In a Holidaze

by Christina Lauren

Benny has a way of listening and giving the simplest, most judgment-free advice without lecturing.

There’s a beast in me that’s pushing against my skin from the inside, clawing its way out. I don’t want to be a child anymore. “We aren’t kids, though.” His gaze sinks lower, and I don’t miss the way it pauses at my mouth. “We haven’t been kids for a long time.” The effect of his rumbling words is not unlike taking a muscle relaxant. “And your parents like hosting, I know. They love being parents, love taking care of all of us. But it’s time we all stepped up.”

“It’s just hard to know which choice is right until it’s all over, I guess.”

I’m sure no mother alive would be surprised by how long it takes us to get out of the house. Is every family such a mess?

If you put all my favorite things in a Willy Wonka machine, I’m pretty sure Andrew Hollis is the candy that would come out.

The pile of gifts under the tree is a hilarious display of adoration, capitalism at work, and our complete inability to moderate ourselves in any way.

I’ve spent years not trusting my ability to make decisions and quietly letting life just happen to me. It can’t be a coincidence that the moment I stopped being passive and followed my instincts, everything seemed to fall into place. I know what makes me happy—trusting myself. What a gift, right? I found happiness.