Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

“Only two and a half weeks until Christmas,” I announced, opening up the door on my Advent calendar decorated with smiling mice celebrating the holidays, to reveal a mini wheel of brie.

Pugnog, who was my sister’s reject Christmas present two years ago, woke with a snort and made grunting noises, begging for a treat.

“One of the budget airlines is offering cheap flights to the Bahamas,” Dakota said to me as I took a bite of the cheese and tried to rally myself.

“I cannot spend Christmas on a beach. That’s not very festive. I need snow and cold and spiced wine to recharge. A person only has so many Christmas seasons on this earth, and I want to make the best of them.” I gave the pug a bite of cheese.

“There’s a happy medium between going to the Caribbean for Christmas and planning and executing a yuletide wedding for your sister and your ex-fiancé. Why don’t you compromise and go to a ski resort?” my cousin coaxed. “Hot cocoa, hot tubs, hot ski instructors.”

“Gracie.” James poked his head out of his corner office.

I shrank in my seat.

“You need to rage quit,” Dakota whispered. “You should have stormed out eleven months ago.” She was my cousin and best friend since before I could remember, and she was angrier than I was at James and Kelly.

“It’s my dad’s company. He begged me to stay on and help,” I reminded her.

“Then Uncle Rob needs to pay you more.” She shook my chair armrest.

I made a face at my cousin then scurried into James’s office. Though he did the least amount of work, James had the biggest, nicest office on the floor, with a view down to the snowy Manhattan streets.

My ex-fiancé was sitting at his desk, scrolling through tour packages for his upcoming honeymoon.

No one would admit it, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was just recycling our honeymoon plans for my sister.

You’re in a work environment, I reminded myself. Sure, it’s your dad’s company, but let’s try to stay professional.

“How can I help you, James?”

“Just want to make sure that everything’s good to go for the next few weeks. We can’t drop the ball with Roscoe Energy Solutions. They’re our biggest client.”

Correction. They were our only client.

“Did you have anything specific you were concerned about?” I asked James, pausing to watch him flounder for a response.

My ex had no idea what went on at EnerCheck Inc.

He waved his hand. “We just need to make sure that we’re hitting the benchmarks and that we’re on schedule for delivery. We can’t let anything fall through the cracks over the holidays.”

“We offer software monitoring solutions, and we don’t have any big rollouts planned,” I said to him slowly. “The last big update went out in early November. Next one is scheduled for March, so …”

James scowled at me.

“Okay, then why did you ask me if you already know?”

“You’re the boss, and you called me in here,” I reminded him, resisting the urge to tidy up his desk for him and pick up the empty cups of coffee.

I am not a doormat. Well, not a big doormat. I am a small one.

“I called you in here because … I need you to …” More angry floundering.

Maybe Dakota was right and I should just quit and leave him in the lurch. Unfortunately, my dad had a number of our less-success-inclined extended family members on payroll, and they relied on the money. Not to mention the eldest daughter in me couldn’t just tank the company like that.

“I need you to … the maintenance guys are coming by to check the heating, and you have to make sure they have access to … what they need access to.”

I glanced through the glass wall of his office, where I saw a man wearing gray coveralls and carrying a ladder. He plodded toward us through the rows of empty desks.

I opened the office door and called out, “We didn’t call in a work order. You all have a glitch in your system. I told your colleague who was here last week, and he promised to get it fixed. I’m sorry you came all the way down here, but you need to leave.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, setting down the ladder next to the door. “I called and confirmed with your boss.”

“He doesn’t know what goes on around here,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“The assistants always run the show, don’t they, man?” The maintenance worker grinned at James.

“Actually, I’m a project manager,” I corrected.

The man muttered an apology and backed away.

“Just let him look around.” James blew out a breath.

“I’m not letting the company get charged for work we didn’t order. Merry Christmas,” I told the maintenance man firmly and directed him back to the front door.

James rolled his eyes.

“You’re so nitpicky.”

“I’m trying to keep this business afloat.”

“It’s fine.”

From James’s point of view, the company was fine, but the rest of us employees were working overtime for no pay to keep up with the demand from the big energy company that was our bread and butter.

“Did you think about my idea for giving out Christmas bonuses?” I asked him.

“I said I’d think about it, didn’t I?” My ex crossed his arms.

“You’ve been saying that since Halloween, and here it is, Christmas—”

“I told you that we can’t afford it,” he snapped.

“Actually,” I said, tapping on my tablet, “we could afford it if you would just—”

“I have a wedding to worry about,” James interrupted, standing up and reaching for his fancy ski jacket that was hanging on the coatrack. “Your mom wants to know what time your bus gets in. She has the big holiday party planned and needs your help.”

“You know how the buses are,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “I’ll get there when I get there.”

“I’m tired of your attitude,” James scolded me while I struggled to keep a professional face. “This is Kelly’s big moment, and you need to be a good big sister and support her. Remember—”

“I know.”

A few hours after I had discovered James doing the reindeer nasty with my own sister, he had proposed to her, in front of the Christmas tree, on Christmas morning, just like he’d done with me. And I’d just sat there and taken it, pretending I was happy for them. Because the alternative was even worse humiliation.

He hadn’t used the ring he’d given me. Not out of respect for me, of course. When I’d went to have the diamond ring appraised, the jeweler had told me the stone was cubic zirconia and basically worthless.

Somehow, he’d convinced my mother to let him use her great-aunt’s vintage ring, the one I had wanted that he had claimed my mom wouldn’t give him. My preferred ring would have been Great-Grandma Cecelia’s, but that had been stolen and sold by one of her daughters in the ’70s.

“I’ll see you at the party, Gracie,” James said. “Bethany promised you’d make my favorite lobster dip, too, so don’t forget to stop at the store for what you need. I have to go. Traffic’s getting bad.”

