Page 33 of Trusting Trey
“Trey, you can’t carry me all the way through the woods. What are you going to do with the tree, tie it on my head?” I asked and I heard him chuckle.
He leaned down and kissed my lips, still tasting of the coffee and Boston crème cake we ate at the coffee shop. “I have this covered. All you have to do is trust me,” he said again.
Trusting him was easy, not constantly feeling like a burden was hard. Even when he says I’m not a burden, I know a lot of the time I am. I can hardly move that wheelchair around by myself, and cooking and cleaning are difficult. I do my best, but sometimes my best still isn’t good enough. Earlier when we left the coffee shop, he didn’t want to roll me back to the car. He left me long enough to go get it, then wrapped me in the plaid blanket he brought before putting me in the car.
We broke into a clearing of trees and there sat a sleigh, the horse whinnied softly as the driver climbed down from his seat and met us at the sleigh.
“Welcome to St. Nick’s Tree Farm and merry Christmas,” he said, motioning toward the sleigh. “Per your request we have the grand sleigh ready to take you to find your perfect tree.”
I laid my head on his chest and looked up at him. “You’re too much,” I said, my heart full. “I love you like crazy, Trey Helton.”
He smiled, and together he and the driver loaded me onto the sleigh. Trey climbed in and wrapped the blanket from the sleigh across our laps. He put his arm around my shoulders and grinned as the horse moved forward, jolting us a tad as we got on our way.
“This is the only way to get the perfect tree,” he said, the jingling of the bells on the horse making me giddy with excitement.
“I’ve never done it this way. We always had an artificial tree because Ma is allergic to real trees.”
He laughed. “Well, we better not invite her to our house for Christmas.”
I shook my head a little. “You’re demented, boy. Just wait, you have no idea how the Greeks celebrate Christmas.”
We watched the trees and the snow fly by as we went deeper into the woods.
“I can’t wait to find out, Allie. I want to learn about how they do things in your church. Especially since I’m going to convert and join the church.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, surprised by his statement. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I love you and if I’m not Greek Orthodox we can’t get married in the church. I already checked.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” I said, the wind freezing my cheeks as the sleigh plunged headlong into a grove of trees. “They’ve opened marriage in the church to anyone as long as one person is orthodox. However, getting married there as a non-orthodox doesn’t qualify you to take the sacraments. That requires baptism by the church. Wait, back up, you’re thinking about marrying me already?”
He pulled me closer and kissed me passionately, the wind and the bells serenading us as we explored our love for each other with our lips and tongues. He moved his lips next to my ear and spoke, “I’ve already asked you and you said yes. I’m just thinking ahead,” he said, kissing my neck.
The sleigh slowed and as we looked around, the dense grove of trees had thinned out into rows and rows of Christmas trees, all vying for our attention. He took my hand and kissed it through my gloves. “Are you ready to find the perfect tree, my lady?”
I laughed happily and grinned. “Let’s do it.”
Trey got out of the sleigh and lifted me down, carrying me cradled into him as he walked among the trees. Paths were obvious down each row, and he could carry me and walk without falling.
“Do we want long or short needles?” he asked and I gave him a questioning look.
“I don’t know? We always had a fake tree,” I reminded him. “They had plastic needles.”
He shook with laughter and I heard the sleigh driver behind us laugh, too. I didn’t know he was following us, but he must have been carrying the saw to cut down the tree.
“Okay, how about if we just pick the one we like without worrying about specific qualifications.”
We kept slowing down every few minutes to inspect a tree, but always walking away from it. I pointed up ahead to a short tree, slightly bent in the middle and the top pointing to the left. “How about that one?” I asked as we approached it and he lifted one side of his nose.
“Really? There are hundreds of trees out here that are straight, why would you want that one?”
I touched the needles as he walked around it and was pleased to see they were short, like I am. “No one is ever going to pick this tree,” I said, when he stopped in front of it. “It will always be overlooked for the other ‘perfect’ ones,” I said, using air quotes on perfect. “I’ve learned one thing the last few months.”
“What’s that?” he asked, shifting me in his arms.
“I’ve learned that I can bend and not break. I’m stronger than the wind that tried to topple me. Maybe I’m not physically perfect anymore in some people’s eyes, but in yours, I am.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and he held me tightly.
“You’re right, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I think we’ve found our perfect tree.”
