Room-maid(61)

I mean, more so than usual.

He said, “Do you know that I’ve never had a live Christmas tree before?”

“You haven’t?”

“My mom had a fake Christmas tree that she would sometimes trot out. Usually only when she had a new husband or boyfriend she was trying to impress.”

I felt that kinship with him again, a line that connected us because, while our experiences hadn’t been identical, we both knew what it was like to have terrible parents. “Our trees were always just delivered to the house, so this will be my first time picking one out.”

“Trees? As in plural?”

“Christmas at my house was like living in a tinsel-covered forest. What kind should we get?”

“I haven’t narrowed it down,” he said. “Let’s go look and decide.”

We passed by a couple of booths that were selling basic Christmas tree decorations. Lights, multicolored glass balls, that sort of thing.

It caught Tyler’s attention, too. “I don’t have any decorations.”

“Should we get some?”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “I thought you could just make some.”

When I shoved his shoulders he started to laugh. “Just kidding! Come on, let’s buy some. On me.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be on you. Because now you owe me.” And because they would be his decorations, not our decorations. Someday when I moved out, he’d put them on a tree with someone else.

The thought made me sad.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see past it. “Yes. It’s just a little strange not to be shopping for pink ornaments.”

He picked up some silver beads. “Why would you buy pink? That’s not a Christmas color.”

“It’s my mother’s signature color.”

“I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

I picked up a cylinder container that had red, green, and silver balls in it. “I don’t think it is for most people. Hey, grab some hooks. And a Christmas tree stand,” I told him.

He did as I instructed. “Do you have a signature color?”

No, because I wasn’t a crazy person. “I don’t. I like wearing dark green and purple because my eyes are hazel and when I wear those shades, they look more green than brown.”

“You could get colored contact lenses, but I don’t think you should because you already have beautiful eyes. I like how they change.” He walked away to pay for our purchases, pointing to the cylinder I still held in my hands when he spoke to the cashier.

My heart had stopped and I worried I might need CPR. What had just happened? Had he just called me beautiful? Again? Or at least just my eyes, which were a part of me, so that counted for the rest? I was feeling giddy and bewildered and, quite frankly, overwhelmed. He’d just dropped a second beautiful bomb on me and it happened to be the same day I’d experienced the gloriousness of his entirety.

It was too much.

“Come on,” he said. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go find our tree.”

Oh, I was waiting for a lot of things. At the moment, clarity topped my list.

I tried to put everything out of my mind, every confusing thing he was saying, and focus on our hunt. We discussed the merits of each tree, deciding which kind of needles we preferred. I pulled in a deep breath. I absolutely loved the smell of pine trees.

We ended up deciding on a Douglas fir that had one bare patch down toward the bottom, but we both agreed that we could just turn that side to face the wall.

Which seemed silly since we were the ones who were going to see it every day and we already knew the patch existed. Tyler handed me our bags, grabbed our tree, and we brought it over to one of the employees. The employee rang up the tree and then put it on a machine to shake off the extra needles. It felt a bit pointless because no matter how hard we tried there were going to be pine needles all over the floor at our apartment.

And this year I was the one who would have to clean them up.

We brought all our stuff back to the car, loading our bags in the trunk, and then I helped Tyler center the tree on the top of my car.

“Now what?” I asked him.

“Now I go find somebody who knows how to tie the right kind of knots so we can lash this thing down.”

Why did this make me smile? “You don’t know how to tie knots? Weren’t you a Boy Scout?” I could so picture it.

“Nope.”

Interesting. “And you’re not going to go the guy route where you pretend like you know exactly what you’re doing and hoping it doesn’t fall off on our way home?”

“Again, nope.”

“I like that you don’t try to impress me.”

“I aim not to please.”

I very much doubt that. My eyes went wide. Was that my inside or outside voice? Inside or outside voice? I started to panic.

When he didn’t react and just headed off to find someone to help with the tying and didn’t run away screaming in abject terror, I breathed out a sigh of relief that it had been my inside voice that only I could hear.

My phone rang. Shay.

“Hey—”

She cut me off. “I feel like we haven’t talked lately. We need to catch up. I want to spend some time with you and celebrate. My Mathletes placed first in regionals yesterday, which means we’re going on to state!”