“So do I hit play now?” Martha asked, the remote suddenly foreign in her hand, as if she were holding some dead-eyed cod.

Tim chuckled with warmth, already ascending the ladder by the tree. “Yes, now, a minute ago, in an hour-whatever!” He shook his head softly. “As long as it’s on while we decorate, it counts.”

She pushed play and set the device down. “Counts? Didn’t realize there was a referee involved.”

“And a test. Better bone up on your studies.”

She eyed him down with scrutiny to make sure that wasn’t a double entendres. He looked innocent enough, head near the ceiling, hands fumbling not to drop porcelain gnome ornaments.

They went to work decorating their massive (for their apartment) twelve-foot tree, cheered on by the television and Tim’s favorite Christmas movie.

“So, how did this start?” She asked, handing him garland.

“It all began with this guy named Jesus…”

She smacked him with another bit of garland. She laughed at the face he made.

“I don’t know,” he said, “it’s just something my mom got us doing. Chicken before egg.”

“Hm?”

“This wasn’t my favorite Christmas movie before that.” He gestured toward the screen.

She turned to look, considering, but lost her grip on a ceramic R2-D2. It shattered on the fake hardwoods.

“Oh— I’m sorry.” Was all she could say. She knew he’d painted that one.

He knelt down, looking morose for only a moment before— smash!

There too went C-3P0. Her eyes were saucers.

“What are you—?!”

“Don’t want those two to be apart, do you?”

She smiled.

“Besides, now we have another tradition.” She questioned this with her eyes. “Always kinda hated those. Too niche. Every year we’ll smash our least favorite ornaments. It’ll encourage us to get new ones.” He laughed.

She hugged him and said that she loved him. He said it right back then they finished decorating by the sound of Red Rider BB Guns.