“Mrs. Claus? You’re kidding? I’m thirty, not sixty.” Sophie’s smile slid from her full lips. She forced it back and tried again. “Come on, Tony. The ad said you’re looking for an elf. Why can’t I do that?”
Tony shook his head and scowled. The action merged his bushy brows into a furry line resembling a pair of tipsy caterpillars crossing a bridge.
“Sorry, Sophie, it’s Mrs. Claus or nothing. You’re too old to be running around in a purple and gold spandex mini. It’s not dignified. Not the right look for a third-grade teacher.”
Sophie frowned. “Look, Tony, I don’t want to be Mrs. Claus. There has to be something else.”
“It’s the Mrs. or nothing. I’m not wasting any more time on this. Take it or leave it.”
Sophie took it. It was close to impossible to find an after-school job offering three weeks of quick cash. At least, she consoled herself, no one had to know she was moonlighting as Mrs. Claus unless she told them. Now, standing in front of the chipped mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door, she regretted her decision. She forced another smile, staring at the motion in the mirror as Tony’s words circled in her head. You’re too old for an elf. Really? In every elf-fantasy movie she had ever watched, elves lived hundreds of years. Once they reached adulthood, their aging slowed, but they stayed young and perfect. If you couldn’t tell how old an elf was, how was she too old?
The fake smile slid. She was not leaving the house looking like a loopy old lady whose blue rinse and perm had gone horribly wrong. Reaching up, she pulled the wig from her head. You need to stop thinking that playing Mrs. Claus is a sneak preview of your future. It’s a means to an end. No one will know unless you tell them. She huffed a snort of disgust. Yeah right. If she believed that, why were butterflies of worry fluttering in her stomach?
“Stop,” she muttered. “You are not Rainbow plunging headfirst into one of her great ideas. This is a short-term job that will let you keep the house.”
Crossing her arms over her stomach, she turned away from the mirror. She was not her mother. She wasn’t going to end up running away in the middle of the night with only a plastic bag of clothes and a bottle of wine. This was a job. Once it was over, she would pay the bills and keep going.
No one had to know it was her under the curly wig. She had worked hard to belong. The thought of people rolling their eyes and saying she was just like Rainbow sent the butterflies into another spin. Christmasville only needed one town character. Her mother was gone, and Sophie wasn’t taking her place.
