Only settling back into her seat as she put some distance between them.

Letting out a deep breath slowly she pulled off her gloves, noting with tempered shame the light shacking that held them. As she found a restful radio station to keep her company she shook her head at the regret of being made to feel that way. It was an anger and frustration that slid into the void left by the adrenaline and sense of fear.  

It was not the first time comments had been made, and as such it was not the content of their ignorance that perturbed her, it was the sense of foreboding, of feeling frightened, no matter how briefly. Of course, it was entirely sensible to be wary to a degree, and cautious, but she hated being made to feel that way, the sense of weakness was a surprise.

As she pulled into their drive, she smiled at the twinkling Christmas lights still alight and smiling over their front door. Tina must have left them on for her return, there was something beautiful and delicately prophetic about that.  

Stealing in quietly, she noted it was midnight. Removing her coat, bag, keys and winter accessories, she made her way into the kitchen. Reaching up for a squat lead crystal glass, she popped an ice cube and a small warming shot of Amaretto in the glass. The first sip was sweet and serine. She undid the first few buttons of her shirt and leaned back against the counter, letting her eyes touch the family scene that was home, there is something about Christmas, the traditions of the past and the expectations of the future that made you pause for thought. Perhaps that was Decembers best asset, the moments of introspection, and the desire to please others, to let them know, or rather to tell them again, how much you adored and appreciated them.

The decorations too, like bringing outdoors inside was such a pleasure. Bette could smell the pine as soon as she come in, almost hear the shivers and light turns of the baubles that never knew total stillness. The way the light caught their brilliant iridescence and sent tiny stars dancing around the room. Bette had been as enthralled as Angelica the previous evening as they watch them with such quiet marvel. It was such times, dressing the tree, wrapping gifts and writing lists for seasonal food and drink that she thought so very fondly upon her mum. Her adoration of tradition had lit the romance of the season for her, long ago.