Page 7 of Prize for the Alien Grumpus

"Okay, what do I know about aliens?" I ask myself.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. The question bounces around my head like a deranged ping-pong ball.

"Chewbacca? No, he's too fuzzy. The Predator?" A shudder runs through me. "God, I hope not. Robocop? Wait, he wasn't even an alien."

The traffic light ahead turns red. My foot hits the brake too hard, and the car jerks to a stop.

"This is insane. I don't know anything about aliens because they weren't supposed to be real." I groan. "This sucks."

The Christmas music from the radio mocks me with its cheerful tune. I snap it off.

Mr. Gregor knows I was there. He has to. The security cameras must have caught something. My stomach twists into knots.

"But he can't come after me, right?"

The words come out shaky, unconvincing. A car honks behind me - the light's turned green.

"He can't risk exposure. That's why they hide behind those weird image things."

My house comes into view, its Christmas lights twinkling in the darkness. Sam's bedroom window glows warm and safe.

"We'll be fine for tonight. He won't dare come here."

The garage door groans open. I pull in, kill the engine, and sit in the darkness.

"Tomorrow. I'll figure this out tomorrow."

I step out of the car, and my heart stops. Sam stands on the porch in her fuzzy reindeer pajamas, winter coat thrown over top. Her arms cross over her chest in a perfect imitation of my 'mom' pose.

"You're late."

The accusation in her voice makes me smile despite everything. I scoop her up in my arms, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo and cookie dough.

"I know, I'm sorry."

Jenny, our regular sitter, laughs from the doorway. "She insisted on waiting up for you."

I dig through my purse for my wallet, adding an extra twenty to Jenny's usual rate. "Thanks for staying late."

"Any time. She's always a joy."

Sam tugs at my sleeve the moment Jenny's taillights disappear down the street. "Can we watch Rudolph?"

"Again? We just watched it last night."

"Please?" Those big blue eyes could melt Antarctica. "It's tradition."

I bite back a groan. Streaming services are both a blessing and a curse. At least with our old DVD I could have claimed it was "lost" or "scratched." Now there's no escape from watching that clay-mation reindeer prance across the screen for the millionth time.

But Sam settles against me on the couch, warm and soft in her pajamas. Her smile lights up brighter than our Christmas tree when the opening credits roll.

The familiar music starts up, and Sam hums along. For a moment, all thoughts of aliens and Mr. Gregor fade away. My daughter needs this - these precious moments of holiday magic.And if that means watching Rudolph save Christmas yet again, then so be it.

Sam's head droops against my shoulder before the credits roll. I carry her upstairs, her warm weight a comfort against my chest. She barely stirs as I tuck her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed reindeer.

"G'night mommy."

"Sweet dreams, baby."

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