#grinchmas

You trudged through the knee-deep snow, cursing the broken strap on your loose snowshoe and the Whoville Highway Department who had refused to make a proper road up Mt. Crumpit. Nearly a year had passed since last Christmas and the “Great Green Incident” as the Whos had come to call it. Everyone knew the story; the Grinch’s attempt to steal Christmas, the celebration that came all the same, and the welcoming of their new friend whose heart had tripled in size.

But few knew what happened after that, even amongst the Whos. Few, that is, except for you. This wasn’t your first trip up the mountain, after all. In fact, you’d become a “repeat ascender” as the Grinch liked to joke.

It all started almost a year ago after the Christmas feast when Max had eaten something he shouldn’t have, earning you a late-night call from an unfamiliar number. The Grinch was worried, panicked even, over the little dog who had been his only friend for so long. So you left your house with all your things and hauled your way up the mountain, not quite unlike today, in the first of many ascents to check up on the little creature.

Max was fine in the end- a little indigestion is all, but you on the other hand, were a changed Who.

Perhaps it was something in his smile, or the way he doted on the little dog. Maybe it was the look of gratitude, or the disbelief when you actually showed up at his door in the dark of night 3,000 feet up. But something had prompted your own heart to grow that fateful night in the wind and the snow, and you found yourself falling- no matter how galling, you did try to stop it but the feelings came crawling- falling hopelessly, copelessly, madly in love with the Grinch.

Which is why it hurt all that much more when the Christmas cheer faded and so did the hearts and minds of the Whos, who returned to their daily hustle and bustle, forgetting the Grinch and his oversized heart. Alone on Mt. Crumpit where he tried to adjust to a life full of empathy, and so few to share it with.

Your phone would ring at least once a month with a call for an injured paw or a mysterious limp that would miraculously heal by the time you reached the summit. A wagging Max would bound out to see you. And a bashful Grinch would invite you in for coffee and conversation that usually ended hours later with a skip in your heart and a kiss on the forehead.

For Max, of course.

And now here you were again, adrift in the snow with your bags and your broken snowshoe, the day before Christmas. The mountain white, but your thoughts evergreen.

The snow was exceptionally high this year. It seemed every week brought about another blizzard and with it another thick cover of snow to bury the last, making the banks and drifts much higher than you were used to. Even the Grinch had warned you of the treacherous conditions, but you were stubborn and perhaps a bit lonely yourself with Christmas only a day away. A little extra snow wouldn’t keep you from your man- Max...your Max.

Obviously.

Wind howled past your ears and snowflakes froze to your eyelashes making the final stretches of the bitter climb raw and clumsy. You slipped and slid along the craggy ridges, oversized bags threatening to drag you down. Even the trees seemed to bend at odd angles under the ice-hard winds, or perhaps that was just how they always looked.

Relief came in the shape of a wispy silhouette, arms crossed and foot tapping, just visible through the wall of white. He reached out a green hand through the snow’s swirling curtain and you took it gladly.

“It’s about time,” the Grinch said with a false scowl, tapping a non-existent watch on his wrist.

“Yeah, well, the traffic was terrible,” you teased, kicking off your snowshoes as he ushered you into the cave entrance. Max’s nails scratched on the stone floor, sending a bunched-up hallway rug skidding as he barreled toward you, tongue flopping merrily.

“Oh, good, I was worried you’d blame the weather,” the Grinch chuffed, taking your bags while you shrugged off your coat.

“You were worried?” You paused, one arm still in its sleeve.

“About the weather,” he gave you a scornful look. “You just happened to be in it.”

Max whined.

“Hey buddy,” you said, crouching down to his level for a well-deserved scruff behind the ears. “You missed me, right?” He melted into a blur of wags and wiggles.

“Don’t indulge them, Max, they’ll never leave.”

“Jealous?” You asked, looking over your shoulder. “Want your belly rubbed, too?”

“Oh very funny,” he said as he heaved your bags up onto the nearby table.

Then he paused, quirking a brow.

