My family, she says to herself. I hate them.
She watches as her mother, brother (his wife and kids), and her father celebrate. They open gifts and ooohhh and awwww over unimportant trinkets bought from the clearance shelves of discount stores. Beth despises Christmas. She always has. She hates having to attend this obligatory family helliday. It is a day filled with lies her family tells itself. “We’re happy. We always have been. We’re just like those families in magazines. Nothing wrong here!”
Every year is the same. Barbed insults weaved with condescension dance like sugar plum fairies. Passive-aggressive declarations decorate the tree.
She exhales, and tells herself not to worry, Her flight is tomorrow, and then she'll be safe for another year.
Ho Ho Ho