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Emmy and Anon Decorate the Tree

	It had already been a few days since the pair of them, hoisting it from the car’s roof, brought home the new tree.
	“Emmy! Let’s go bring up the decorations!”
	“Yes, sir,” she called back. She hurried over in a loose green and red sweater, stitched reindeer and puffins soaring above each colored row. As she scooted over along the hardwood floor she came to her owner who, standing by the door to the basement, smiled greatly as she sidled up beside him.
	“Ready to get to work?”
	“Absolutely,” she responded, beaming at the man before her, his turtleneck sleeves rolled up to the elbow and shrouding his form in a shadow of corpus incognitum. As the two stared, briefly, at each other both of their cheeks flared up as the man opened the door, beckoning to the staircase before them.
	“There’s only two boxes Emmy, I’ll get the roping and you get the ornaments. Okay?”
	“Sounds perfect, sir.” Descending into the dim basement below Emmy scanned the concrete room, really more a cellar than any basement, and scattered boxes of forgotten belongings or holiday decorations. She spied a pair of deep blue boxes in the corner and, pointing, called the man over.
	“Good eye, Emmy. Let’s go get ‘em then.” He then walked over, squatted, and hoisted the heavier of the two boxes right up into his thick arms, maneuvering himself to the stairwell as Emmy made her own way to the lesser of the two boxes. Emmy, watching him move, echoes the action as she picked up the lighter box, the one filled with the glass ornaments for the tree. She hoisted the plastic crate up into her arms and scampered up the stairs behind anon.
	The two came to the immaculate living room where, hoisted in the corner, the tree stood with its trunk circled by a quilted rug, the fireplace roaring beside it. Two stockings were hung with care from the mantle, itself decorated with small figurines and stuffed creatures.
	“Ready Emmy? Where do you want to start?”
	“Oh, um, I-I don’t know… How about with the,” she hesitated. “Roping! The roping,” she trailed off. The man smiled as he popped the one crate’s lid open with a sharp snap, the top peeling off easily as he removed yard after yard of fake pine needle roping, the wiring inside powering numerous colored lights interspersed along its length. 
	“Here, let’s put them up along the mantle Emmy,” the man said, gesturing one end of lights to the small droid, who took it eagerly. The roping disappeared from the crate, yard by yard and inch by inch, as the home came aglow with be-needled streaks of colored light, the living room especially warmed by the glow of the lights. And here was the tree, its short splendor done up in its own spiralling glory of lights which painted the room in a Yuletide rainbow of color and warmth.
	“Well Emmy,” the man said. “I think we’ve done a bang-up job.” And there it was. That look. Emmy scanned his face again and, in the dimming lamplight of a Winter evening the myriad stars of colored light filled his face, and especially those eyes. She turned down again but then, lifting her head, beamed at the man.
	“They’re lovely, sir. Truly,” she spoke with a newfound confidence.
	“They are, Emmy. You’ve done a lot to bring some light to this home,” he said back, giving her a deep smile. “Let’s say we get to work on those ornaments, eh?”
	“I’d be delighted,” she near-shouted, almost giddy with the idea of decorating further, the machinations of some deep programmed instinct brought forth once more. As her owner went to grab the step ladder she shook with anticipation, peeling open the second crate and marvelling at the numerous boxes, each containing an individual ornament, guarded and swaddled in tissue paper. As she took each ornament out one by one, examining some comedic, some plain, and some made from his youthful hands years ago, she came to the bottom of the box, finding a larger, heavier box. She weighed the cardboard block in her hands before gently undoing the tabs on either side and flipping its top open, revealing a large, heavy glass star. It was crystal, its heft only balanced by the large cone between its two bottom points, the star’s whole purpose resting at the top of that short tree.
“It’s beautiful, huh,” the man said, stepladder hung from his shoulder. Emmy jumped in surprise but held the box tight.
“Yes, it’s magnificent sir.”
“It, uh, it was my mother’s,” the man said, his face stiffening as he stared out the window into the black beyond.
“Well it’s lovely, sir. She must have been a lovely woman,” Emmy said, not sure quite how to process the information she’d just been given. However, she began to smile again, handing the star to the man before her. “I think it wouldn’t be right to not put it up.”
Each box of ornaments slowly began to disappear from the coffee table on which Emmy had laid them, the tree coming even more to life with the growing family of ornaments upon it, be they glass or plastic or wood and cloth, each had a place on the humble tree where they would sit. The man plucked a handful of army men from a hidden corner of some crate and scattered them in the tree, laughing as he went, among the narrow boughs of the ornamented tree. Finally all the boxes had been emptied and the tree filled to the brim with colorful ornaments and lights, save for the bare cone of needles at its peak.
“Are you ready to get up there Emmy?” The android nodded gleefully as she ascended the first step of the ladder, as the man beneath her gingerly passed the heavy crystal star into her delicate hands. She weighed it carefully before ascending to the next step, her first socked foot finding purchase as she lifted the other.
