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Leaning forward, Mariah regards my collection with a mortified grimace. “Do you have anything other than Christmas movies?”

“Sorry, I’m on a strict Christmas movie diet.”

She sighs, then digs around, lifting the occasional ornament to inspect it before gingerly placing it back in the box. “What aboutRomeo and Juliet?” She lifts the tape with black sharpie on it and turns it over a few times. “I haven’t seen a taped VHS in years. Kind of forgot they exist.”

I snatch it from her and toss it back in. “Anything else.”

“Fine.” She digs around for a few more moments before taking outHome Alone.“How about this?”

A classic. I nod my approval.

By the time the opening credits are finished rolling, we’re both cozied up with warm leftovers and refilled glasses.

“Where’s the tree?” Mariah asks between bites.

“What?”

“You have lights. Tinsel. Garland. A box full of ornaments. But no tree.”

“Oh,” I say, still mildly confused that, of all things, this isher choice of conversation. “I don’t have a tree because fake trees are blasphemous.”

She gives me a quizzical look.

“My grandpa would roll over in his grave,” I explain. “Every year we’d all get together at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. Me, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my mom and dad, my brothers and sisters, we’d go out into the woods and find the perfect tree. It was always kind of scraggly because it was a wild tree, not a farmed one, but we’d fill it with so many decorations you wouldn’t notice. All around it there were presents stacked almost to the ceiling because there were so many of us, and then all of us kids would pile up on the floor and fall asleep with the lights twinkling around us.”

“That sounds so nice.” Mariah regards me for a moment, then gestures at the screen with her fork. “Must have been kind of like this.”

“Oh, way busier than that. Macauley Culkin’s family ain’t got nothin’ on mine.”

“Really? How many cousins do you have?”

“I have...” I trail off a second, looking at the ceiling to count them all. “Thirty-six? First cousins.”

She gapes at me. “What!”

“Why? How many do you have?”

“Two.”

I gape back at her. “Twocousins?!”

“Yeah. And they live in Newfoundland.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine such a small family. There were usually fifteen of my cousins there at the house, plus me and all my siblings.”

“How many of those do you have?”

“Eight.”

“Eight?”Her mouth hangs open.

I shrug. “My parents wanted a big family. And now I have three nieces and four nephews and one nibling.”

“What’s a nibling?”

“They’re enby,” I explain. “That’s the gender-neutral term for your sibling’s kid.”

She nods appreciatively. “Nice.”