Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

“Santa, baby, don’t come down my chimney. I want you to go through the back door.”

What in the fresh Christmas hell?

I almost dropped the Christmas-morning cinnamon rolls that I had left to proof in the oven. I glanced at the clock. It was 11:48 on the night before Christmas, and my freshly divorced grandmother was watching holiday-themed porn in the living room.

“Why can’t she watch Hallmark movies like normal grandmothers?” I complained under my breath.

My parents’ house was large, and Granny Murray had the TV volume in the living room turned way up on account of her hearing aids. The woman who was getting her Christmas present early was moaning loudly, accompanied by a rhythmic slap slap noise.

I wiped my hands. The rest of my large family was already asleep, dreaming of the big day tomorrow.

“Yeah, Santa! Give me your huge cock,” the porn star gasped.

I ground my teeth. Christmas was my absolute favorite holiday, and a big part of that was because it was wholesome. The yuletide season took me back to a time when things were simple, when my grandmother would host lovely Christmas dinners and not porno viewings. Now Gran was ruining it by “making up for lost time after a waste of a marriage,” as she put it.

“She’s probably triggered that you’re having the wedding of your dreams with the man of your dreams tomorrow. Cut her some slack.” I tried to talk myself off the ledge as I walked quickly through the historic house.

The sex noises echoed through the decorated hallways. Granny Murray was going to wake up everyone, and I needed people well rested on Christmas, and not just for opening presents. My dream wedding was happening in fifteen hours, and it was going to be a packed day. I’d been planning my holiday wedding since I was a little girl, and nothing was going to ruin it for me.

Strangely, when I walked into the living room, Granny Murray was nowhere to be found. The room was dark, the TV off, the only light coming from the Christmas tree in front of one of the large windows.

The porno noises were loud and clear, though.

I peered in the dimly lit room. Was it a smart speaker? Was my little brother playing a prank on me?

“Oh, Santa!” a woman cried.

My mouth fell open.

“Kelly?” I whispered in confusion as I looked down.

My sister didn’t hear me because she was getting her jolly holiday on with some guy who was half hidden by the oversized Douglas fir.

My face burned, and I stepped back, balling my hands up in fists.

“Hit me harder, Santa!”

My sister was going to wake up my mother, who would freak out, though probably on me for allowing my sister to bring some random guy into the house.

Ever since we were children, I had been blamed for my sister’s mistakes. Kelly was the problem child—spilling juice all over the floor, coloring on the walls, sneaking out for parties, and bringing home strange men who had trashed the house and stolen my stuff. My parents had never done anything about it except tut-tut and ask me to keep a closer eye on Kelly and be a better role model for my little sister.

As if my sister could change.

This, however, was a bridge too far. It was Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake!

I straightened up. Well, not too much. I was in my Christmas PJs and braless. Things were a bit saggy, but I was going to be a married woman tomorrow, gosh darn it, and Kelly could not ruin Christmas or my wedding with her hookups.

“Kelly,” I said in my best eldest sister voice, not that Kelly had ever paid it any mind. “You cannot bring strange men here, especially not on Christmas.”

My sister responded by begging for her hookup to work her clit.

Said hookup was wearing a Santa hat that bobbed as he grunted rhythmically. He was partially blocked by the Christmas tree, but I could make out the slight pouch of his stomach as he increased the pace. His Rudolph boxers, custom embroidered, were down his pasty thighs. Come to think of it, those boxers looked an awful lot like the ones I’d made for James last Christmas …

“What the—”

“Fuuuuckkk!” My curse words were drowned out by James’s orgasm. My fiancé groaned as he emptied his load in my sister. Yeah, no condom apparently, because we were putting all our faith in St. Nick this Christmas Eve.

“You—you’re—” I stammered.

“Oh my god,” my sister slurred as she orgasmed with a performative scream. “Oh my god, that was sooooo goooood, James!”

Her fur-lined Santa hat drooped over her head. She balanced on one arm to brush it and her hair back while my fiancé grunted.

“Damn. You’re a better fuck than your sister,” James wheezed as he grabbed my sister’s ass. “You always give me a hell of a workout.”

