Holly Garland on Santa's Lap [COMPLETE]

Chapter 31 : New Year, New Resolutions

Feeling resolute, I head over to one of the inspectors at the scene and borrow a scrap of paper. On it, I write a note to Nick: I'm going home, I'm resigning, and I never want to see him again.

"Could you give this to Mr. Paxton when he comes out, please?" I ask the same officer, who nods silently. "Oh, and I need to get home, but I came here in one of your cars. Is there any way someone could give me a ride back?"

"Of course, Miss Garland. I'll ask an officer to drive you."

I offer him a thin, polite smile.

Leaving the station, I let out a sad sigh of relief.

At least this time, I'm wearing shoes.

The police car pulls up right in front of my brownstone's steps. My little home has always been my pride and joy.

But for the first time since I bought it, being here doesn't fill me with the same happiness. Actually, it feels the opposite. My house doesn't seem as welcoming as it used to.

I ring my elderly neighbor's doorbell to grab my spare key, slip it into the lock, and step inside.

It feels... strange.

Like I'm walking into another world.

Another time.

Another life.

It's only when I find myself in the middle of my living room that I understand why.

My Grand Central Station-style clock reads midnight.

It's January 2nd.

I'm back to my ordinary life.

My old life.

You know, the normal one.

Well, if by "normal," you mean sad, pointless, and boring. Then, yeah, my life is normal again.

Assuming you also ignore the fact that I'm jobless, carless, phoneless, and my living room is in complete disarray!

I grudgingly get to work cleaning up all the rolls of wrapping paper and scattered presents—both wrapped and unwrapped—that are strewn across the floor, the couch, and pretty much every available surface.

When it's finally done, I collapse onto my velvet sofa, completely drained.

How much longer is this going to last?

Is the Universe trying to crush me, little by little?

I honestly don't think I can survive another episode of Christmas disaster.

Even if nobody but me believes it, the evidence is right there.

Something's happening. Something mystical. And no, I'm not joking! Do I look like I'm kidding?

Or maybe I'm just crazy.

And to think, Mom supposedly had a "good feeling" about this year!

Dragging myself off the couch, I decide to call her. It's late, but I know she'll answer. I need her right now.

I head upstairs to my bedroom and strip down, too tired to even stop by the bathroom first. I pull on an oversized, comfy t-shirt for the night and briefly think about Lorna's shirt—the one I couldn't bring back with me. I push that thought aside, climb into bed, and sit up to grab the landline phone on my nightstand. I hit the speed-dial button for Mom.

"Holly, sweetheart!" she answers warmly, her voice instantly soothing.

"Hey, Mom," I reply, faking some enthusiasm.