He didn’t even offer to drive me up to our small hometown in Rhode Island. Not that I wanted to be stuck in a car with him, but still.

I steamed as I went back to my desk. I did not have a window view and instead looked at the men’s bathroom door that no one ever freaking closed.

“There was a suspicious lack of quitting,” Dakota said.

“If I left, no one would manage the company,” I reminded Dakota, “and your job would be toast.”

“I have no problem going down with the ship after you set it on fire,” she assured me.

Because of my sister’s upcoming wedding, the office was empty, with the few cousins that actually did come into the office begging off with the excuse that they needed to get hair, nails, and spray tans done.

“You sure you can hold down the fort for the next few days?”

She shrugged. “Roscoe Energy Solutions slows down in December because everyone has to burn their PTO.”

“Must be nice to have an actual PTO system instead of people just randomly leaving for a three-week vacation with no notice, and then when you complain, they tell your mom,” I said tartly.

I sat down at my desk to compose a strongly worded email to the maintenance company about showing up at the office when I hadn’t authorized any work. Then I responded to a few questions from our client and made a grocery list.

“Look,” Dakota said, turning her laptop screen to me. “Two hundred dollars to fly to Switzerland. Ski resorts, fondue. You could meet a rich Swiss count.”

“Or I can ride on a very slow, very smelly bus, go back to my parents’ house, and make lobster dip for James.”

“You have got to show some backbone,” my cousin sighed.

I rubbed my forehead. It was greasy. “You know I can’t.”

“Your secret’s not that bad.”

“I just can’t, okay?”

I stood up. The pug followed me to the break room.

“Seriously,” Dakota said, racing after me. “You need to go scorched earth. Shoot, sabotage the wedding.”

“I can’t do that,” I said quietly as I pulled my Advent cheese calendar out of the fridge.

I opened the paper door for tomorrow’s cheese. “There, see? I’m living on the edge,” I said as I shared the wedge of cheddar with Pugnog.

“Girl …”

My phone chimed with a photo from Kelly of her wedding dress, along with a list of demands from her describing, among other things, how some of the lace was fraying and she needed me to fix it because the seamstress wanted her to pay for more alterations.

“I see the theme of this wedding is holiday wedding skank. Did Kelly chop that dress up to pieces and hot glue on some silk?” Dakota asked, looking over my shoulder.

I frowned at the photo. Then FaceTime started ringing.

“Why aren’t you responding?” My sister was snappish on the video call. “I’m getting married, and it’s a disaster. I cannot believe that seamstress …” My sister didn’t even say hello.

“I thought you were wearing Great-grandma Cecelia’s dress?” Dakota interrupted.

“This is her dress.” Kelly fluffed out her hair. “I upcycled it. Isn’t it amazing?”

I pressed a hand to my chest and sat down heavily in a chair.

“I just made a TikTok post of the before and after.” My sister texted me a link.

The first photo was a black-and-white of our great-grandmother in 1912, wearing an elegant Edwardian white wedding dress flowing with handmade lace. The classy portrait then transitioned into the holiday skanktacular.

Tears were threatening to spill.

“That was my dress, the dress I was going to wear to my wedding,” I said quietly. “Everyone knew that ever since I was a little girl, I had wanted to get married in that dress. I planned my wedding around that dress.”

Of course, when Kelly stole my fiancé, she also decided that she just had to be married in that dress.

“I can piece what’s left together into a veil or a handkerchief or a small bag maybe,” I said, trying not to panic.

“Well, you can’t tear up my dress for that.” Kelly made a face.

“That’s fine. I’ll use what’s left.”

“I didn’t need the rest of the dress, so I tossed it.”

“Kelly, how could you?”

“God, you’re so emotional,” Kelly snapped. “You didn’t even fit in that dress. Besides, it’s cool to upcycle. I got a ton of comments on my post.”

“You don’t upcycle a vintage dress,” Dakota shot at her. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Kelly turned her nose up. “My astrologist said to expect that there were going to be people out there trying to tear me down and make me feel small because they were jealous that I was getting married. Mom already promised that you would fix my dress, Gracie, so I’m putting everything in your room. You’ll see where the lace isn’t attached right.”

“Does Grandma Astelle know about this?” I choked out. She had jealously guarded that dress.

“Daddy talked to her and convinced her to let me upcycle it.”

Ah, the life of the favorite youngest daughter of a favorite youngest son. With their powers combined, my sister would have anything she wanted.

“Kelly, do you want the red or—” I heard my mom ask.

My sister hung up abruptly to talk with her.

“Did you know?” Dakota said in alarm.

“No,” I sobbed. “I didn’t know she was going to destroy it.”

“Maybe you can piece it back together. You know how to sew, right?” Dakota rubbed circles on my back.

“Not like that.” My shoulders shook as I sobbed. “I can’t believe Kelly did that.”

“That fucking bitch. Sorry, I know she’s your sister, but she is a fucking bitch,” Dakota said defiantly. “You can’t let this go. Stealing your fiancé is one thing. Honestly? James kind of sucked, and I never liked him. Kelly did you a favor. But destroy a hundred-plus-year-old dress? That bitch needs to be cunt punted into next Christmas.”

“I can’t.” I wiped my eyes.

Pugnog pressed his cold nose against my ankle.

“Stop being such a pushover,” Dakota rallied. “Shoot, I’ll dump marinara sauce all over that wedding dress if you want me to. Just say the word.”

I shook my head numbly.

“Seriously?” Dakota yelled, banging her hand on the table. “You’re just going to let this slide?”

“No,” I said, ripping open another door on the Advent calendar. “But only because I don’t want whatever’s left of my great-grandmother’s dress to smell like oregano. Besides, Kelly deserves so much worse.”