(14/15) “Never once have I called him by his real name. He’s...

(14/15) “Never once have I called him by his real name. He’s even saved in my phone as Santa. He has a house up north somewhere. I’ll go months without hearing from him, but then he’ll text. And it’s never just a text. It’s a long paragraph, starting with: ‘Hello my friend, I hope your beautiful family is doing well.’ One year I had an idea. I told him: ‘We do this thing on Christmas Eve, called The Feast of The Seven Fishes. We’d love to have you.’ I thought for sure he’d say no. But he replied: ‘Let me think about it.’ A week passes. Then one night I’m in my make-up chair, and two white gloves fall upon my shoulders. It was a serious thing. He bends down, looks at me in the mirror, and says: ‘Yes!’ From that moment we started to plan. On Christmas Eve I got to Nonna’s house early. I told her: ‘Ma, a coworker is coming over dressed as Santa, to surprise the kids.’ She says: ‘Wouldn’t that be amazing!’ And goes back to cooking. At 5:30 Santa finishes his final shift at Macy’s. He hops on The Brooklyn Polar Express, only this time it’s going the opposite way. Back to my childhood home. Right as we finish dinner, I get a text that he’s in position. I pull my mother aside. I say: ‘We gotta to do it now,’ and I go into the bedroom. When I come back I’m dressed as an elf. I gather everyone in the living room. I say: ‘As all of you know, Nonna has been making Christmas special our entire lives.’ Then I hit ‘play’ on the TV. I had it all queued up. The Thanksgiving Day Parade, the exact moment, when Santa comes into Herald Square. I pause right on a close-up of his face. ‘Tonight,’ I say. ‘We do something special for her.’ And then we hear it. The sound of bells. It’s coming from the front porch. Everyone’s like: ‘What’s that?’ Then the sound of his laugh: ‘Ho, ho, ho.’ It’s echoing, it’s beautiful. It’s in a forest filled with snow. My mother says: ‘Who’s that?’ She’s smiling. She thinks she’s in on the dupe. She goes to the door, opens it up, and she starts to say: ‘He came!’ But she chokes on the words. Her eyes begin to fill with tears. She looks straight at me, and says: ‘Who is that?’ I say: ‘It’s Santa Claus, Ma.’ She says: ‘Which one?’ And I say: ‘The only one.’”