Dear Santa

3. Leona

Leona blew warm air into her cupped hands as she walked. It felt good for about two seconds, then they got cold again. That would teach her misplace her gloves in December. They were probably hanging out in Jamaica with her self-respect, which she'd lost when she let that silly letter slip out of her fingers and into the slot of the Letters to Santa box.

What had she been thinking? Someone was probably laughing at her now, wondering what kind of sad sack of sorrow made a grown woman write to Santa Claus.

Insanity, that's what it was. Pure insanity. Because why else would she have signed her own name on the damn thing? At least she'd had the presence of mind not to put her address on it. No one could return-to-sender, or worse, answer the letter, telling her to grow up and write to an advice column instead. She could put this whole embarrassing thing behind her and pretend it never happened.

Her steps involuntarily slowed as she got closer to the accounting firm's modest office building. A festive wreath hung on the front door, and red ribbons adorned the windows. Leona was tempted to peek through one of the windows to, what, see if people were laughing at her letter?

Don't be ridiculous, she thought to herself. This wasn't high school. Not that anyone laughed at her in high school. People would've had to notice her first.

Stop! No more self-pity. It was good that people ignored her in high school. No one bothered her, and that allowed her to focus on her studies. She was an adult now, and her boss liked her, and her coworkers were nice. Life was going well. Mostly.

She glanced at the familiar Letters to Santa box and stopped in her tracks.

No way.

No. Freaking. Way.

An envelope was taped to the front of the box. An envelope that was never there before. Printed in neat block letters... was her name.

She blinked several times and looked again. LEONA. Yup, it was her name all right.

Or maybe it was for someone else named Leona. Yeah, that must be it.

Who was she kidding? This couldn't possibly be coincidence. The accountants were ordering her to stop being creepy and leave the letter-writing to kids. They wanted to tell her off, but didn't have her address, thank goodness.

She stared at the envelope, unable to make her hands move. It certainly was a clever idea to stick the letter where she was likely to see it. Why couldn't they just let it be? Throw away her dumb confessions like she'd expected them to? Why did someone choose now not to ignore her?

She wanted to keep walking. To keep pretending like she hadn't lost her mind the other day. But her feet wouldn't move either. Great, her hands were frozen, and now her feet as well.

Leona chewed on her lip, debating. She didn't know why, though. She had to see what someone thought was important enough to write her about, right?

Her eyes darted around to make sure no one was watching, then she snatched the envelope and hurried away.

Once she reached the cozy warmth of her office—and once her fingers had thawed enough to function—she opened the envelope and began reading the letter inside.

Dear Leona,

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope this letter finds you at all, actually. Considering you didn't leave a return address, this was the only way I could think of to reach you. I hope you don't mind.

I just wanted to let you know that I hear you. Epiphanies about our sexuality are never easy, and you should know that you aren't alone. And you aren't doomed either. You'll find your way, just like I found mine. Just take things day by day. And use support groups! You can find many online if you want to stay anonymous. Join a few, and you'll discover how not-alone you really are.

In case you haven't gathered, I'm not really Santa Claus. Consider me a helper elf. The big man has had to outsource his work over the years, and I was lucky enough to get this job. You sound like a person I could be friends with. An elf could always use more friends. It can get lonely in a workroom full of nothing but industrious elves.

Ever get coffee at the corner shop? You know, the one with all the pastries dipped in chocolate beckoning from the window? I highly recommend it.

Yours,

Helper Elf

Leona read the letter three more times, still not quite believing the response she'd gotten. This helper elf person was so nice. Maybe she was reading too much into it, but this person seemed to get her. Had understood the weird way Leona had reached out from her loneliness. Had actually reached back to touch her through a letter.

You'll find your way, just like I found mine. Her helper elf had to be another lesbian, right? Or, she supposed, it could be a gay man. Or just some compassionate person who found their way, whatever way that was. Either way, it was kind, and Leona was grateful for it.

She pondered that last paragraph, though. Was Helper Elf inviting her to coffee?

She shook her head. No, of course not, that would be far-fetched. Why would a total stranger want to meet a desperate spinster anywhere?

Still... maybe she should check out that little pastry shop on the corner. She didn't have any appointments this morning. Maybe a little pick-me-up in caffeine form was in order.