Next to Me

by Allie Everhart

"What's that supposed to mean?" I call after him but he's back in the kitchen. "He's been acting strange," I say to Nash.

  We finish our lunch and Nash takes my plate and sets it on his and moves them off to the side. "So what time should we have dinner tonight?"

  "We're not having dinner tonight."

  "Why not? We both have to eat, so why not eat together?" He grins. "You seemed to enjoy my company last night."

  It's true, but he doesn't need to know that.

  "You have work to do," I say.

  "I still need to take a break for dinner."

  Should I do it? Should I have dinner with him again? I don't know if I should. The more time we spend together, the more he'll want to know about me, and I don't want him knowing about me. I'm lost and a mess and I need to spend my time figuring out how to move forward, not hanging out with my neighbor. The problem is, it's been over a year and I haven't made much progress in moving forward.

  "Okay, but I can't be out all night," I say. "We're just having dinner. That's it. Let's eat at six-thirty."

  "Sounds good." He takes his glass and gets up and goes around the counter to refill it from the dispenser.

  "You're not supposed to be back there."

  "Too late." He takes my glass. "Want some more?" I nod, and he refills it, then comes back beside me. "So what are you making?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "For dinner. What are you making?" He's trying to hide his grin.

  "You're saying I'm supposed to make you dinner?" I gape at him, shocked that he would just assume I'd cook for him.

  "It's your turn. I made dinner last night."

  "You didn't make dinner. You ordered a pizza."

  "Then I'll cook for you tomorrow night. There's a grill in the garage but I have to get some charcoal."

  Lou drops off Nash's pie, then continues on to deliver pie to a man sitting a few seats down.

  "Thanks, Lou," Nash calls out. Lou nods at him and Nash picks up his fork and digs into the pie.

  "I am not making you dinner," I say.

  "It doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just throw a frozen meal in the microwave. I'll need at least two. I eat a lot." He gets his wallet out and sees it only contains a few dollars. "I forgot to give you the rest of the money I owe you. There's an ATM on the street. I'll get it when we're done."

  "Forget the money." I turn to him. "If you want a frozen meal, just make it yourself. You have a microwave that works."

  "It's in the garage. I tore my kitchen up. I can't use it. And I didn't say I wanted a frozen meal. I just thought that'd be easier for someone who doesn't know how to cook."

  "Excuse me, but I know how to cook."

  "So show me." A sly grin appears. He said that on purpose because he knows I don't like being told I can't do something.

  "Fine. I'll make dinner but it's not going to be anything fancy. Spaghetti and maybe some cheesy bread. That's it."

  "No meatballs?" He chuckles. "I need meat, Callie."

  I whack his arm. "Spaghetti. Take it or leave it."

  "I'll take it. But tomorrow we're having steaks. Big meaty t-bones."

  "I'm not having dinner with you tomorrow. Tonight's the last night."

  "We'll see about that." He takes the last bite of his pie.

  "It's not happening. You have to learn to eat alone."

  "Once you smell those steaks cooking on the grill, you won't be able to help yourself. You'll be right over."

  I give up arguing with him. There's no point. He's relentless. I just won't show up tomorrow and then he'll see that he's wrong.

  "I should get going." He stands up, putting his hand on my lower back and leaning toward me. "Have a good day. I'll see you tonight." On his way out, he waves at Lou. "See ya, Lou."

  Lou appears across the counter from me. "I like him. Seems like a nice guy."

  "He's making me make him dinner tonight. That's not exactly nice."

  "You used to like to cook." Sometimes I hate that Lou knows these things about me. I'd prefer that no one knew anything about me. That was one of the reasons I decided to live here. Almost no one here knows me or knows my story.

  "Well, I don't cook anymore, and I especially don't like being told I have to cook."

  "Then just order something in." Lou sets our plates under the counter and wipes it with a rag. "He said you two had pizza last night."

  "When did he tell you that?"

  "While you were in the back, primping for your date."

  I sigh. "Okay, first of all, it was not a date. And second, I was not primping. You told me I had frosting in my hair, which was not true, by the way."

  "So what are you making him?" Lou picks my glass up, wiping the area under it, then setting it down again.

  "Spaghetti and cheesy bread."

  "Come on, Callie. You can do better than that."

  He's right. I can. I used to make some really good stuff. For a while, I was obsessed with cooking shows and had to try everything I saw them make on those shows.

  "I told you, I don't cook anymore. And I'm not going to go to all that effort for him. I don't even want to do this. He's getting spaghetti and cheesy bread. That's good enough."

  "You know what they say. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

  "They said that in 1950, Lou. These days, that's not the way to get a man. And for the record, I'm not trying to get Nash's heart. He's just my neighbor."

  "Then if you insist on making spaghetti and bread, don't be adding any garlic." He chuckles to himself.

  I roll my eyes. "There will not be any kissing going on. In fact, I'll be adding extra garlic just in case he gets any ideas."

  He motions to the kitchen. "Get back to work. You need to get out of here on time so you have plenty of time to get ready for your date."

  "Yeah, you're hilarious." I take my drink and go back to the kitchen.

  After work, I stop at the grocery store, which I never do during the week, but I didn't have any canned tomatoes to make the sauce. I always make my own sauce. It's so much better than the prepared stuff. In addition to the tomatoes, I also buy a loaf of Italian bread and some parmesan cheese.

  As I'm rounding the end of the aisle with my cart, I bump into a display of cans and one falls off and hits the floor. I pick it and see that it's a can of dinosaur-shaped pasta in a red sauce. It was Ben's favorite food. He would've eaten it for every meal if our mom would've let him.

