by Samantha Gellar

I’m known for my mistakes, but this one is definitely one of the worst. It was a mistake. There was no malicious intent. In fact, if it had been during a Christmas party, everyone would have written it off as drunken hijinks. Let it go.

But it was mid-February, and everyone knows he hates those Christmas parties anyways…makes himself too busy during that season. No, it was about the twelfth, nearing the day when all hell breaks loose and accompanies chocolate in a winding spiral of love, hate and disappointment and I managed to really screw up.

I’d come by that afternoon just to catch up. He’d wrapped up his yearly December overload, I was gearing up for my next big project, and we had a habit of sharing some coffee, sitting by the fire and trading war stories about the market, the customers, the constant grind.

He’d been fighting with the wife again, complaints about the cold climate. She’d been pushing for a move for decades. I should have known better than to match the two of them up…cold and warm. She said she ached, that old age was making her bones hurt, that the marrow froze on the bad nights and one day she might up and die and where would he be without the cook, maid and nurse she’d become over the years. I could see the bickering was getting to him. The deep laugh lines that crow-footed the corners of his eyes were rapidly being matched with a furrow on the upper brow, a valley that appeared when he discussed her. Not to mention the dark circles now complementing his generally cheery eyes. He seemed to be fading, darkening, as if someone was sapping away what he once had.

I can’t blame her. It seems they met eons ago, the two of them never knowing anyone else. Never having anyone but each other. Aside from his work, they lead an isolated life. The house was miles away from others, the estate massive but barren. The animals and staff there small solace for people so grand, so generally full of life.

“Chris, you gotta pull this together,” I said to him, “You’re not playing around with a bunch of self-centered adults here like I do, you’ve got tons of kids depending on you.” Back when we’d started our careers, I’d made sure that I got one that dealt solely with those over legal age. I hated the responsibility of children, even though I was the youngest of the bunch of us, I couldn’t stand that overbearing weight, that need to constantly remain positive. I like playing mean tricks on my clientele. I like that I rarely feel guilty when I make them cry. I’ve never shed a tear when someone lost it and offed themselves thanks to an unexpected twist of my handiwork.

Perhaps it was that mean nature of mine that got the best of me, maybe it was just wanting to see him happier, maybe it was just impulsivity, but when that employee, that short sweet thing of his came in with those rounded hips and a damned cute uniform on, I just thought Maybe I’ll give Chris a break. I don’t know why, I just did. I encouraged it. Hell, I made it happen. Lined the two of them up, aimed and shot them straight through. One of my best point blank shots in my life.

There’s some things you can’t fight, and my arrows, they’re just one of them. Look at the disasters I’ve created: Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Kennedy and Monroe. Giant messes. Every last one. I swear, I’m the only one of us allowed a less than 50% success rate. See Bunny screw up one out of every two times and her candy ass is fired.

Me, I’ve never even been reprimanded until now. Brought up in front of the entire panel, charged with reckless endangerment…wasn’t my fault that Ms. Klaus gets home just as Chris Kringle’s climbing offa his newfound love elf. Shit, I tried to separate them, but that arrow. Straight through.

She grabs the rifle they keep for protection. Now there’s a dead elf from accounting and Chris is in ICU and it’s mid-July and they say if he isn’t better by the Christmas rush I’m getting dressed in a fat suit. It was a mistake. Honest. They just shouldn’t give the job of Cupid to a kid with no impulse control.