“You’re getting so tall!” you said, lifting your young daughter by the wrists. She stood with her tiny palms wrapped in yours, her chubby legs kicking at the carpet in time with her ringing laughter. You smiled, tickling the exposed stripe of soft belly that was exposed beneath her fuzzy sweater. Her laughs grew louder, but were quickly interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Not expecting a visitor that evening, you set your daughter back down in front of her stuffed animals. The doorbell rang again as you peered through the peephole. A bulky spray of green branches blocked the person’s face, but you recognized the labored sigh as he shifted his weight to try and ring the bell once more. You opened the door with surprise brightened in your eyes.

“You bought a tree?” The shock on your face slowly melted to a warm smile as you widened the door’s opening to allow your husband in. He smiled back as he pushed the tall Christmas tree in through the front door, stumbling slightly when the trunk caught against the door’s frame. You stood for a moment on the front porch while he fumbled with his grip on the tree. From the covered deck you looked out to the street in front of the small house you shared together.

A light dusting of pearly snow had brushed gently over everything in view. The bushes were heavy with crystals and thin tracks of asphalt stood out where cars had driven through the thin powder. A muffled groan returned your attention to the house, and you followed your husband inside.

He lifted the tall tree over the hardwood floors, being careful to avoid creating scratches. Clumps of loose pine needles fell to the ground and you stepped over the growing mess to help lead the Christmas tree to your living room. Your husband pulled a red tree stand from a plastic bag, rubbing at a dark smudge with his sleeve. Grinning with satisfaction, he hoisted the tree into its stand, stepping to the side to make room for you beneath it.

“Could you go underneath and tighten the stand?” You nodded, ducking your head below the thick branches. Tightening the clamp, you inhaled deeply. The smell of fresh pine travelled comfortably to your nose, and you let a contented sigh escape your lips. You stood up again to admire the tree. Your husband turned to you with a pleased grin, your daughter rested comfortably on his left hip. “Your parents sent over the ornaments you had when you were a kid,” he mentions, setting down your daughter to retrieve them from the back of your car. You stood for a minute and twisted a few of the imperfect branches out of the way.

“No, no! Don’t eat that!” Your husband’s voice was stern, yet you detected a touch of laughter in his throat. Walking over to the entryway, you stifled your loud giggles.

“That’s not for eating,” you said disapprovingly, pulling the handfuls of pine needles away from your daughter.  Your husband’s smile was obvious as he tried to wrench open your daughter’s mouth and remove the now soggy pine needles. “Gross!” She laughed loudly, clearly pleased with the shocked expressions on her parent’s faces.

Your husband set the red plastic bin of ornaments on the ground next to your Christmas tree, opening the lid with delicate caution. He unrolled sheets of newspaper and revealed the fragile decorations you had amassed throughout your childhood. Together you strung them strategically around the heavy branches, your daughter placing the softer ornaments in a cluster at the bottom.

You the radio, allowing soft Christmas songs to play in the background of your laughter and conversation. Under his breath your husband sang along, his voice husky and warm beneath the familiar tunes. When the last ornament had been tightened securely to a branch, he unwrapped a final sheet of newsprint. In the wrappings was a gold star, folded beautifully out of cardboard and covered in metallic foil. He turned to you and grinned, presenting it to you happily.

“I made this.” You turned it over in your hands, clearly surprised by his handiwork.

“Really? It’s so beautiful!” He smiled, a blushed tingeing his cheeks.

“I wanted our Christmas star to be special. You know, since this is our first year we’ve been able to have a tree.” You handed it back to him, eyes twinkling. He grabbed your daughter tightly in his arms and lifted her on his shoulders, letting her extend her small arms to place the star in its rightful place. On cue, you snapped a picture of her reach and stood back to admire your tree.

When your daughter went to sleep, you fell with tired sighs to the couch. The lights you had strung strategically around the tree glowed bright red and white, illuminating the ornaments and deep green branches. The view out the window was frosted with snow, and the street lights shone gold over the glittering streets.

You rested your head on your husband’s shoulder, letting the scratchy fabric of his sweater rub your cheek.

“It’s going to be a great holiday,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. You smiled back at him, eyes bright.

“It will.” Your eyes closed and you smiled wider, his arms tight and comfortable around your shoulders.