Page 11 of The Holiday Exchange

Trevor chuckles. “That’s the reaction my mom had.”

I look around, stretching for a thought that’s been hovering just out of reach as I followed Trevor through the house. Something feels off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“You don’t have any stuff,” I say suddenly as the realization erupts like fireworks in my brain.

“What?” He looks confused.

“I mean, it almost looks like nobody lives here. You don’t have any photos or art on the walls or shoes by the door. Where is your coffee pot and your microwave? I didn’t even see any clothes in your room.” Although now that I’m thinking hard, I do recall seeing a toothbrush and some mouthwash on the counter in the bathroom.

Trevor frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess I just don’t need much. Too much stuff makes me feel…overwhelmed. Also, I don’t know how to decorate.”

“Huh.” This feels very foreign to me, very opposite to my own personality. My own room and the shared kitchen/living area of my apartment are filled with little touches that make it feel homey. I hate clutter as much as the next person, but this house feels…sparse.

I glance at Trevor’s face. His expression is guarded.

“Hey.” I turn to face him fully. “I’m sorry if I offended you. There’s nothing wrong with not having a lot of stuff. People make entire livings nowadays teaching minimalism and decluttering techniques, so it’s not just you.” I shrug. “I was just noticing.”

His arms uncross and he relaxes a bit. “No harm done.”

“If you ever did want to do some decorating, I’d be happy to help. Very minimal decorating,” I assure him. “Just a few little touches to make things feel welcoming. If you wanted.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.” His smile lets me know we’re all good. “The only place left is the garage. Ready to see where we’ll be working?”

“Lead the way.”

A side door in the kitchen leads into his two-car garage. His truck is parked on one side, while the second space is open, the wall lined with toolboxes and what looks like stacks of spare lumber pieces.

“I thought we could start with the biggest project first.” Trevor drags a set of saw horses from the corner.

“The fireplace?”

“Right. I’ve already marked where we need to cut, so we can go ahead and get started. You can help hold the pieces while I use the saw, then once we have it put together, we’ll paint it.”

“Sounds good. You’re the boss here, so just tell me exactly what you need and I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

“No questions asked?” He quirks a brow. “You’d better be careful with blanket promises like that.”

“I’m not worried,” I wave my hand, watching him lay a sheet of plywood over the horses.

“What if I ask you to go make me a sandwich?”

I laugh. “At least I know how to do that. Why, are you hungry?”

“Not yet.”

“I trust you not to take advantage of my willing obedience. Now, where do we start?”

Over the next hour, I hold while he cuts, until we have a pile of oddly shaped wood that I hope will turn into a fireplace. I’m not going to lie – I can’t see how the pieces of the puzzle are going to fit. But Trevor seems confident so I defer to him as promised.

“We’re making good progress.” He dusts off his hands and surveys the stack of pieces. “I think we can get it assembled before lunch and maybe have time to paint it after.”

We dive back in and I again hold pieces while he hammers and drills until, like Christmas magic, a convincing, life-sized fireplace appears.

“Wow! I can’t wait to see it with the paint on. I still hate taking up your whole Saturday, though.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t have any plans.”

“How about you let me make you lunch? I know I’m not the most knowledgeable construction helper, but I can cook.”

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