“I’m going out!” Santa called to Mrs. Claus. 

“Don’t forget to grab the gluten-free reindeer feed from the store and not the crap you got last time,” she yelled back from the kitchen. Santa grumbled to himself, pulling on his black boots and fur-trimmed jacket. Martha had been on his case about the reindeer ever since Rudolph’s diagnosis and she overheard Prancer and Comet discussing unionization. And it was just his luck that Dasher was now claiming to have developed a late-onset gluten allergy after 1,700 plus years of eating every cookie and cake Mrs. Claus baked. 

Slamming the door behind him, Santa held his nose through the reindeer paddock, stomped past the elf workshop, and made his way along a wide path that snaked through the trees. Snow crunching underfoot and his large belly bouncing as he walked, Santa turned his head around surreptitiously to check if any curious elves had followed him out of the workshop. Christmas was just around the corner and it seemed like candy canes and lemon drops were no longer adequate compensation for these grippy little creatures. Satisfied that no elves were coming to berate him, Santa continued walking with his nose plugged. Years of living in the North Pole had made him sick of all varieties of conifers and their sickly scent.

After a thirty-minute walk, Santa came upon a wood-framed feed shop with twinkling Christmas lights. Instead of entering the inviting store, Santa turned off the main path down an unmarked trail hidden between the trees. Carved into the powdery snow, the path was barely two feet wide, and Santa stumbled over his protruding stomach that hid his boots from his tired eyes.   

After about a half-mile, the twinkling lights of a cozy, wood cabin shown through the disappearing daylight. It was slightly smaller but in the style of all the other North Pole houses with picturesque icicles hanging from the roofline. Knocking on the front door, Santa rocked nervously on his heels and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. 

“Hello?” called a soft voice from within the house. 

“It’s me,” Santa called back. Tinker Bell opened the door and flung her arms around his thick neck. 

“How’s my jolly man?” she purred in his ear. Santa grinned. “Cold,” he replied. She let out a tinkling laugh that seemed to bounce and jingle between the surrounding pine trees. 

“Well, you should come inside then.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over the threshold into her living room. An acid green sofa stood in front of a merrily crackling fire but the rest of the room was sparsely decorated. 

“The rest of my furniture hasn’t arrived yet from Orlando.” Tinker Bell shook her blond head exasperatedly, “and this weather is too cold for all my usual clothes.” This was the first time Santa had seen Tinker Bell outside the sunny beaches of Florida. She had exchanged her usual green miniskirt and crop top for tightfitting snow pants and a heavy down jacket, all the same bold green. 

Santa sat down on the couch. “Well, the North Pole is certainly no Orlando,” he looked up into her green eyes and hoped she felt the sincerity in his voice, “but Tink, I’m so happy that you’ve moved closer to me.”

Settling on the couch beside him, she began stroking his white beard. They watched the fire dance for a few silent minutes. Tentatively, Tinker Bell turned towards him. “So, how’s everything going with Christmas prep?” 

Santa groaned, “God, I don’t know how we’re going to manage with Christmas just three weeks away! Jingles has hit the bottle again and Rudolph,” his voice cracked slightly, “has cancer.”

Tinker Bell sighed, shaking her head sadly, “and to think, we used to laugh and call him names.”

“I thought that little red nose was just cute but turns out it was actually melanoma,” said Santa, choking back tears. The more Santa talked, the more he felt the stress of the holiday season slowly lifting from his shoulders. Tinker Bell listened attentively, her pointed ears tilted toward him as she watched the fire crackle in the hearth.

“And Martha I swear is trying to ruin Christmas! She reads one article about the health risks of misle toe and suddenly it’s gone from the house…” his voice faltered as Tinker Bell stiffened beside him at the mention of Mrs. Claus. 

Oh god, why did I have to go bring up my wife! Santa thought frantically. After an awkward silence, Tinker Bell jumped up from the couch, “I think I’ve got something that might cheer you up,” she said, her voice in a slightly higher octave than usual. “Stay here while I grab it.” 

Tinker Bell made her way towards a side door that led into the kitchen, sneaking a quick glance back at Santa before leaving the room. Seeing the devastated look on his face, her anger began to dissipate. She knew that he regretted mentioning Mrs. Claus but she couldn’t help the old feelings of insecurity that arose at the mere mention of her name. The Claus’ relationship had been dead for decades so she had felt confident when Santa had promised her that he would get a divorce before she moved to the North Pole. However, Santa seemed no closer to finally leaving that dreadful woman and fulfilling his promise. 

Tinker Bell still couldn’t quite believe that she had actually upended her martini, beach, and sun-filled life in Orlando for a man who she had met only one year prior. She still remembered the first time they had kissed at the annual Mythical Creatures Convention. Tinker Bell had caught Peter Pan cheating on her, yet again with Tiger Lily, and she decided to drown her frustration and loneliness with cheap vodka from the hotel bar. 

At the bar, Santa sat down next to her, looking nervous, and had offered to buy her a drink. She had seen him around for years at these sorts of conventions but he tended to run in a very different crowd, avoiding the parties and drunken lifestyle of the Disney princesses, fairies, and mermaids. She had always dismissed him as a boring, fat man, who rarely ventured out of his secluded lifestyle in the North Pole, but that night when he listened to her vent and complain, Tinker Bell felt heard and understood as she never had before. For the first time, Tinker Bell opened up about her feelings – about being tired of the party life she led in Orlando – about the pressure to constantly perform magic – about feeling judged by Snow White – about her fear that Peter only wanted her for her pixie dust. At the end of two hours of her talking, it had felt only natural to lean in for a goodnight kiss. The tenderness with which Santa had kissed her at the bar that evening convinced Tinker Bell that he truly cared for her.

