40. Reindeer Are Better Than People

40

REINDEER ARE BETTER THAN PEOPLE

PATRICK

160 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS

I do my best thinking under the vast sky out at the stables. It's the one place I can go where Hobart won't immediately pull me into a meeting. Or tell me I need to complete a task. Or alert me that some part of my redesign has caused confusion among the elves and I need to sort it out as soon as possible.

I'm not complaining. It's the kind of chaos I've always craved. Because I'm in control. Finally, a job and a mission I can get behind.

I fill my lungs with chilly, crisp air. The shock to my system is welcome. It reminds me how at home I am here. How the cold is my friend and the reindeer are my confidants.

Vixen, the most playful of the reindeer team, uses her scratchy tongue to take an apple out of the palm of my hand. She's careful not to spear me with her long, imposing antlers, which jut out from her flat, sandy-colored face. She lets out a big huff of gratitude before wandering out into the snow-packed pasture to be with her friends. The other reindeer are playing and running and shooting up into the sky in preparation for our first test flight, which is only a month or so away.

Since we arrived, Chris has given me a crash course on companionship with these three-and-a-half-foot flying wonders. I went around petting, feeding, and bathing each of our two-fifty-to-four-hundred-pound friends. This was the beginning of our bond that will be put to the test on Christmas Eve.

"It's important that the trust is strong to sustain the magic needed for an all-night flight," Chris had said. I helped him haul barrels of hay into their stalls and fill their feeding basins with alfalfa. "Your relationship with them matters immensely. They are sensitive creatures."

Quinn is a sensitive creature as well. As toy production ramps up and Christmas creeps closer, my time away from the chalet grows longer. Responsibility grips at me around every corner. But I make it my second mission to ensure he knows how important he is to me. That I'll never go back to my old, avoidant ways again.

Prancer and Dasher play-fight some distance away, while Blitzen trots over. He sniffs at my legs. "Wondering if I have any more apples, huh?" His nostrils flare. His breath is not the freshest. "You're in luck." I produce a tasty treat for him, which he accepts without restraint.

While he munches, I pet his hide and talk aloud. "What would you think about us staying in the North Pole? Quinn seemed taken by the gingerbread house. That was just a gesture. The real labor of love is building the damn thing."

We broke ground shortly after our anniversary. Yellow cranes dug up frozen ground. Elves in neon vests and hard hats scurried around with tools in hand. For the second time, one of my designs is coming to life in the North Pole.

I should be elated. But the process has been a little slow for my liking. I want it finished and the interior decorated before I unveil it to Quinn. On a special night. In a special way.

Blitzen grunts as if telling me to proceed. "Before we got here, I talked Quinn into buying this ancient two-story house because, well, we got married. Married people don't rent. They own. That's what my dad said. We toured so many duds. We also toured some amazing homes that looked just like my sketches. But we couldn't afford them. I think we made the best decision with the options we had." I sigh. "But, between you and me, Quinn told me he hates the place."

Blitzen does a full body shake like he's surprised.

"Truth be told, I was pretty miserable there, too."

Blitzen's head turns. His colorful, serene eyes wander up toward me. He's probably looking for another apple, which in fairness he deserves for listening to me babble like this. "You're right. Maybe I'm overthinking. I want us to stay happy. Be like we were at the beginning. The rush of newness and young love and conversations that lasted until morning. We've found that again here. And if we go back, the real world might cause us to lose it all."

"Lose what?"

My heart jumps into my throat. Thank God it's only Hobart. He's standing a few feet away holding a clipboard. He's in a big white coat that makes him look like a walking, breathing snowman.

"Oh, nothing," I say. "Please don't tell Quinn about any of the stuff I said. I was just blabbering."

"Understood," Hobart says. He gives me a straight-faced salute. "Speaking of Quinn, here's that second list of elves who helped on the workshop redesign you wanted. Certainly, some of them will also be available to join the force for your new house."

I thank him and inspect the list before registering the furrowed set of his eyebrows. "Is something the matter?"

"Not exactly," he says. "I just thought I should let you know that while happiness is up among the workforce, productivity is down. We're operating less efficiently than we were this time last year, which means we're slightly behind our target toy goals."

"‘Slightly' doesn't seem so bad," I say. "Plus, if happiness is up, that means everyone is doing better work even if they're not doing it as fast. That's a positive, isn't it?"

"That's true." Hobart doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"Should I be worried?" I ask.

He shakes his head vigorously. "As Santa Chris usually says, worrying is a waste of time. I just wanted you to know! It's my job to make sure you know everything that goes on in the North Pole. That's all."

I take his words to heart. I need to hold my own in both arenas of my life: professional and personal. That means excelling at being Santa while also excelling at being Quinn's husband. Having this house is a physical reminder to him that I'm willing to put in the work to make sure our marriage lasts a good, long time. I'm quite literally pouring us a newer, stronger foundation to build our life on.

"Then, I still think we should continue with the house," I say, leveling my voice to sound confident. "Let's chalk these numbers up to expected strains during a transitional period. Quinn and me living closer to the village will boost happiness even more. Maybe if our workforce is even happier, they'll kick into high gear. I'm believing in that."

Hobart takes down some notes. "Right-o, then. I'll let these elves know of their new posts for the next month." He thanks me before heading out.

There's a questioning glint in Blitzen's right eye, which is trained on me. "What? You think I'm making the wrong choice? Quinn deserves a beautiful home. I deserve a beautiful home." Blitzen's gaze grows even sharper. "I know the chalet is beautiful, but it's beautiful in the way pictures in Architectural Digest are beautiful. Aesthetically pleasing yet completely removed."

Blitzen trots closer. "You're quite the listener, huh? I know Quinn. I know he wants cozy and personal. Maybe I can send some elves back to Jersey in the sleigh to grab our pictures and clocks and some of our furniture. Oh, that reminds me, I need Hobart to go back and get my designs for Kacey's nonprofit. I can't believe I keep letting that slip my mind."

Blitzen bumps my side with his nose.

"I know!"

Bump again.

"I'm making a note."

Blitzen bumps me a third time and my paper and pencil land facedown in the snow. "Now look what you've done." Then, I realize he's after the burlap satchel slung around my torso. "Oh, you just want a third apple, don't you? Fine. I've whined enough at you. Here's a Granny Smith for your troubles."

Blitzen lets out an overzealous noise before racing off with his treat.

"Gosh, is this what I'm going to be like when I have kids?" I ask myself before shaking my head and clomping off the field.