“Unless…”

“Nice try,” you said, rolling your eyes.

The check up went as usual. Max earned a clean bill of health along with several more belly rubs while the Grinch earned some weary looks from you as he hovered like an anxious parent.

“How are his ears? Did you look in his ears?”

“Cleaner than mine,” you remarked, checking them twice over for good measure.

“And his legs? You know how little dogs get those shifty kneecaps.”

“The only shifty thing here is you, my friend,” you laughed. Max yipped as if to agree and you gave him a well-earned treat before packing away your things.

Coffee came almost immediately after. Hot, dark, and thick as mud, just like you liked it, served in one of the Grinch’s least chipped mugs that you’d come to recognize as yours. Steam swirled before you as you took in the sights and sounds of the cozy cave. The Grinch threw another log on the blazing hearth.

For a cave, it was rather homey. Open concept with the kitchen and table toward the entrance, a single patchwork chair by a fireplace that piped straight out the top of Mt. Crumpit, and a small bed with a crooked wrought-iron frame farther in, centered under the open rotunda. There were halls and passages that led to other areas. Places where he made the many inventions you’d come to know and love. He was nothing if not resourceful… an eccentric genius, perhaps.

Time passed as it always did, full of witty banter and laughs that echoed through the cave. Max sat on your lap as you sipped your drink. The Grinch’s eyes lingered where your hand tenderly caressed the little dog’s scruff. When the log had finally burned to a gentle glow and the conversation quieted, you knew your time would soon come to a close, so you finally allowed yourself to ask the thing you’d been wondering since December had hit.

“I heard you still haven't RSVPd to the ‘Whobilation’ tomorrow night,” you tested the waters, knowing Christmas was a sensitive subject for the Grinch.

“Well, you know how things are…” he stared off into the fireplace, stirring his coffee with a slender finger.

“They don’t hate you, you know,” you offered softly. “They just…”

“Forgot?” He finished your sentence for you, voice going flat.

The Whos were not perfect people. Far from it, in fact. For all their talk of peace and love and togetherness, it was their own near-sightedness that led to the Grinch being alone all these years in the first place.

“It…takes time to build trust,” you said apologetically.

“It didn’t for you,” the Grinch was looking directly at you now, his eyes swimming with sincerity the others just couldn’t see. It was almost too much.

“Yes well,” you sipped your coffee with a wicked side eye, “I didn't have much of a choice what with Max and his many invisible ailments now did I?”

You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of pink on the Grinch’s green cheeks.

“Well, either way,” you said, getting up from the table and offering Max some farewell pats, “I would certainly love to see you there.”

“‘Love?’” the Grinch repeated, stalling halfway as he handed you one of your bags.

“For Max’s sake, of course!” You quickly corrected. Before the Grinch could reply, a gust of wind rattled the cave with an ominous creak that signaled your cue to leave.

“I really should get going,” you said, grabbing the last bag from the Grinch’s hand. Your fingers brushed lightly in the exchange and he pulled away as if burned by fire.

“Yes! Of course. Better scram before it gets any worse out there.” He opened the door with a flourish, shooing you into the elements where you stood, adjusting your snowshoes before he said more softly, “Do be careful.”

Your eyes met, only for a moment, before you nodded and-

A wall of white was all that you saw as a sound like an oncoming freight train flooded your ears.

The ground vanished.

Crushing weight threatened to suck you away from the cave’s entrance as cold and confusion crashed down all around you.

Excellent you thought as the world became a blur of ice and noise and Max’s panicked barks. Death by avalanche. How festive.

“HOLD ON!” the Grinch's voice ripped through the frozen air, desperate and feral, as his hand found yours. “DON’T LET GO!”

“Do I have a choice?!” you shouted weakly as you slammed into something warm and green, the snow trying desperately to separate you. He pulled you into his snarling chest, body heaving against the snowy assault, the strength of ten men dragging you willfully back toward the cave.

