I’m sorry for how late it is, but Merry Christmas @viddygayme from your @ducktalessecretsanta2018!

Huey had developed his love of lists out of necessity. Having three kids in the family made even an outing to the grocery store an ordeal. He was four when he realized Uncle Donald’s “system” – shoving as much as he could in a bag, strapping two of them into the triple stroller they’d outgrown a year ago and puling the third by the hand until he begged to be carried instead – wasn’t working. He was five when he figured out a better way.

“Uniforms?”

“Check.”

“Snacks?”

Donald shuffled some things as he peered into the bag. “Check.”

“Permission slip?”

“Uhh…”

“That’s okay. I have back-ups, you’ll just have to sign them again.”

“What would I do without you, Huey?”

Five years later, he’d honed the system to perfection: lists and sub-lists, dry-erase lists for things that came up at regular intervals, like chores and holidays, and color-coded lists for big projects. The list for a Duck-family Christmas involved every trick he had.

Except that Mrs. Beakley wasn’t interested.

“Thank you Huey, but I have my own list, which has been perfected over the last 20 years as Mr. McDuck’s housekeeper.”

“Well, sure, but…this is our first Christmas here. And I wanted to make sure—”

“I can handle it, thanks.”

“So you got the stuffing Uncle Donald likes? And left lumps in the mashed potatoes for Dewey?”

“Dinner will be at 8:15.”

“And Louise likes—”

“Webby!”

He jumped a little when she appeared at his side.

“Yes Granny?”

“Would you…show Huey the Christmas card you made for Donald or something?”

“Sure!”

Huey started to argue, but Webby grabbed his hand and dragged her away.

“No offense, but I don’t really want to see that card just now. I have to make sure Christmas dinner—”

“Umm…I kinda sorta got the impression that Granny just wanted you out of the way. It’s okay though! She doesn’t like me underfoot when she’s doing Christmas dinner either.”

“But she has no idea…” Huey took a deep breath. “Fine. If Christmas dinner is a disaster, that’s not on me.” He stomped in the general direction of his room, but Webby ran to block his path.

“Let Granny worry about dinner. What else is on your list?”

He hesitated.

“Come on…I know you have one.”

Huey sighed and reached under his hat for the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and the laminated sheets within.

“Well…I guess I could finish wrapping presents.”

Webby snatched the list and skimmed it until she came to the sub-list titled “Presents.” His brothers’ names were neatly typed under Uncle Donald’s. Off to the side, in what appeared to be sharpie, he had neatly printed “Uncle Scrooge,” “Webby,” and “GizmoDuck.”

“You got me a present?” she screamed happily. “What’d you get me?”

“Junior Woodchucks rule #372: if you tell someone, it’s no longer a surprise.”

“That’s…a pretty obvious one, isn’t it?”

He shrugged.

“Okay! Present wrapping! Point me to the paper and tape!”

Huey sighed. Webby’s enthusiasm for…well, everything was endearing. Except when it was a little exhausting and he just needed quiet so he could focus for a minute.

“The stuff’s in my room,” he said flatly, and he followed at a normal walking pace as she bounded away tirelessly.

The room was dark when they entered. Dewey was in his bunk, staring out the window at the sky.

“Are…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his tone was clipped. Webby started to say something else, but Huey touched her arm and shook his head when she looked his way. He’d shared a room with Dewey long enough to know when he needed company and when he needed to be alone. Right now, he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He’d be okay and join the family later.

As quietly as possible, Huey dug out the supplies and the few gifts he hadn’t wrapped yet. “Can we take these to your room?”

Webby nodded solemnly.

Once they’d reached her room, Huey sat down and began the meticulous process of setting up his wrapping station. The only ones that hadn’t been wrapped yet were Uncle Scrooge (a deluxe silk cleaning kit for his spats and top hat) and Launchpad (a vintage Darkwing Duck poster, complete with hanging apparatus).  He let Webby wrap the silk cleaning kit as he started on the poster, securing it between two pieces of cardboard to keep it safe.  As he finished, he looked up to find Webby tangled in tape.

He blinked. She chuckled.

“I guess I got a little overeager.”

He sighed and went to cut the tape. Once she was free, he suggested she sit on the bed as he wrapped the last one. She compromised and jumped on the mattress instead.

“Okay, that’s done.”

“What’s next?” she asked, doing a flip and landing on the floor in front of him.

“Do you ever get tired? Like…ever?”

She ignored the question. “What’s next on the list?”

“Decorations.”

“I saw Donald doing the ones outside earlier. So that leaves the tree!”

He followed her to the giant tree that had been set up in the living room.

“The Junior Woodchucks guidebook suggests starting with lights, then tinsel, and ornaments last.”

Webby had already lassoed the tree, swinging in to toss everything on the branches at random. As she landed next to him, he consulted the guide.

“Pure Christmas magic.”

“I have some notes on your ornament distribution.”

“Magic,” she repeated.

As he eyed her skeptically, Uncle Scrooge passed by, in the same foul mood he’d been in for the last two weeks. By the time he’d disappeared into his room, Louie was staring at a warped piece of paper.

“Ugh! Now I have to start my letter all over again.”

“Good. Your letter was terrible.”

His brother looked over at him with an eyebrow cocked.

“Don’t start with ‘I can explain.’ Just tell him you tried your best, two things you did this year that were really good, and how thankful you are for the example it sets. It’ll butter him up just enough to grant you mercy. Guarantee.”

“Will you…”

“Yes, I’ll check your spelling when you’re done.”

Louie grinned. “Thanks! Now let’s just hope Uncle Scrooge doesn’t attack Santa tonight.”

Once he’d left to find a clean sheet of paper, Webby asked, “What’s left on the list?” Huey clenched his fist around the Junior Woodchuck Guide. “Dinner! The only thing that’s left is making sure Louie gets his stupid cranberry juice, because he hates the sauce, and Dewey gets his stupid lumps in his stupid mashed potatoes, because—”

“What’s your favorite part of Christmas dinner?”

Huey froze, then blinked. “I…I dunno. I just eat what’s there.”

“Okay, hear me out. Maybe, just maybe, you could…give up…just a little control?”

“I don’t have to have control!” He was shocked by the shrillness of his own voice. He cleared his throat and relaxed his grip on the book. “Do you know how hard it is to keep everyone happy in this family? We all want such different things and—”

Webby didn’t say anything, but nodded sagely. Huey sighed.

“But I guess there’s more than just us now and somebody’s got to think big picture.”

“…plus, you have a larger support system so you don’t have to be the responsible one all the time?”

His shoulders slumped, but he smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“There you two are.” Mrs. Beakley stood with her hands on her hips, a clipboard on one of them. “I have one more thing on my list: have a second set of eyes confirm dinner is properly finished.”

Huey furrowed his brow, even glancing over to Webby to check her reaction.  His psuedo-sister just shrugged and followed her Granny into the dining room, so he went too.  What he saw made his jaw drop.  The table was covered with food, and among them he saw everyone’s favorites: the mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the cranberry juice, and even…

“You made macaroni? That wasn’t even on my list.”

“Yes. Donald told me it was your favorite,” Mrs. Beakley said. “So I put it on mine.”

“It all smells amazing.”

“We’ll eat as soon as your uncle and brother get back.”

He nodded and started to walk into the living room, before doubling back to hug her and Webby. “Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas, Huey,” Webby said, as they heard the front door opening, and they ran into the living room to join their family.