Page 3 of Milked for the Holidays

Now, for about a month, I’ve been mourning her memory and trying to figure out what’s next. Plans need to be made, and time is running out to make them. Once everything is settled here, I know I can go back to my old job. The lawyers there made it very clear I was an asset they didn’t want to give up.

Even if I don’t want to go back home and live my life again, I can always find work anywhere. I have excellent references and the drive to succeed. At least, I hope I still have that.

I don’t want that part of me to die along with my mother. She’d be heartbroken to see me wasting my life as I look for meaning in her death. Glancing back over to the window, my heart squeezes so hard I lose my breath for a moment.

Part of me still contemplates staying here and using the money from her insurance to fix this house back up, not to sell, but to live. I know I can find work at a local law firm. Unfortunately, I don’t think my heart can handle it.

Everywhere I turn, there are memories. I can’t even buy groceries without people shaking their heads and giving me those sympathetic looks. I can deal with it for the most part, but when they touch my arm and tell me how my mom was such a good woman… it’s just far too much to bear.

I know she was a good woman. She raised me. I couldn’t have asked for a better mom, friend, and confidant. Raising me by herself didn’t seem to affect her at all. We were best buddies until the very end.

Setting the empty snowman mug on the table, I curl in on myself, forcing my brain to shut down as I watch Ebenezer Scrooge berate poor Bob Cratchit. Whenever Mom and I watched this together, she was always fussing at both of them—Scrooge for being such a tight-ass dickwad, and Cratchit for not having a freaking spine.

A smile drifts across my lips as my eyes grow heavy. “Just you wait, Scrooge,” I mutter toward the screen. “You’ll get your comeuppance.”

My eyelids feel heavy as the ghosts warn Scrooge of the events of his night. Unable to keep them open any longer, they close as the first chime of the clock sounds, signaling his doom. With a heavy sigh, I drift off to sleep.

CHAPTER 2

JESSICA

An incessant hum floods my ears as I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. It must be my brain is throbbing from the alcohol. Since I only drink on special occasions, it would stand to reason the mug of hot cocoa would give me the hangover from hell.

I long to shake my head, but don’t dare move. I want to stay in this warm cocoon as long as I can. Even now, I can almost hear the chime of the clock from the television intermingled with Mom’s laugh.

The sounds converge, morphing into soft whispers and muddled sounds. No doubt I’m hearing Scrooge prattling on about this or that. Though I try to crack open an eye to watch the antics, I find my lids far too heavy to move.

A groan bubbles up from my throat as I turn my head, burrowing deeper into the blankets. I’m warm, just shy of burning up. Sleepiness wars with discomfort as I lie there, forcing my breathing to even so I can slip back into the abyss.

At least in my sleep, I’m not plagued by emotional pain or memories. I can dream of a life where Mom is still alive, and I’m back home doing research for a case. If only she were still here.

A blazing tear slips down my cheek unchecked. I haven’t the energy or desire to wipe it away. Again, a murmur of voices flit around my ears, making my heart slam in my chest. I don’t remember anyone in the movie having that deep of a voice.

Perhaps it’s the Ghost of Christmas Future? But then… he didn’t talk. Did he? I rack my brain, desperate to understand what I’m hearing. It almost sounds inhuman, but that’s just silly.

It’s got to be the peppermint schnapps. That’s the only logical explanation. My eyelids twitch as consciousness seeps in, ripping the last of my pleasant dreams from me. I have to wake up at some point.

Besides, with how my bladder is screaming at me, I can’t just lie here forever. Again, I groan as I realize I’ll have to walk over to the frigid bathroom, far away from the cozy warmth of the fire. I move to pull the blankets from me when everything stops.

I can’t move.

Desperation clouds my brain, turning it to mush as I lie there. There has to be some mistake. I must still be asleep or something. Sleep paralysis? It’s a thing, right?

Granted, it’s never happened to me before, but these circumstances aren’t exactly normal. It would stand to reason that my body seeks to betray me right now. Again, I try to open my eyes, managing to pry them just enough to be blinded by a searing brightness.

I screw them shut, my head throbbing as light continues to flash behind my closed lids. Definitely the alcohol mixed with bright sun bouncing off blinding white snow. Chuckling to myself, I try to lift my hand again, but find it still won’t move.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m obviously not asleep. This time, as I open my eyes, I grit my teeth and bear the agony of the light melting my eyes. Everything swims as nausea bubbles up my throat, threatening to eject the lasagna, which now sits heavy in my gut.

Perhaps it’s food poisoning? It was stupid of me to eat the lasagna after so long… but it tasted just fine. My pulse throbs in my temples as I ease my head back and forth.

After a few moments, my vision begins to clear. However, I wish I was able to go back to ignorant bliss. No longer does my television shine over at me, playing Christmas movies on repeat. It’s not the wintery glare from the living room window which threatens to rob me of my sight.

No.

I’m not home.

Not anymore.