Christmas is fun with Trevor. He never celebrated it as a kid, and as an adult, he had no one to celebrate with. I think he was too unhappy in his life to feel the joy of the holiday season. He loves it now. He's like a big kid. I miss my family on Christmas, but I would rather be snowed in at home with Trevor.
"Trevor, what is this?" I called to him from the living room. He stood at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes as I had instructed him to do.
"What is what?" He answered.
I sighed, shaking my head as I tried to hide my smile. "Why is there an empty Chinese food carton hung up on the tree?"
He didn't turn to look at me, only threw his head back and laughed. "You said to put things on the tree that I loved!"
I pulled the cardboard box out of the tree branches as I laughed with him. "I meant ornaments, you asshole!"
"That is an ornament! There's some brass knuckles and a copy of Reservoir Dogs on there, too!"
"Where?!"
"It's a game," he answered me, "You have to find them!"
I searched the tree for his hidden objects and tried to look stern as I approached him in the kitchen. The whole place smelled like Christmas cookies. We had spent all of Christmas Eve baking and preparing food for Christmas dinner the next day. I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack next to the stove and took a huge bite out of it.
"I have to stop eating these," I mumbled as I ate, "I've already had so many."
"You'll spoil your dinner," Trevor teased. I leaned forward and shoved the other half of the cookie into his mouth.
I helped him prepare the rest of the food for the next day until it was nine thirty at night. All that was left to do on Christmas was throw the ham in the oven and heat up the food from the fridge. I smiled at Trevor and stood up on my toes to kiss him on the cheek.
"Thank you for the help," I told him.
He stood in front of the microwave, heating up a plate full of leftover pizza. "All this amazing food, and we're eating reheated pizza," he complained. I knew he was dying to dig into that Christmas dinner.
"You never used to give a damn what you ate," I pointed out to him. I pulled a second plate out of the cabinet and slide it onto the counter next to the microwave. He watched me as I poured two glasses of water.
"I never cared when I was high," he responded, "Everything tasted the same; like cardboard." He tore open the microwave door right as the timer hit one second.
"Got it!" He exclaimed. "I beat the timer every time. That's why you don't hear me heating up leftovers at three in the morning. I never let the timer go off." He looked so smug, but his smile was goofy and playful.
"You're so weird," I giggled.
He groaned as he plopped down next to me on the couch, his plate in his hand. "I'm gettin' old," he grunted.
"You're still sexy, don't worry." I winked at him, and he chuckled.
We ate dinner quietly as we finished up the movie we had started that morning; Kill Bill: Volume 2. I had gotten him into Tarantino movies pretty quickly at the beginning of our relationship. I loved them for the storylines and the cinematography. He loved the blood and the guns and the fight scenes. Of course.
He fell asleep next to me with his plate still in his hand. I looked at him with love. Even with his head back on the couch behind him, mouth open, snoring through his nose, he was still perfect to me. I gently shook him awake, taking note of the time on the cable box.
"Huh?" He grumbled and looked at me through bleary eyes. "What?"
It was a quarter after midnight.
"Merry Christmas, Trevor."