Although Brian Belden didn’t regret his decision to become a doctor—it had been a lifelong dream and he hadn’t expected it to be easy—he couldn’t escape one irrefutable fact.

Being a resident sucked.

The hours were brutal, respect often hard to come by (Brian thought if he never heard the question, "Are you a real doctor?" again, it would be too soon), and the pay was minimal.

As most of the residents Brian knew were also starting to pay off their colossal student loans from medical school, he knew the struggle to do so with the not-so-great pay was an issue he was lucky to avoid.

He didn’t have to worry, thanks to his brother-in-law, Jim.

Jim had inherited money from his great-uncle, which had grown into a considerable fortune thanks to smart investing by his adopted father, and he had insisted on paying off Brian’s student loans in exchange for lifelong service at Jim’s school for homeless boys. Brian’s arguments that he had planned on doing that anyway fell on deaf ears, and in the end, Brian gave in, grateful to have that added stress removed from his life.

But now he had an entirely new stress. It was Christmas Eve, and thanks to a scheduling snafu, Brian found himself on duty. His wife, Honey, who was normally understanding about the insane hours that he worked, had been so upset by the situation that their discussion had rapidly deteriorated into an argument that had ended with her saying, "I guess I’ll see you when I see you!" in a voice so tearful that it had instantly melted Brian’s anger.

She’d left then, to spend Christmas Eve with Trixie and Jim. Brian had been looking forward to an evening with family and friends, too. And now here he was at New York-Presbyterian Hospital hearing the umpteenth elevator music rendition of Jingle Bells drifting over the intercom, and eating peppermint ice cream from a plastic dish that one of the nurses was handing out for his dinner.

Yep, being a resident sucked.

And so did Christmas. Not since he’d been seven years old and had spied his father shoveling the homemade gingerbread man that Brian had left for Santa into his mouth had he felt so disillusioned about a holiday he normally loved.

He was tired, his stomach was a bit queasy from the lunch he’d hastily swallowed several hours ago—the Spam surprise that his brother with the cast-iron stomach, Mart, made every year during Christmas week—and, most of all, he missed his wife. He’d hoped that the peppermint might settle his stomach, but it wasn’t working. Brian threw the remainder into the trash by the nurse’s station with a grimace.

"Merry Christmas, Brian," one of the senior nurses said, patting his shoulder as she took the clipboard he’d been unknowingly holding under his left arm so that she could file the papers on it.

"Bah, humbug," he muttered, stifling a belch.

The woman chuckled, pushing a pencil behind her ear with one hand and sliding the papers into the file with her other hand all in one, fluid motion. "Come on, now. Is it really that bad?"

Brian sighed. "Sorry, Margaret. It’s just that I’m supposed to be attending a Christmas Eve party with my wife, and she’s pretty mad about me having to work."

Margaret nodded sympathetically. "Nobody in their right mind would want to be at a hospital at Christmas—even if they were being paid to be there. Me, I don’t mind so much. My husband’s been gone for a few years now, and I actually prefer being here than at a family gathering that doesn’t involve my family. I mean, it’s awfully nice of people and I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s funny how you can feel more lonesome in a crowded room than you can all by yourself."

Brian felt terrible—here he was complaining about missing an evening with his wife when Margaret was missing every single day with her spouse. "I’m sorry," he said, feeling awkward.

The older woman shook her head. "Nonsense. You didn’t do anything. And I actually like being here at Christmas. I like talking to the patients and taking care of them. And I even have a beautiful tree to look at." She gestured towards a tree blinking with colored lights that sat in the small waiting area that Brian hadn’t even noticed until now. "You should look at it too, Dr. Scrooge." In her typical fashion, she briskly turned away without further ado, saying, "Well, I need to make a quick phone call." Margaret began punching in numbers on the phone that sat at the nurses’ station.

Brian grinned in spite of himself. Margaret reminded him a lot of Miss Trask, his wife’s former governess and later manager of her parents’ home in Sleepyside. Margaret was highly efficient, took care of everybody, and didn’t suffer fools lightly. And that included everybody, including some of the higher ranking doctors. Brian honestly figured that the New York-Presbyterian Hospital would simply crumble to the ground without Margaret.

