She’s Jewish and he’s Christmas. It’s a good marriage mostly. He’s had to learn certain songs and, of course, to eat strange foods at prescribed times of year. She’s excused him from the porous fish in a jar, and he’s grateful. For her part, there’s that disquiet still whenever he chops down a perfectly healthy tree and hauls it into their living room. She really doesn’t get that. Next year, she thinks, I’ll step in and buy a sapling in a pot. We’ll decorate it gently and plant it in the backyard after. Every year, she thinks. If we stay together we’ll have a goddamn evergreen forest for our grandkids.