A strange tingling sensation ran down Helen's back. She blinked and her head lilted in confusion. Like someone walked over my grave, she thought. How long have I been standing here? Helen had a clear memory of getting home and starting to unload the groceries. She'd called up to her stepson for help, but as usual Nick either didn't hear her or chose to ignore her. She'd made two trips with bags draped on each arm, but on the way back for the third something had happened. I saw something didn't I? A woman? The more she tried to hold onto the thought, the more it slipped away. Shaking off the chill she went to the back of her car and grabbed the last two bags of groceries. She gave a wary look at the yard and distant road and hurried inside.
Placing the bags with the others, she started to put things away. Upstairs, she could hear the thump of music being played too loudly for any sensible person. Nick wasn't all that bad, of course, but Helen had expected him to move out much sooner than he had. Not that she had much room to complain. Her own daughter, Aly, was now in the same category as her stepbrother. Neither had much ambition or prospects after finishing high school. Helen and Malcolm had talked about getting their respective children out of the small town over the years, but both Helen and her husband couldn't get beyond the idea that neither child was really deserving of such an escape. The ones who made it out worked hard in school or got lucky in sports. The ones who stayed, people like Helen and Malcolm, just sort of drifted forward repeating the same mistakes over and over again.
The groceries disappeared to their respective new homes until Helen came to the final bags. She pulled away the plastic sacks stuck to the sweating cartons and looked at the four gallons of milk. Helen frowned. Something felt off, again. Why would she buy so much milk? And why were the labels so strange. They didn't have the regular "2%" or all the nutritional information listed. Picking one up, she checked the bottom just to be sure. The only thing on the jugs was a small red label which said "Crimson. Enjoy!" Even stranger, the milk wasn't even white. It was a sort of pinkish hue depending on how she looked at it. In fact, the longer Helen stared at the color, the more it changed, becoming darker and darker.
"What're you doing?" a voice asked, snapping her from the trance. Nick stood on the other side of the kitchen. He was scrawny and pale, like most young men these days, Helen thought. On the counter in front of him was a plate with a full sandwich on it, the accompanying mess strewn along the counter. He'd somehow come in, made an entire sandwich with things from all over the kitchen, while Helen stood and blankly stared at the milk. "You haven't moved in like five minutes. Like, at all. Are you having a stroke?" He took a massive bite of the sandwich.
"What? No, no," Helen said. Of course, she wanted to entertain the possibility. She wanted to tell her stepson to call for help, but something deterred her. Shame, she thought. Losing time, Helen? Getting old and having your senior moments already. At only forty-two. Why, look at you. Tits starting to droop. An ass that was never really there, used up already. What does Malcolm see in you, anyway? Other than someone to comisserate with in decay. Was it really his fault that his cock wouldn't rise? Or was it an ugly, uninteresting, uninventive wife who was truthfully more thankful to skip the monthly fuck. Would that still be the case with a good man? A virile young thing still full of spunk and desperate to give a hard fuck. Someone like Nick.
A glass clanked on the countertop. Nick grabbed one of the jugs of milk and opened it. He poured it into the glass, filling it up to the brim. "Why'd you buy so much?"
"Oh, you're still a growing boy, after all," she said with a nervous giggle. Helen broke eye contact and took the jugs to the fridge. Thankfully, Nick shrugged at the comment. He took his sandwich and milk and disappeared, back to his room to go on listening to music too loudly. Why had she gotten so flustered? She went back for the last jug, the one Nick had opened. A long drip of milk ran down its side. Before she could stop herself, Helen lunged forward and licked the drop up, letting her tongue run up the outside of the milk jug. It tasted heavenly. Without hesitation, she hefted the jug and took a long, huge gulp of the milk. It was strikingly cold in her mouth, but somehow warm in her stomach. She stopped drinking with a gasp, composed herself and put the jug away, as though hiding a shameful secret.
Now then. I had other things to do today. Like...baking! I can bake. Malcolm always likes a nice treat when he gets home. Warm milk and cookies for my hubby. And Nick, too, why not.
***
DING.
Helen was sitting on the couch. The smell of warm, chocolate chip cookies pervaded the air. She shook away the haze in her head and got to her feet, heading for the kitchen. How long was the timer? Was I watching TV? I'm so spacey today. As she passed the stairs, she heard the thumping of Nick moving down. He followed her into the kitchen. Is he closer to me than normal? Did he change clothes? Yes, he was wearing jeans earlier. Now he's just wearing a pair of basketball shorts and...no shirt? Is that normal?
"Are you making cookies?" he asked, flipping an empty glass in his hand. "Those would go great right about now." He opened the fridge and poured another full glass of milk.
"Mmhmm," Helen said, moving over to the oven. She opened it and stepped back from the rush of heat. Pulling out the cookies, she smiled. Nice and moist. "They need to cool for a bit. And you need to save some for your sister and father."
"Step-sister," Nick said, blankly. "Where is she anyway?" His voice deepened with the question and Helen thought she noticed movement in Nick's shorts. His stomach rippled as he drained the glass again and then refilled it.
"I'm not sure. Last I saw her, she said she would be out for most of the day. Maybe looking for a job, like you're supposed to be doing. Hang on, I'll get you a plate."
"You don't go out looking for jobs. You just look on the internet now. If some place is hiring, they post the jobs." He started to load the plate with cookies, taking more than half of the tray. Helen didn't stop him. She'd already decided to make some more. With a mouth full, he continued, "I was thinking. You know Lucy and David? They were a few years older than me in school. David's dad has a company that does like...trucking or something. Manual labor kind of stuff, I think. That might be a good fit for me. Getting out and working with my hands. Cutting down trees or whatever."
Helen smirked. It was hard to imagine the scrawny, pale teenage— wait. He's not scrawny. Not really. He's filled out quite nicely. You can even see a hint of muscle in his abs and shoulders. And his skin isn't exactly pale any more. His complexion is better, too. And he smells...so delightful. "I think that's a great idea. You can start working on saving up to get your own place."
