Page 14 of The Holiday Exchange

She stares at me. “You really aren’t like most guys. You realize that, right?”

I blush. “Hopefully you can help fix me.”

“I didn’t mean it to sound like you need fixing. You don’t.” She lays her hand on my arm, pausing my stirring and making me look at her again. “I think it’s great that you know what you want and you’re taking steps to get you there. You clearly aren’t afraid of hard work or commitment. I’m surprised some lucky girl hasn’t already snatched you up.”

I blush again, this time with pleasure. “It hasn’t turned out to be that easy. In order to get a wife, you have to start with a girlfriend, which starts with dates, which starts with talking to people, which is where I stall out.”

She pulls her hand away and I miss her warm touch on my arm. “And that’s where I come in. What is it about interacting with people that trips you up?”

I consider her question, trying to pinpoint one or two things that are the most intimidating. “I think the biggest thing is not knowing what to say. What if I say the wrong thing? It seems easier to not say anything at all.”

“Okay, I get that. I actually think it would be better if more people took a page out of your playbook.”

This surprises me. “What do you mean?”

“So many people talk without really saying anything. I’m definitely guilty of doing that sometimes. Most of us would be better off listening more, like you. You’re a pretty good listener.”

Her compliment warms me.

“But there are two parts to listening,” Kayla continues as Ipour some of the paint into a pan so we can get to it easier. I grab a brush and dip it in.

“First, you have the part where you hear what people are saying. You’ve got that part down.” She smooths a swatch of brown down one side of the fireplace. “Then you have the part where you respond so that people know you’re understanding. People want to know you’re paying attention to them.”

I nod. That makes sense. I think sometimes people assume that because I’m not responding I don’t care about what they are saying. I mean, I guess sometimes I really don’t care, like last week when I tried to order a cheeseburger and the waitress launched into a five-minute explanation about the fact that they didn’t have any cheese because of a misunderstanding with their supplier. In that instance, I really just wanted to change my order and move on. But most of the time, I do care.

“Here’s a trick I use when I’m not sure what to say next: just keep asking questions. People love to talk about themselves.” Kayla grins. “Sometimes you can have a twenty-minute conversation with someone and only say like ten words because they do all the talking for you.”

That sounds perfect. Almost too good to be true.

“Do you want to practice?”

“Uh…sure.” Suddenly I feel nervous again. At some point during our time together I had relaxed and started feeling comfortable around Kayla. Now I’m in the spotlight and my stomach flutters with butterflies again. Not the romantic, tickly, excited kind of butterflies. These are actually more like big black bats with fangs flapping around looking for their next victim.

“Just start out with an easy question and then keep it going. Let’s see how long you can keep me talking. Don’t worry if it feels awkward at first, we’re just practicing.”

“Okay…um…” My brain feels frozen. What should I ask? After a painfully long moment, a corner of my consciousness thaws and spits out a question.

“Are you from around here?” I keep painting without looking at her. The feel of the brush in my hand and the smell of the paint gives me something to focus on, something to keep me grounded.

“Oh, that’s a good question,” she says approvingly. “I’m originally from the Memphis area, but I’ve lived here in Nashville for about five and a half years now. My mom and dad and my sister and her family still live there. And some aunts, uncles, and cousins too.”

“Why did you come to Nashville?”

“I wanted to go to college somewhere with a little distance from home. I picked Middle Tennessee State University because it’s pretty well-known and it’s public so with in-state tuition it was affordable. I figured I could find a job in Nashville after I graduated if I didn’t want to go back to Memphis. Which is what I did, obviously.”

“You must like it here,” I respond, then immediately second-guess myself. That wasn’t a question. I’m already messing up the assignment.

“I do.” Much to my relief, she keeps going. “I’ve made some good friends here. Nashville feels like home to me now.”

Her expression is soft and thoughtful as she talks. I have so many more questions for her, but I don’t want to overstep any boundaries. At the same time, she did expressly instruct me to keep asking. Her invitation emboldens me.

“Why did you want to leave home?”

Kayla blows out a breath, her paintbrush growing still, and watches a leaf float to the ground from the maple in my yard. Most of the leaves have already fallen in a thick carpet beneath it, but a few stragglers still hang on, fluttering stubbornly at the end of bare limbs.

“I think I was just ready for a chance to be my own person.My sister, Renee, was a hard act to follow. I always felt like I was kind of living in her shadow. Teachers, coaches, family members – everyone was constantly comparing us. I don’t think any of them meant it in a bad way but I really wanted to go somewhere far enough from home that people would know me as Kayla, not as Renee’s little sister.”

“Did it work?” I hope the answer is yes. I hope she got everything she wanted by moving here to Nashville. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I’m kind of hoping there’s still a Trevor-shaped hole in her life, but other than that I hope she’s content.

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