One week later, they had begun dating. Santa would sneak down to Orlando every weekend, and even though he was married, Tinker Bell felt like it was the healthiest relationship she had ever been in. She enjoyed being the one chased for once, but unbiddenly, the comfortableness of their relationship gave way to boredom. No, not boredom. Tinker Bell shook her head as if trying to shake off the thought. It’s contentment, she told herself firmly, grabbing a small parcel she had hidden in a kitchen drawer.

Holding the wrapped package behind her back, Tinker Bell reentered the living room and stood before Santa, who had been resting his chin in the palms of his hands. “Happy Hanukkah!” she cried, placing the package on his lap. 

“What’s this?” Santa’s eyes widened with surprise. 

“A present silly.” She said with another tinkling laugh.

“A...a present?” Santa looked down at the package in his lap. “No one has ever given me a present before.” A tear was slowly trickling down his face. 

“Well, it’s not much,” Tinker Bell said nervously. She had never seen Santa cry and it made her feel uneasy. His hands trembled as he carefully peeled off the wrapping paper. 

“A beard care kit!” he exclaimed. “Thank you Tink!” he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, trying to imprint his deep feelings of gratitude in the embrace. After releasing her, Tinker Bell sat down next to him, looking expectantly. With a sinking feeling, Santa realized that she was waiting for him to reciprocate with a gift of his own. 

“I’m so sorry,” Santa spread his empty hands in front of him, “but for the first time in my life, I’m actually presentless.” 

“Oh, it’s ok.” Tinker Bell looked down, examining her now chipped nails. Ever since she moved to the North Pole, nail polish seemed like an unnecessary frivolity, especially considering she now had to wear gloves every day in this damn, cold forsaken place. 

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” stammered Santa, “I mean Christmas is weeks away...” Tinker Bell cut him off, “I thought you knew that I’m Jewish,” she gestured towards a menorah in the window that Santa hadn’t noticed when he first entered the room, “and tonight is the first night of Hannakka.” 

He fidgeted uncomfortably; Jews were always a touchy subject for him. He gave a sudden start as Tinker Bell’s bubbly ringtone began reverberating around the room, the screeching voice of Katy Pery singing Fireworks cutting across the uncomfortable air between them. Grabbing her phone from the end table, Tinker Bell read out the caller’s name. 

“Oh, it’s Peter.” Santa couldn’t help noticing the way her face lit up when she read out the name. “He’s probably just calling to wish me a happy Hanukkah.” Tinker Bell felt an angry sense of satisfaction to see the destroyed look in Santa’s eyes and was tempted to take the call. Resisting the urge, she silenced the ringer and replaced her phone on the end table. 

Santa could feel the heat rising in his face. Of course that dammed Peter Pan was calling and how could he compete with that party boy when he couldn’t even remember that his own girlfriend was Jewish. “Please Tink, is there anything I can do to make this up to you? Really, anything at all sweetheart?” He asked pleadingly. 

Tinker Bell turned to him suddenly with an intense look in her green eyes. “How about you tell Martha about us?” 

Santa was taken aback by her abruptness. “But I don’t know if it’s really the right time…” A flash of anger crossed Tinker Bell’s face and Santa trailed off. 

“Fine.” Her voice was steely. Baby your a firework! rang out across the room once again but instead of turning off the ringer, she let the song run its course, a reminder of the invisible guest between them. A cold silence held for a few seconds after the phone stopped ringing when suddenly Santa burst into tears. He buried his face in his rough hands as his large body shook with sobs. 

Tinker Bell felt ashamed that her mention of Peter had contributed to Santa’s breakdown but also a little disgusted by the heaving old man beside her. She began patting his back, rubbing slow circles in the red fur of his thick jacket. Was this always to be her role? Condemned to comforting and aiding men who were too caught up in their own personal missions to fully notice her? With a pang of horror, she realized that underneath the round belly and homely beard, Santa was just like Peter, forever unquenched in his quest for holiday joy just as Peter had been for youth and Wendy. 

Between his sobs, she made out “I just can’t believe you got me a gift, and I...nothing!” 

“Look,” Tinker Bell took a deep breath, swallowing her anger and disappointment, “you spend the whole year trying to create the perfect day for complete strangers yet you put no energy into creating happiness for yourself.”

Santa had never really understood women, but he understood gifts, and the truth was, he had been racking his brain about what to get her for months and had come up empty. He had an uncanny knack for identifying what people lacked in their life and at this moment, he understood that the only thing Tinker Bell needed was the life he had promised her. But deep down, he knew that was the only gift he could not give.

His breathing began to slow. With a hiccup, he rested his watery eyes on Tinker Bell. “Really Tink, is there anything I could get you to make up for this mess?” Part of him knew what her response was going to be, yet he hoped that his tearful display may have dissuaded her from the topic for now. 

“Oh Santa,” her eyes brimmed with tears, “if you don’t tell her, I’m moving back to Florida.” Even though her lips trembled, Santa heard the finality in her voice. He grabbed her small hand, trying to hold onto her for as long as he could. 

“I’m sorry, but if this affair got out, my whole image as this moral, kindly man will be ruined.” Tinker Bell wrenched her hand out of his grasp. He reached out for another part of her to hold, desperate to make her understand. “Look, do you think parents will be ok with me coming into their homes at night if they thought I had left my wife of centuries for a young, sexy fairy?” 

Tink took one last angry look at him before storming out of the room. Over the slamming of the front door, Santa heard her yell “WE ARE OVER!”