Kelly laughed drunkenly. Then she peered at me blearily in the soft, colorful light from the Christmas tree.

“Oh, fuck, Gracie. I thought you were asleep,” my sister slurred as she tried to use the Christmas tree to pull herself upright. She tugged at her party outfit, a skimpy, glittery, wine-red dress, because of course she skipped out on the family Christmas Eve dinner to go to a club.

I stood there feeling like I was about to puke up all the Christmas cookies and milk I’d consumed earlier that evening. My mouth opened and closed.

“You always go to bed early. Why are you awake?” Kelly demanded.

“I had to check on the cinnamon rolls,” I finally whispered.

James poked his head out around the Christmas tree. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit, James.” My chin wobbled.

I couldn’t process what I had seen, didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that my fiancé was just having sex with my own sister underneath the Christmas tree.

“This isn’t what it looks like, muffin,” he said defensively, using the pet name I secretly hated because he always liked to poke my stomach when he said it. He reached out a finger for my midsection. I slapped his hand away.

“I always made sure you had a home-cooked meal when you came back from work even though I was working too,” I warbled, the tears making the lights on the Christmas tree blur and spin. “I clean the apartment, take your clothes to the dry cleaners, and hem your pants.” The words were coming out in ugly, heaving gasps. “I don’t understand how you could do this to me, James. I love you.”

That was a lie. I did understand how he could cheat on me.

It was because of my sister.

Men always found her sexier, prettier, more exciting than me. Shoot, it wasn’t just men—family, friends, even random retail workers—everyone flocked to my extroverted, pretty sister. She was my dad’s favorite. Even though she ruined my stuff and had slept with my last two boyfriends and now my fiancé, I was expected to turn the other cheek, be the bigger person.

“You promised you liked me better than her,” I cried to James, the words sounding small and petulant.

“Maybe if you weren’t so boring and stuck-up, Gracie, you’d keep a man.” My sister rolled her eyes.

“I am not stuck-up,” I yelled at my sister. “You just ruin everything.”

“I’m still going to marry you,” James said, sounding annoyed as he pulled on his pants and tucked his shirt back in. “Don’t worry.”

I shuddered. He didn’t even wash off his penis.

Then I had a horrible thought.

“You don’t have sex with Kelly then come to bed with me, do you?”

“You’re such a nag,” James complained.

“Do you even shower after?” I screeched.

“Hell no,” my sister scoffed, fumbling around for her clutch and pulling out a makeup compact. “He goes straight to sleep. He likes to smell me on him. Don’t you, big boy?” She reached behind her to squeeze James’s Christmas package.

My breath was coming out in hysterical gasps.

There were footsteps on the stairs. My family was awake.

The part of me that liked to pretend that everything was A-OK and under control just wanted to sweep my sister and fiancé off to bed and tell my parents we had only been enjoying a late-night Christmas movie and bonding.

I am supposed to get married tomorrow. Isn’t it best to just pretend that this is all a bad dream?

“Who’s having sex?” Granny Murray asked with way too much energy for someone in her eighties. “It smells like a strip club in here.”

“Mom,” my mother, Bethany, scolded.

My mom wrapped her robe around herself then peered at me. “Why are you down here with no clothes on, Gracie? What is all this commotion, you three?”

My dad patted me on the arm then saw my sister and rushed to give her a hug. “You’re back, Kelly! I was so worried about you, out late at night.”

My brother yawned. “Gracie, is the casserole ready? I’m starving.”

“The breakfast casserole is for brunch. I can heat up some leftovers for you,” I offered, my voice sounding far away.

Just keep the peace.

I was the eldest daughter. When the boat started to rock, I steadied it. I was the mature one, the third parent, the good child who made it all worth it.

“Did you check on those cinnamon rolls?” my mom asked. “The dough’s not getting too big, is it? It could overflow in the oven.”

You make one mistake when you’re eight …

“Whose underwear is this?” Granny Murray asked, using a candy cane to pick up a pair of lacy black panties.

There were more footsteps on the stairs. My aunts and cousins were piling into the living room.

My cousin Dakota gave me a worried look. “Why are you crying, Gracie?”

