A Christmas Story
A handful of packages set under the tree and, with a deep breath against a spread palm, a sprinkle of sparkling dust flew into the air above it all.
On the rocks. Not like a drink, which is exactly what she needed right now. No… on the rocks… as in having serious difficulties — likely to crash and burn. That’s where their marriage was right now: sliding down an embankment with no happy ending in sight.
But, to avoid complicating everyone’s holidays, they were currently avoiding discussion. If they were going to fail, they’d be polite and wait until mid-January when it was less of an inconvenience to their friends and family.
For now, Maria had made a habit of simply coming home, drinking wine until she felt floaty and stopped caring, feeding and bathing their son, burying herself in holiday preparations, and falling asleep, a little drunk, in front of the Christmas tree. It was impossible to give in completely to depression under the glow of slowly blinking twinkle lights.
Maria wrapped a home-made afghan around her shoulders, sipped her cabernet, and lost herself in the vision. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She and William had planned to take Chris to the ice-skating rink. And no matter how bad things were between them, she refused to let…