You gripped him like a lifeline and with a final bone-rattling crash, felt the cold stone floor of the hallway beneath you as you lay there in a tangle of limbs and fur and ice. He held you to his beating chest for several more breaths before finally letting go. With your face squeezed firmly between his hands, he looked at you, eyes wide and pupils blown.

“That is the LAST time you ever go outside.”

The entrance was completely buried. It was a miracle you had even worked the door shut against the rushing snow. Your clothes were soaked and you were chilled to the bone, teeth chattering as you rearranged your bags, checking to make sure all your equipment had survived the chaos.

“You need to change out of those, you’ll catch a cold,” the Grinch said, stating the obvious.

“Fair enough,” you agreed. “Can I borrow some-”

You paused, the Grinch looking anywhere but you as you stared at his very unclothed self.

“Right…”

Now both of you were blushing.

“There is…one thing…” he started slowly.

Moments later you found yourself dry and warm in an oversized Santa suit that smelled vaguely of roast beast and regret.

“The stitching is lovely,” you offered kindly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the Grinch sank behind his hands, mortified, no doubt reliving last year's trauma. He winced as he shielded himself from view, a touch of red staining the hair on his left forearm.

“You’re bleeding!” You gasped, forgetting all about the suit and snatching at the Grinch’s arm before he could pull away.

“Oh? That? It’s-”

“My fault,” you said softly, looking him over for any other unmentioned injuries.

“Nonsense. I was just-”

“Protecting me. You got hurt protecting me,” you finished, hurrying to your bags of supplies.

“Really, it’s nothing,” the Grinch tried to play it off, startled by your candor.

“Let me help,” you replied, bandages in hand. “Please.”

The Grinch held out his arm reluctantly, avoiding your troubled gaze.

He was a very good patient who sat still while you worked and didn’t even mention the way the oversized Santa suit was sliding languidly off of one shoulder. When he was all patched up, you called him a “good boy” and offered him a biscuit.

“You’re lucky I don’t bite,” he chuckled darkly. “Not anymore anyway.”

Dinner, if you could call it that, passed with little to-do. Max quickly learned you were not to be suckered for table scraps. The Grinch quickly learned you were not to be suckered at 5 card poker. And you won yourself enough Who-bucks to replace that broken snowshoe.

The remainder of the evening was quiet.

Too quiet…

As our story continues,

The keenly aware,

Will surely have noticed,

The problem you share.

Though the snow may have settled,

And the danger lay dead,

A much greater threat lingered-

There was only one bed.

As the fire died down, and the yawns became more drawn out, an inevitable conversation drew ever nearer. You sat at the kitchen table clearing your throats and taking turns staring at the ceiling. Occasionally someone would mention the wind as it whipped past the mountain. You knew it couldn’t carry on this way forever, but you certainly wouldn’t be the first to break.

“I’ll take the chair,” the Grinch finally obliged.

“That old thing?” You protested, staring at the rickety patchwork recliner.

“It’s perfectly comfortable,” he said as if trying to convince himself. “And the rusty spring sticking out has yet to give me tetanus,” he said proudly.

“Absolutely not,” you refused. “You sleep in the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

“No, I’ll take the floor, you sleep in the bed,” he rebuttaled.

“You’re injured! The last place you should be is the ground.”

“And you think I can sleep soundly with you freezing six feet away?”

“So what? You'll sleep better if I’m in bed with you?”

“I-” the Grinch froze, his rationale stuck halfway up his throat. An accusatory finger now wilting under the heat of the argument.

Max barked from the bed, tail wagging.

“Look,” he began, hesitantly. “We’re both adults, and this cave gets cold at night. I know it’s not very big, but we can face away from each other.”

Max barked again. Louder this time.

“I’ll write up a contract. You're a vet, you love paperwork,” he continued. “No eye contact, no excessive fidgeting, no removal of socks…wait I’m not wearing any-”

It was your turn to bark.

“Fine.” Before he could continue you were already halfway across the cave, Santa suit slinking off of your shoulder as you went.

Max yipped happily.