You can still have your dream wedding, I reminded myself, trying to keep it together.

But James was no longer my dream groom.

“Gracie, are these yours?” Granny Murray waved the panties in my face.

“They’re too small to be hers. Those are Kelly’s,” my cousin Connie said loudly.

Several of my female cousins gasped.

“Gracie,” James warned.

“And I would be careful, Gran,” I said, my voice taking on a shrill tone. “Those panties are a biohazard and soaked with James’s fresh, hot cum.”

My brother made a gagging noise. One of my aunts clapped her hands over my younger cousin’s ears.

“Gracie,” my mother scolded. “Why are you borrowing Kelly’s underwear? You received a lot of nice pairs at your bridal shower.”

Are you freaking …

St. Nick save me.

“Kelly and James were fucking under the Christmas tree,” I said loudly and pointed at my sister and fiancé.

“I’m sure it was a mistake, right?” my dad asked desperately. “Too much eggnog, eh, James?”

“They’ve been having an affair.” I sobbed.

“I’ll get the shotgun,” one of my uncles said with a chuckle. “We’ll have roast cheater for Christmas dinner.”

Finally. For once, my family was rallying around me.

But it was not meant to be.

James put his arm around Kelly.

“I just want you to know,” he said, in a voice that for some reason I was just now noticing was annoyingly whiny, “that I’m sorry you all had to find out about me and Kelly this way. I think of all of you as family. We were going to wait until after Christmas season was over to tell everyone, but it’s out now. Kelly and I are in love.”

My sister beamed at me.

“What do you mean, after the Christmas season?” I said, hyperventilating. “We are supposed to get married tomorrow, James. You mean you were going to tell everyone after we got married that you were in love with another woman?”

James sighed heavily, like I was the problem here, like I was the one making things difficult and being childish.

“I was going to let you have your little Christmas wedding moment, Gracie,” he said to me condescendingly, “then offer a quiet annulment.”

“Bullshit!” I screamed at him. “Bullshit! You were going to keep fucking my sister behind my back until she got bored of you and bounced. Then you were going to mope around like a man-child and force me to take care of you and stroke your ego back into some semblance of function, just enough for you to attract some other pretty airhead with fake tits.”

James scoffed. “Her breasts aren’t fake.”

“Yes, they are. My dad bought them for her for her eighteenth birthday.”

“Kelly has self-esteem issues,” my dad fretted.

“No. She has the issue of sleeping with someone else’s fiancé.” I turned on James. “I was going to marry you, you lying rat. And if I hadn’t walked in on you coming in Kelly’s chimney—excuse me, back door—then I never would have known. I would have married you and been blissfully unaware that you had no fucking respect for me.”

“Gracie,” my mother chastised, “can you please watch your language?”

“No, I won’t, because James is a fucking asshole.” I twisted the engagement ring off my finger and threw it at him. “This was supposed to be the best Christmas ever. I was supposed to get married.”

“This was a very expensive ring,” James scolded, bending down to pick it up.

He walked over to me, pretending like he was going to hand it back. As he did, he hissed in my ear, “Unless you want your big secret to get out, just shut the fuck up and smile.”

My big secret? After the night I’d just had, having everyone know my secret was going to send me over the edge. I’d drown myself in peppermint hot chocolate.

My family looked at me in concern.

“I might have been too hasty. It is Christmas,” I said weakly, feeling dizzy. “And the holidays are about family, so if James and Kelly are happy, I’m happy.”

“Really?” Dakota was appalled. “Gracie. I know you’re a doormat, but come on.”

“I’m sorry, Dakota.” My stomach was churning.

Maybe I did need to cut back on the holiday sweets.

“She’s gonna puke,” my brother hollered while my male cousins all freaked out.

I looked around desperately. I had just cleaned the living room rug, goddamn it, and the stockings had already been filled.

“Gracie, go outside,” my mom yelled.

“Open a window!” my brother shouted as my male cousins hooted.

Granny Murray handed me a novelty ceramic Santa boot.

As I puked my guts out to cries of disgust from my family, the grandfather clock began to chime.

It was December 25th, and my life had completely imploded.

Merry freaking Christmas.