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"So, what're you doing for Christmas?" Marshall asked, staring out of the windshield of Mary's car.
"Pfffft," Mary scoffed before pulling at her coffee. They'd been sitting outside Sam's Party Creations for nearly an hour. The number of people coming and going – especially going, with plastic bags suspiciously full of glittery objects – was getting on her nerves.
"Ahhh," said Marshall. "The great Pfffft Tradition of the Shannon household."
"Shut up," Mary countered. "You?"
Marshall hummed. "I prefer Solstice. The alignment of light and dark, the play of the seasons . . . "
"Gag," Mary muttered.
"Season of light."
"Season of vomit, domestic abuse, aggravated homicide, and shady activity involving one set of witnesses." She turned and offered him a bright, winning smile. "Or perhaps that's just my life."
"Probably just your life," Marshall agreed. "Besides, nothing shady here."
"Not unless you count the hoards spending hard-earned cash on throwaway holiday crap."
"Merely the well-oiled workings of our capitalist economy," Marshall said, seemingly unfazed. "A healthy sign, some might say, in these days of – "
"I bought you a shirt," Mary blurted.
Marshall looked at her.
"It's blue." She glanced at him and scratched her neck. "You know. If you want it."
"You bought me a shirt."
"Well, not if it's going to be a thing, no."
Marshall shook his head. "Not a thing. It's just – I didn't know we were doing gifts."
"Yeah, well, it was on sale and I was there and . . . whatever, shirt, wear it, don't, I don't care."
"Did you wrap it?"
Mary squinted at him.
"No, really, did you wrap it, because I've gone with a gold and bronze theme on the tree this year and if you could coordinate with that, maybe a bow . . ."
"I hate you," Mary said, whacking him on the arm.
"Yeah, yeah. You bought me a shirt, you hate me so much."
"Don't make me take it back." She glared at him. "I'll take it back."
"Nope. Not happening." Marshall sipped his own coffee. "I'm just gonna sit here, drink my morning beverage, think about my shirt."
Mary rolled her eyes and watched a young woman struggle across the parking lot with a fake palm tree under her arm. "Merry Christmas," she murmured.
"You too," Marshall said.
Mary squirmed in her seat. "I'll shoot you if you tell anyone I said that."
Marshall smiled enigmatically. "Understood," he replied.