And more, more Holidays I recognize as happening in and around Christmas. All next to the wordTithe,and percentages, and those percentages fluctuate sometimes, larger some years, growing—10 percent, to 15, to 30 and 40.
“What is this?” I ask, tongue dry.
“Joy tithes. These Holidays send a percentage of their accumulated joy to Christmas in exchange for being under Christmas’s umbrella.”
Our umbrella? But—“These are massive percentages. What kind ofumbrellawould be worth this? Why would they agree to these amounts?”
Dad gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It is a sad reality of any successful enterprise to have to, as I said, keep certain people in line so events unfold to the betterment of all. These Holidays were… persuaded to sign contracts with us for their own best interests.”
If all these Holidays—and there are more than a dozen—were brought on under whatever the fuckpersuasionmeans. Then…
My mind scrambles, fighting through the math.
Christmas gets more thanthree-quartersof our joy fromother Holidays.
All the joy we claim to have. All the happiness we claim to spread to the world—we’re stealing it from other winter Holidays. And then using it to spread Christmas’s influence further, so it touches more areas of the world thanany other Holiday.
Well, no shit we can go further than any other Holiday.
“And after you marry Iris.” Dad slides a paper onto the folder in my hands. It’s a chart showing Easter’s joy, how it will fit in with Christmas’s.
My eyes climb to his.
He’s smiling.
“Why?” I hear myself ask.
“Why? Why.” Dad chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “You yourself pointed out the way Christmas is currently viewed—cheap trinkets, I believe you said? That is an unfortunate side effect of needing to ration our magic for expansion, but it was once our whole reputation. Gifts, nothing more. Greed. Wearecapable of more than that. Every Holiday is. Celebrations worldwide have become so commodified as to be degrading, and the joy we bring isthejoy that the world needs. Christmas is, at its core, a Holiday of family and belonging, and that is the magic we will foster once we have solidified our global hold.”
I stare at him, willing this to congeal. Because Iagreewith him, don’t I? We want the same thing.
But not like this.
My shocked silence must come off as encouragement, because Dad carries on.
“All the Holidays who tithe to us are on their way out,” he says, nodding at the file. “Their joy decreasing steadily, their offerings cheapened and broken down by capitalism. They are slipping into the obscurity that has come for far too many Holidays in the past. I saw the same happening to Christmas, and rather than let this shift whittle away at us, I took action. These other Holidays now contribute their fading joy to keep Christmas going rather than let their demise happen senselessly, and we will use their tithed joy to give the world a type of Holiday that has been missing for far too long.”
Holidays come and go. That’s a reality of our world. Traditions change, and what was once a celebration of a god becomes a celebration of a harvest, evolving with the ways people grow; or forcibly, with colonization. And while the Holidays listed in Dad’s filehavewaned, they aren’t in any wayslipping into obscurity,and neither is Christmas, not by a long shot.
They’re failingnow,though, because of Dad’s demanded tithes.
Holidays fade over time.
But they fade through natural human changes, notanother Holiday overtaking them.
I wondered once what it would take for that little bit of childish hope inside of me, the belief that my dad once cared about Christmas bringing true happiness, to finally die.
I know now.
All my muscles lock up, thoughts scattered and slippery. “Why—” My voice croaks. “Why would any of these Holidays agree to this?”
“We may all be based in joy, but at the core, each Holiday is a business. And those businesses run, sometimes, on things like information. You know well how important Christmas’s reputation is. We are not the only Holiday with something we are willing to go to great lengths to keep balanced.”
“You’ve been blackmailing them,” I say. It’s a fist slamming into my gut, a burst of air popping between my lips. “You’ve got dirt on them, and you’re demanding joy in exchange for keeping whatever it is under wraps.”
“Hardly. These are business arrangements. Contracts. A trade in all of our best interests.”
Except for the Holidays who will eventually be bled dry by Dad’sbest interests.
