The living room is filled with the soft glow of string lights, boxes of ornaments scattered across the carpet. Taylor crouches by the tree, holding a glittering bauble in one hand, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

“Wait, wait,” she says, grinning, “you have to put this one right there. It’s the perfect spot.”

She steps back, hands on her hips, eyes scanning the tree with mock seriousness. “Honestly, we’re creating a masterpiece here. Future generations will look at this and say, ‘Wow. They really knew how to celebrate Christmas.’”