The two of you laid there, back to back, a wriggling Max at your feet. The wrought-iron frame groaning with every little movement making the tension a hundred times worse. You held your breath, trying not to move, as the Grinch did the same. Meanwhile the wind whipped by with a fury, while the final embers of the fireplace gave way to the darkness.

“Comfortable?” the Grinch’s voice sounded strained at best.

“Absolutely,” you lied, arms stiff to your sides and a kink in your spine. “You?”

“Snug as a bug.”

He was not snug as a bug.

Every breath, every blink, every rigid movement was another excuse for the bed to creak. You tried not to think of the man behind you as your heart rapped away at your chest, knocking against your ribs like the wind outside as it shook the craggy mountain. Meanwhile the Grinch carried on much the same, holding his breath as he struggled to find the right words to break the tension.

Just then the bed answered the silence with a sudden groan, much louder than the last.

You both froze, a sense of dread weaving its way through your shared blanket.

Suddenly the bed creaked again, louder still, like the sound of a dying animal, sending Max skittering away with a startled yelp for the safety of the patchwork chair. In doing so, the mattress rebounded and a spring somewhere deep within gave way with a victorious SNAP that rang out through the cave like a shot.

The bed dipped mutinously at its center, as gravity had the final say, sending you both careening toward each other in a mess of heat and fur and blankets. You found yourself, for the second time that day, blinking breathlessly against the Grinch’s chest.

“Sorry!” You both said as you tried to pull away, but just then a howling wind ripped through the rotunda, shaking the cave with a rumbling force, causing the stone to tremble and instinct to kick in faster than thought.

You reached for each other, holding on tight as though the first to let go might be blown away. The gust passed. The tension did not.

“I believe we may have violated the contract,” you whispered with an awkward laugh.

The silence was louder than any storm.

“I…” the Grinch began quietly. He was wrestling with something inwardly. “I didn’t RSVP because I couldn’t- couldn't face it alone,” he admitted guiltily.

You looked at him. Another blatant breach of contract.

“You don't have to face it alone,” you whispered earnestly. “Not the party. Not Whoville. Not anything.” Warmth flooded your chest as you pulled yourself closer, allowing the Grinch to envelop you in his tender embrace. His oversized heart beat fast against your cheek.

“I hope you know I’m blaming the bed for whatever happens next,” he said finally.

You moved in closer, just enough to let the Grinch decide exactly where this ends. Without hesitation his lips found yours, warm, passionate, unapologetic. Your hands found each other's as they intertwined gently, and that Santa suit slid off much easier than you anticipated.

The bed groaned and creaked, more approvingly this time, and poor Max looked away as your shadows danced on the walls of the cave.

What happened beyond that was between two adults, one broken bed, and a spring that would never recover. In the end, let's just say Santa wasn't the only one who came that night.

***

The next morning you woke to nary a peep. The storm had died down and Max was curled comfortably on your chest. The Santa suit lay forgotten on the floor next to the sagging bedframe, and you were cuddled firmly against the Grinch who was eyeing you with a mischievous grin.

“So was any of that in the veterinary code of ethics?” he asked cheekily.

Memories of last night came flooding in.

“I'll be scratching it from the official report,” you teased.

After you were dressed and fed, your clothes now dry from yesterday, it took the better part of the day to clear the cave's entrance. Two shovels, one questionable contraption, and some very creative curse words later, you were on your way to the Christmas Whobilation. Together, this time.

When you arrived the Whos were abuzz with drinks and cheer. The Grinch’s hand was quick to find yours in the crowds and the chaos. Of course there were looks and whispers that came in the form of, “did they come here together?” and “is that fur in their hair?”, but ultimately neither of you minded as long as you had each other.

Even once, the Grinch pointed out some mistletoe, under which you happily obliged with sweet, sloppy kisses…

From Max, of course.

And in the end, the Grinch raised his glass, not as an outsider, but as someone who was right where he belonged.

The Grinch raised a toast,

Not to presents or cheer,

But to the one Who,

Whom he truly held dear,

And he knew from then on,

He could weather the weather,

For with you by his side,

You could do it together.