“My wife decorated it. If it made her happy, I was fine with it. But it wasn’t really my style—”
“Okay, see, you do have a style!” I said. I was not going to ask him why his wife wasn’t decoratingthishouse, not even with the opening he offered.Don’t get personal, Carolina. It’s none of your business.
“No. I don’t have style, but I can rule out hers. It was very pristine, all white, clear crystal, that kind of thing. I was afraid to touch anything.”
“Okay, so practical, durable, and easy to clean. That’s a start.”
I couldn’t resist it any longer, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Why isn’t your wife helping you with this?” I clasped my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” Hector’s smile was lopsided now. “I’ll tell you about her, but not today. Today is a happy day. Okay?”
“Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
We turned our attention to our task and moved past a subject I could already tell was a sore one. I picked out a console cabinet for the living room, some vases to go on top, and a few framed landscape prints. When I showed them to him, he shrugged. “Doyoulike it?” he asked.
“I do,” I said and smiled wide. I’d kill for that kind of furniture.
“Then it’s perfect.”
We repeated the process for every room in his house, from his guest room and bathrooms to dining room and dinnerware. He had no opinion on anything, though he did, at one point, say he thought his mother would approve of my taste, and that fueled the rest of the shopping experience.
When we were done, I sat back, pleased with myself. His house was going to look amazing. I hoped his mother agreed when she arrived.
Without a task occupying our collective mental spaces, being alone in his home became awkward. Too intimate in the still, echoey space.
“So, that’s everything. You’ll have to be here for deliveries. I sent appointments to your calendar.”
When I was ready to leave, Hector took my hand in his but kept it there for one second too long. “Thank you, Carolina,” he said. “You are really saving me here.”