"Oh, mom, we'll need to go to Conroy's to drop off this phone. I think someone grabbed mine and I grabbed theirs. Not that they look anything alike..."

I pull the scratched up phone from the deep pocket of my mom's old winter coat. According to her, I've been wearing the hand-me-down for the past few days, but I find it hard to believe I'd allow myself to be seen in it outside of an emergency. Given there's a month-long hole in my memory, however, I suppose I am willing to don the dusty, pink puffer despite the multiple hot chocolate stains and the tangled dirty faux fur around the hood.

"Honey, that's your phone. You didn't steal it from anyone."

She sighs and grabs her keys from the hook before opening the front door.

"My phone? You can't be serious. You sure it isn't you with a head injury?"

She steps onto the porch and lets the door close behind her. After a few grumbled words of frustration, I follow her out into the bitter winter air.

"Well, mom?"

"Well what? I told you that's your phone."

The garage door swings open with several creaks and groans, revealing my mom's blue SUV and my dad's black pickup. My father is blissfully ignorant of this mess since he's taking advantage of his day off and sleeping in. Probably for the best. He would just laugh about the circumstances and tell me to wait until after the holidays to pester Dr. Pam. Even if mom is annoyed with me, at least she's taking me seriously.

"This isn't my phone. I have an iFone 18 Pro Plus with a case made from cherry wood and inlaid with gold. This, in my hand, looks like it was on clearance at AllGet."

"That's probably because it was. If you don't like it, don't lose your phone next time."

A few clicks of her key unlocks the doors and she hops into the driver's seat without so much as glancing back at my horror-struck face.

"And this is what I got? I've lost my phone before, but the worst I've ever done is get a refurbished replacement."

"You make due with what you have when your bank account is frozen." She slams the door and misses the painful cry as a figurative dagger is shoved into my gut. I try to recover from her relentless blows, but my mother grows impatient. She starts up her car and rolls down her window before calling out to me. "Come on, get in already. Pam is going into the office special just for you. Let's not waste more of her holiday than we have to."

I growl as anxiety prickles across my skin, but I don't wait around for another reproach from my mother. I make my way to the passenger side and step in.

"What do you mean my account is frozen?"

"Got me. That one you didn't elaborate on."

We back out of the garage and down the drive. My breathing is strained and shallow as we head into the street.

"Are there any other bombs you want to drop on me?"

"Well I'm hoping you haven't forgotten Alistair. He's probably our only hope for figuring out what you did last night."

"Who?"

She stops in the middle of the empty roadway and turns to me with an unpleasant amount of motherly compassion in her raised brow.

"I don't know how you can forget a handsome boy like him. I'm starting to think you weren't only drunk, but you also fell and hit your head." She sighs and then looks out at the slushy street ahead. "Oh, I hope he's alright. He's such a gentleman. I can't believe he'd let you get this way. What if something worse happened to him?"

"You sound more concerned for him than me," I growl.

"Because I can see you breathing right next to me. Alistair, though... Maybe you should try calling him."

My mom continues down the road, while I roll my eyes. Still, I do bother to scroll through the contacts on my battered phone. Unfortunately, there's only a handful of entries—most of which are names I don't recognize. If it wasn't for Tori's name and number being included in the list, I would have called my mom's bluff and showed her it couldn't possibly be mine.

"Well, there's no number for an Alistair here, but I'll just call Tori. She'll know what to do."

"Isn't she still at some sort of reclusive resort in the Caribbean? Didn't you say she wasn't coming back until after New Year's?"

"What?" I gasp. Out of this entire mess of a morning, this is possibly the most shocking thing I've heard so far. "My Tori? On vacation?"

I understand the value of rest and disconnecting from the world for a bit, but Tori has never once used her vacation time. She's married to her work and I'm not about to convince her otherwise. I'd be lost after just a day without her.

"Sounds like you treat your employees real well, honey."

Being the responsible driver she is, my mom doesn't roll her eyes, but she doesn't need to when I can hear it in her voice.

"She knows she has vacation, I've never prevented her from using it." My voice is a tad shrill and my hands are flying everywhere in my fervent defense. "She's the one that has opted to work all the time."

"Well," said my mom in a matter-of-fact tone, "she opted to not work this time."

Her shoulders shrug in a way that screams her indifference to my personal struggle over this. As far as she's concerned, Tori being gone is a good thing.

"This is going to be the worst Christmas ever," I moan, sliding down into a resigned slouch before looking out the foggy window.

"I don't know about that. We were talking just the other day about how you haven't been home for Christmas for five years. You seemed genuinely excited to be here. Heck, even your aunt Pauline is coming out just because you're here. You know she's been avoiding me ever since..."

I tune her out at this point. I know very well that aunt Pauline's still mad at mom for objecting in the middle of her wedding ceremony because mom knew the guy she was about to marry was a con-artist. Auntie knew the whole time, but that doesn't mean she wasn't interested in locking his handsome ass down.

You know seeing my mess of an aunt might actually make being home for Christmas worth it.

Looking out at the storefronts sliding by the window, I spot the little Christmas house erected in the town's park. The fire department puts the thing up every year on Thanksgiving and old Bud Gorsuch dons the Santa suit for the season. Or he was when I was last here sometime after college. Now it looks like someone new has the honor.

I sit up to get a better view of the man inspecting the cute Christmas cottage.

I'm surprised they'd be open so early on Christmas Eve. There aren't that many kids in Juniper Falls to make the effort worth it. Though I suppose we're close enough to big cities like Whitmere that we get urbanites out here for some cozy Christmas card type experiences. And this Santa Claus is really selling it. Unlike Bud's suit, which I had always assumed belonged to the fire station, this Santa is in a beautiful cherry red velvet that may be made from actual silk instead of synthetics. Gold embroidery glitters in the morning sun and the white fur trimming is as pure as new fallen snow.

I sit up straighter and rub the window with my sleeve to wipe the fog of my breath from the cold window. We reach a turn that will pull us away from the park and I want to see this Santa's face before it's too late. I have to know who in this little town has the commitment to the part to buy a fancy suit like that.

"Jess, are you even listening to me?"

"One sec, mom..."

Just as I speak the words, the jolly fellow turns to face me as if he heard me himself. His round face lights up and his cheeks are perfect, soft globes of red. His dark, twinkling eyes catch mine through the frosty glass and, without hesitation, he places a gloved finger against the side of his round nose and winks.

"The fuck?"

"That's what I'm saying," my mom continues before turning the steering wheel and putting the Santa behind us. "What the fuck does Pauline think she's doing threatening to sue me for damages? The man literally had a contract out for her death so he could collect her estate, but we all know she lost most of it in Vegas anyway."

My mom continues her rant while I watch the mysterious Santa waving goodbye through my sideview mirror.

***

Sometimes I get carried away with absolutely inconsequential background knowledge in stories. I've spent more time than I should have thinking about Aunt Pauline's story, but I can't help myself. Making characters that are a mess is fun.