The Holiday Switch(51)

The snow is steady and each flake is heavy and wet. For the first time in forever, Mr. Weather from KHLY is right: He called for steady snow through the afternoon and heavy snow in the evening.

But Mr. Weather doesn’t prepare me for the chaos inside.

The gift shop is packed to the brim, and it’s hot. I spot Teddy at the register. In addition to his polo shirt, he’s wearing a Santa hat. It jingles every time his head moves, and it’s so adorable.

Upon closer inspection, however, I realize Teddy is far from jolly. He’s sweating, his hands moving quickly across the register. Another green sweater darts by—I miss who it is—and a child in the store cries. Someone barks out a laugh, and another person sneezes.

    It’s going to be a rough night.

I slip in behind Teddy once I’ve dumped all my stuff in the break room, and after exchanging a silent hello, I jump on the second register.

Two people come toward me. Both are grandma types who try to beat each other to the counter. I already have my hands up as they approach. One never underestimates the determination of lolas, Filipino or otherwise. “Ladies, I can only take one at a time.”

“I got here first,” says the grandma in red.

“That’s because you cut me,” says the one in green, pointing along the left side of the register with her cane.

“Well, that’s your problem. That isn’t the line. This is the line.” Grandma in red points toward the ground where there are arrows on the floor, marked by red duct tape.

“We have arrows?” It takes me aback. It’s only been four days since my last shift.

“I taped them down the other day to divert folks so they don’t clump up right in the middle,” Teddy says while packing up a T-shirt.

“Wow,” I say. I’m reminded of the different-colored footholds in the climbing gym. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Thanks.” He looks at me, hanging on a beat longer than usual.

Butterflies stir in my belly.

“So, it’s me who’s first.” Grandma in red yanks me out of my thoughts.

I nod belatedly, then turn to the grandma with the cane. “I apologize for the wait, but if you can move back to the arrow, I can help you next after this customer.”

    Grandma with the cane grumbles but does as I request.

Indeed, after the initial confusion, the arrows help with the crowd. And despite my wandering thoughts, and the occasional brush against Teddy while behind the counter, I focus enough to manage the long lines and stock inventory.

“Do you know about the snowstorm that’s supposed to roll in tonight?” says the customer in front of me with a Southern accent and a cowgirl hat. She only has one thing in her basket: a magnet. “I’m planning on grabbing a ton of water tonight, in case we get snowed in.”

Here’s the thing about the snow up north. What others might think is a snowstorm is, simply, heavy snow. A true snowstorm cuts out power and roads. In the Finger Lakes, our power grid can handle snowfall. Our snowplowers are the best in the business, making sure our roads are clear at all hours of the night and day. School is hardly ever canceled. “Oh yeah?” I say anyway, just to keep the conversation moving. “That will be six dollars and one cent.”

She hands me ten dollars. “This place has been the absolute best. I’m sad I won’t be here for the event on New Year’s Eve. I was a day late for tickets.” She declines a bag. “Jonah Johanson is such a dreamboat.”

“I agree.” I sigh and wave to the customer. To Teddy, I whisper-scream, “Did you hear that? Tickets are sold out. I’m so glad my mom got tickets for us.”

“Do you really think Jonah Johanson is a dreamboat?” he asks.

I wave another customer over. “What do you mean?”

“You totally blushed.”

As I scan the customer’s things, I bite back a grin. “Jonah Johanson was voted the sexiest man alive by People in 1998.”

    “Yes, he was,” says the customer with a smile. He swipes his credit card. “I still have the copy.”

“See?” I point out. Carefully, I wrap the wooden backscratcher with the movie quote etched with Scratch my back? No way! in tissue.

Teddy frowns. “He’s like…a dad.”

“Yeah, so?” I tease as I pack the backscratcher in a bag. To the customer, I say, “Thank you so much for coming to the Bookworm Inn.”

“I’d call him Daddy,” the customer says with a nod, and leaves with his things.

Teddy’s mouth drops open in shock.

I cackle so hard now it’s me who’s sweating.



* * *





Two swift hours later, we serve our very last customer. After Teddy turns off the automatic doors, we both lean back against the glass and heave a breath.

“Wow,” he says.

“Whoa,” I answer back, surveying the damage left by today’s visitors.

The gift shop is a mess. Random receipts and trash litter the floor. Somebody took a liking to the magnets on the six-foot display and stacked them flat, one on top of the another. And in every small circular clothing display, hangers stick out like barbed wire.

Teddy and I look at each other. His hair is disheveled; white cotton fuzz from the Christmas village snow sticks on his uniform sweater. My sweater has a couple of price stickers attached to it, and the patch logo on my upper chest hangs by a thread thanks to an eager baby who was handed to me when their mommy needed to use the bathroom.