wasn’t talking about Ursula. Someone else entered.” Storee smirks.

“Can’t be Jimmy,” I say. “After he won last year, he hung up his sash. Said he’d never compete again because he wanted to go out on a high note.”

“And because he’s so busy with his lady, traveling around the Rocky Mountains,” Aunt Cindy adds just as there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” Aunt Cindy shouts.

I glance over my shoulder to see Taran and her boyfriend, Guy, walk through the door. When I met Guy earlier this year, I was a little skeptical. He was not who I expected Taran to date. Very reserved, very calm, very relaxed. But then I understood. It’s as if he sucks all of the uptightness right out of Taran and makes her normal.

“Are you setting up the nativity?” Taran asks.

“We are,” Aunt Cindy says.

Taran and Guy live on Christmas Tree Way. Once they found out Storee was pregnant, Taran applied for a nursing job here in Kringle, and she was immediately hired. She said she didn’t want to miss a moment of her niece’s life. Guy joined her shortly after.

Of course, after Christmas last year I asked Storee what she planned on doing. She asked me what I meant, and I said I wanted to know when she planned on moving in with me.

The smile on her face was infectious.

She answered yes immediately and, well, we’ve made my house a home again, and I know it never would have happened without her.

“Okay, so who entered the competition?” I ask.

Storee smiles at me as she lifts Florence and starts burping her. “Atlas.”

“Atlas!” My eyes nearly fall out of my head. “You mean Max, my best friend? He entered?”

“Yup.” She slowly nods. “So did Dwight Yokel. And from what Atlas told me…it’s going to be a real sausage show between them, so I can’t wait.”

“Well, well, well,” Aunt Cindy says while cracking her knuckles. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me.”Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Good luck,” I say. “Because if I know anything about Max, it’s that he has no problem showing up onstage wearing shorts two sizes too small.”