Brian wandered over to the tree to have a closer look and smiled in surprise when he smelled the unmistakable odor of evergreen, so out of place against the antiseptic smells of the hospital. Not only had somebody taken the time to bring in a real tree, they had decorated it with what looked like homemade ornaments, too. Brian felt his spirits lift slightly in spite of himself. There was something quite simply magical about a Christmas tree.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a guilty look around, he decided to answer it. He was more than three feet away from any equipment, after all. He saw the name "Honey" on the screen and braced himself for a continuation of their earlier argument.

"Honey?" he said, cautiously. He could hear odd noises in the background and then the unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

"Oh, Brian, I’m so sorry I was such a horrible nag before."

"I wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy myself," he admitted. "I know how disappointed you must be."

"And you, too. I was so unhappy about not getting to be with you tonight that I didn’t even really think about how you must be feeling. Can you forgive me?"

Brian felt some of his fatigue melt away at his wife’s words. "Of course. It’s okay, sweetheart. How’s the party?"

"It was good. I must have read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas to Katy ten times before she finally went to sleep," Honey said with a laugh. Katy was Jim and Trixie’s rambunctious two-year-old daughter. "And you should have seen the sooty boot prints that Jim made in front of the fireplace after Katy went to bed so that she’ll see that Santa really did show up while she was sleeping."

Brian smiled at the thought until something else Honey had said hit him. "Wait a minute. What do you mean the party was good?"

"I’m on the train, going home," Honey admitted.

"Going home? I thought you’d spend the night at Jim and Trixie’s!" At Margaret’s curious stare, Brian realized he was practically shouting and lowered his voice. "Sweetheart, I don’t like the idea of you being by yourself on Christmas Eve."

"You are."

Brian sighed. "That’s not the same thing." He hear the booming sound of the next station being announced through the cell phone and realized that Honey wasn’t very far from the flat they shared in Manhattan. She couldn’t very well turn around now.

"Isn’t it?" was Honey’s reply.

Brian could hear a familiar note of stubbornness in his wife’s voice. "Honey, I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not going to be home for hours."

"I know. But when you finally do get home, I’ll be waiting for you," was Honey’s firm response.

Brian knew that arguing with his wife was absolutely fruitless. In her own way, Honey was as stubborn as his sister, and once she had made her mind up about something, there was no changing it. And truth be told, he felt warm all over at the thought of not having to make the trip out to Sleepyside on Christmas morning by himself. He’d have his wife by his side, right where he needed her. "You got me—I’m glad, Honey. It just isn’t Christmas without you."

He heard another sniffle. "I feel the same way."

Before he could tell her that he loved her, the call was dropped. He tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail, telling him that she probably didn’t have a signal. He left her a message anyway, telling her that he couldn’t wait to be with her.

"Sweet, Belden!"

Brian whipped around and grinned at the sight of one of his fellow residents, a young Japanese man implausibly dressed as Jolly Saint Nick. "Yosh. What are you doing here? I thought you were off tonight."

Author’s notes:

Special thanks to Dana, Mal, and Susan for their very fast edit.

Lyrics quoted are from the song "I’ll Be Home For Christmas"— lyrics by Kim Gannon, and music by Walter Kent; used without permission.

The required elements are:

1. Spam (either the mystery meat, or the computer kind)

2. The repeated singing of a holiday song

3. Someone disillusioned about Santa (i.e., Kid catches parents putting stuff under tree and taking bites from cookies left for Santa)

4. A Party Pooper/Humbug

5. A stripping Santa--can be a movie scene, a card, a doll-anything!

6. Learning about a holiday from another religion's/culture.

7. Irrefutable evidence of Santa's visit (besides gifts!) i.e., cookie crumbs and empty glass of milk, reindeer turds, etc. Be creative!

8. Someone who every year makes a horrid treat and gives it to everyone (bonus for the treat itself!)

9. Peppermint ice cream

10. The classic book How the Grinch Stole Christmas

And my required carry-over element is from CWP #8: Floaty pens