Holiday Wine, with You and Me [Chaennie ]

Part 1: It's Bad Out There

Jennie Kim is going to die.

She's going to die very soon and she's going to do it right here on the road to god-knows-where, Colorado, her hands still clutching the wheel of this foul-smelling rental car, buried under five feet of snow for the remainder of the season until some fortunate family of possums digs her up in spring, probably. (Do they have possums in the mountains?)

But before she dies, she's going to kill Lisa Manoban.

It's the heartwarming revenge fantasies that have kept her going — well, that and the snow plow she's been trailing for the last fifty miles of zero visibility. She's fairly certain that she's imprinted on it at this point, like one of those orphaned baby ducks. It's practically dark by the time she (finally, finally) spots the distant lights at the end of the road where Lisa promised her they'd be, and Jennie is dizzy with relief.

She's briefly taken aback by the silence that engulfs her after she slams the car door shut. Snow is still falling, and she imagines she can hear it now that the engine is off. It's a faint clinking, like a room full of champagne flutes meeting in a toast somewhere far away.

It's an arresting view, she allows. Not that she's going to tell Lisa that, or forgive her for making her drive all the way up here. Or for taking out the exact files Lisa knows she needs for her pitch to the Swiss investors next week, the ones that state clearly they are NOT TO BE DIGITIZED.

"Absolutely not," Lisa had told her that morning over a phone connection that was precarious at best, "I'm not cutting my family vacation short. You want those files, you can come get them yourself."

Lisa's cabin is larger than Jennie had expected and much more modern, with large windows on both the first and the second floor. The light emanating from them casts a pleasant orange glow over the snow out front. Beyond it is a breathtaking backdrop of snow-covered mountains and the prettiest indigo sky Jennie has ever seen. The first stars are already blinking into view.

"Jennie, you idiot!" Standing in the doorway, a black silhouette framed by the warm light coming from the cabin, is Lisa. Her hair is still soft and wavy, but it's almost down to her shoulders again. "Get in here, you deranged person." Lisa meets her halfway down the driveway and pulls her into a tight hug that Jennie indulges in for a brief moment. Lisa is all bones, as always, but her grip is remarkably strong.

"Lovely to see you, too." Jennie aims for sarcasm but lands, to her chagrin, solidly at sincerity.

When Jennie pulls back, Lisa grabs both of her arms and holds her in place, looks her over with concern. "When we heard about the flight cancellations, we figured you'd do the responsible thing and get a hotel in Denver. Did you actually drive the rest of the way up?"

"You didn't leave me much of a choice," Jennie points out, earning a glare from Lisa. Behind her, another, shorter form has appeared with eyes just as dark as Lisa's but a smile three times as wide.

"You made it!" Before Jennie can register what's happening, she's enveloped in another hug. She notes with surprise that she no longer needs to lean down into it; Lisa's daughter Lily is almost fourteen and apparently well on her way to exceeding Jennie in height. Not that it takes much, especially once Jennie's out of her heels. Which is something she'd really rather like to be right now.

"Are you hungry?" Lily asks her. "Rosie and I made cookies. Would you like some cookies? They have Christmas sweaters on them."

Jennie doesn't know who Rosie is — one of Lily's friends? But she has to admit the offer is tempting; the snow hasn't let up and it's definitely dark now. Jennie is tired and hungry and even though she hadn't planned on lingering any longer than necessary, she can't imagine getting behind the wheel again any time soon.