It occurred to me just this morning that E and I forgot to put up a Christmas tree this year.

We really meant to. Last year we decorated my tree together and had a lovely, Norman Rockwellian evening with lights and garland and Perry Como and (spiked) hot chocolate. He gave me no small amount of crap for having a fake tree, though. I protested, citing shedding needles, a trunk-climbing cat and general inconvenience, but eventually said that if it meant so much to him, next year we’d go pick out a real one at the tree farm. He said he would be manly and chop it down himself and tie it to the top of the car AND lug the wretched thing inside.

Then we broke up this summer, blah blah, and I said to hell with him and his needly, spiky, shedding tree, etc. And then we got back together, blah blah again.

It’s funny to think that one of the first things we talked about when we did get back together was about that damn tree. I was, of course, terrified of trusting him again and so afraid of getting my hopes up when he went on and on with his apologies and “I want to be with you forever” stuff.

“You mean it?” I asked for the thousand millionth time. “You’re making promises again and I want to know that you’ll keep them this time. Even the little ones.”

“I will,” he said, pleading. “I want us to have a life together. I want to do it right this time.”

“You promised me last year that you’d take me sailing,” I accused. “And you didn’t.”

“But we would have done that in the summer. And I will take you sailing. We will go, I promise.”

“Are you still going to get me a tree?”

He knew exactly what I meant. “Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

And so trees and sailing have come to represent promises.

Maybe we both let each other down on this one. We don’t have a tree this year. Sure, I’d have kept up my end of the bargain and LET him get a tree, and he would have done his part and got the darned thing home. But this morning I wondered why we hadn’t done it and couldn’t come up with any better reason than that we were sleeping a lot on the weekends and kept putting it off.

Now in my head I have this picture of last Christmas and our first tree together and how I’d looked forward to more trees with him. And in front of me I have this empty space where we could have had one, and it makes me a tiny bit sad that we don’t.

It would be sadder to have a tree there without him. I HATE putting up the tree alone. Something about a Christmas tree requires that you share it with someone you love and without that, I’d rather not have a tree at all. I’d rather have him than a tree any day of the year.

Plus, now that we have promised to keep promises, I know that we’ll have more Christmases together as long as I keep him away from pine trees.

This way he owes me.