Planting lightly on the next step the foot slipped on the metal corner and, despite all her mechanical effort, the nandroid slipped and fell backwards, tucking her arms into herself and cocooning the star around herself. With robotic reflexes the man leaped out behind the tumbling robot and caught her rolling form, himself sliding backwards with the impact as he held Emmy tight to his body cradling her as she did the star. They slid back into the wall behind the tree and sat there for a moment, the man holding her tighter despite the danger being far gone. Uncoiling, Emmy slowly moved his arms away as she held out the star in front of her.
“No… No no no!” The star in her hands was cracked in numerous places, the shards clinking against each other as she moved it in her hands. “I ruined… your star,” she said, in between racking, heaving sobs, her frame shaking and face heating with each one. She fell over forwards as her dry face hitting the carpet. As she held the broken pieces to herself.
“Emmy… what’s wrong?”
“I-I broke… your star… from your mom,” she cried, pausing at each sob to take in a ragged breath before continuing. “And now.. it’s ruined…” Shushing her the man pulled her back up and held her up, hugging her and stroking her hair as she cried.
“Emmy… It’s okay. I was worried you’d be hurt, that’s all that matters to me.”
“But… your star…”
“Can be glued back together. I can’t glue you back together, Emmy.” The sobbing slowed and then, sniffling, Emmy turned to him, the whole of her face reddened by the glow of her cheeks. She held up her hands and showed him the pieces glimmering in her delicate, porcelain hands.
“Y-You can… fix it?”
“Yes Emmy, yes. We can fix it together.” He hefted himself up from under the little robot before searching for a handkerchief. Returning with it Emmy handed the pieces into the cloth and the man carried them off to the kitchen, Emmy in tow. He laid out the pieces on the table and left again to rifle through the drawers throughout the kitchen, triumphantly seizing a small bottle from one such drawer. As he came back to the table he saw, perfectly arranged and organized, the shattered silhouette of the star, reformed in shape by the nimble hands of Emmy, who sat, staring at the floor and head down. Taking his own place at the table he placed the bottle firmly on the table before, freshly energized, he took two pieces of star in his hand and glued them together. And then the next pieces, and the next, and so on until the whole of the star had been reformed once more, narrow veins of dried, white glue weaving between the broken shards creating an ethereal web of crystal and silken white in the star’s insides.
“See Emmy,” he said. “All better. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, lifting her head, which hadn’t moved from the floor or the cloth of her skirt she had been kneading the whole time. Her hair bobbed aside and then he saw it. Her forehead, just below the hairline and far off into the corner, was a chip. Her hard plastic casing had chipped, in the fall or otherwise. She was hurt, he knew it. He raced over to beneath the tree and patted the ground desperately searching for it. Smacking the ground triumphantly he lifted a sharp sliver of plastic into the air and raced over to Emmy, growing concern showing on her face. He’d promised to take care of her, to protect her. And he failed.
“Sir? I-Is everything alright?”
“It will be Emmy, it will be,” he yelled back, holding her once again by her upper arms. He brushed her hair aside and gently touched the spot of bare metal beneath. “I’m so sorry I let you get hurt, Emmy. I’m so sorry.”
	“Hurt, sir? I don’t follow,” she said, lifting her own needle-like fingers to the spot he was feeling before she found the bare spot there, her digits intertwining with his briefly. “Sir… I’m fine, see?” She stepped back a pace and flourished her arms, the baggy sweater hanging low from the elbows like a suspension bridge’s cables, while spinning just once, and smiling.
	“See? I’m all okay,” she said. She smiled wanly, looking into his questing face before she glanced back at the glue bottle. “Let’s put up the star first, okay?” He nodded slowly before taking it in his hands and moving to the ladder. Removing his socks, Emmy averting her gaze behind him, he ascended the ladder and steadied himself sideways against the angle of the ladder, standing at its peak. Leaning forward he placed the star carefully over the peak of the tree, nestling the conical top into the star above. The brilliant light of the tree filtered through the cracked glass and lines of glue before scattered ribbons of light, split up within the gluey prison perched on top of the tree, painted the ceiling around the tree in ghostly reds, blues, and greens, the ceiling becoming the still image of a rainbowed ocean floor.
	“It’s beautiful, sir,” Emmy said, still rubbing curiously at the chipped spot on her forehead. Descending the man seized up the glue bottle and another anonymous box from another anonymous cupboard. He paced into the living room before sitting on the carpeted floor with Emmy beside him, putting a small dollop of glue on the plastic splinter and affixing it into the empty gap it had left. He then popped open the thin cardboard box and pulled out a thin slip of pink fabric, a red heart in the center padding. Peeling away the paper cover and holding Emmy’s hair up he placed the bandage over the glued spot. He hesitated, anxiously hovering over Emmy, before pecking the bandaid and letting the hair loose to cover it once more. Emmy began to overheat again, trembling on the carpet before cooling down from the touch of his firm hand. He pointed to the star atop the tree.
	“Kintsukuroi.”
	“What, sir?”
	“It’s a Japanese word, Emmy. It’s a word meaning something’s more beautiful for having been broken. Just like our star.” He gestured again to the festival of color and light dancing on the dim ceiling. “And just like you,” he said. He pulled Emmy into a tight embrace as the two marvelled at the tree, once so small and feeble, now towering over them in its silent splendor of color and scintillating light.