  Whenever he'd eat it, he'd tell me facts about dinosaurs. He didn't have many facts so he'd repeat the same ones over and over again. Right before the accident, I bought Ben a big book about dinosaurs so he'd have some new facts to share. I was going to give it to him when he got back from the trip. But I was never able to. And now it sits in his room, on his bookshelf, with all his other books.

  I pick up the can that fell and place it back on the display. One, two, three, four...

  I hear a voice behind me. "What is she doing?" It's followed by snickering.

  I turn back and see two teen girls standing by a shopping cart, staring at me. They quickly glance away but are still giggling to themselves and whispering to each other. Their mother comes up behind them, holding a can of tomatoes.

  "Girls, stop it," she says. She pushes her cart around me, giving me a weak smile like she feels sorry for me.

  Oh, God, what was I doing? Was I counting? In the store? Out loud? Shit!

  I look up and see an older man giving me a sympathetic nod as he walks past me holding a red shopping basket. He looked at me the way you look at homeless people on the street. That look that says you're uncomfortable because you feel bad for the person but aren't sure what to do.

  My face is burning hot and I'm sure it's bright red, given the embarrassment I'm feeling right now. I race ahead to the checkout, and when I get to my car, I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. I'm fine. Everything's fine. So they saw me counting? Big deal. Except it is a big deal. They think I'm crazy. I saw the looks on their faces.
I heard those girls laughing at me.

  They're walking out of the store now so I pull out of my parking space and leave. I'm not going to worry about this. Who cares if they think I'm crazy? Maybe it's a good thing. It'll make them, and everyone else, leave me alone, which is what I want. Now if only I could get Nash to leave me alone.

  When I get home, I see his truck in the driveway but he's not outside. He must be in the kitchen, tearing down that wall. I hate to admit this, but seeing him this morning really turned me on. He's my neighbor so I shouldn't be thinking about him that way, but damn, I couldn't help it. Watching him swing that sledgehammer and slam it into the wall; shirtless, sweat beading up on his tan skin, his massive muscles flexing. It's no wonder I got all hot and bothered. Then again, I haven't had sex in over a year so it's not surprising a hot, half-naked guy would make me feel this way.

  I wonder when Nash last had sex. He broke up with his fiancé six months ago so maybe that's how long it's been, which would explain why he got so turned on by my little coffee scene. I only did that to get back at him for showing up at my door at the crack of dawn. And for staring at my breasts, which I know he was doing.

  "Cat!" I yell as I walk in the house. "I'm home. Come say hi."

  Nothing. He doesn't even bother to make an appearance. I set the grocery sacks down and walk to Ben's room. And there's Cat, in his usual spot, nestled against Ben's pillow like he's waiting for him to come back.

  The cat was Ben's. He picked him out at the shelter. He was just a tiny kitten back then, with a shiny black coat and soft green eyes. The woman at the shelter said he'd been there a while because people never want black cats, thinking they're bad luck. But Ben fell in love with him right away, so we took him home and Ben named him Cat. Ben was only two and a half at the time so Cat was the best name he could come up with. The two of them were inseparable, and before my family left on their trip, Ben made me promise to take care of Cat. And so I have, but Cat just doesn't seem to like me. Maybe he blames me for why Ben never came home. Maybe he thinks it's my fault.

  "Cat." I say his name and his eyes peer over at me but he remains curled up in a ball. "Why don't you come out here while I make dinner?"

  He doesn't move. I'm standing at the door. I rarely go in Ben's room. It's too sad. Too hard. I don't even like looking at it and would prefer to keep the door closed, but I leave it open just a crack so Cat can go in here. But today, I take a deep breath and walk over to the bed. It's covered in a blue comforter with footballs and basketballs all over it. Ben loved sports. Being only five, he was still learning all the rules, but he loved watching football games with his dad, or the two of them would throw the ball around in the back yard.

  "Cat." He looks up at me. He looks sad. Does he always look like that? I guess I never noticed. He's always hiding in here so I never see him. I lean down and pet his back. "You miss him, don't you?"

  He buries his head between his front paws. He looks really sad and it's making me sad. I pick him up, expecting him to scratch me or hiss at me. He used to do that after the accident so I stopped picking him up and just left him alone. But today he doesn't fight me and his body relaxes in my arms.

  I pet his head. "I miss him too. I miss all of them." I feel tears slipping down my cheek but I quickly wipe them away and take some deep breaths, forcing the tears to end. I'm trying to get over this, and crying about it is not getting over it. I've cried enough. Now I need to be strong and move on. It's a slow, painful process but eventually I'll feel better. I know I will. I have to. I can't go on like this forever.

  Cat softly purrs as I pet his silky coat. "If I bring you to the kitchen, will you stay?"

  He looks up at me with those big green eyes. I don't know what that means. Is he agreeing to it? I guess I'll find out. I take him to the kitchen and set him next to the little cat bed that's off to the side. Cat used to sit there while my mom and I made dinner. Ben would go over and pet him or bring him toys. Cat hasn't sat in that bed since the accident.

  I watch as he skitters away from the bed. He runs past me but I catch him and pick him up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you there. You just stay by me, okay?"

  When I set him down, he goes over to the door that leads to the back yard and looks out the glass panel. Is he looking for Nash? No, that can't be. He only met him one time. Maybe a bird caught his attention.

  I wash up and get to work on the sauce. It needs to simmer a few hours to let the flavors develop. As I'm working, I glance over and see Cat sitting there watching me. I'm shocked he hasn't run back to Ben's room. I cover the sauce and let it simmer, then take a quick shower and change into shorts and a tank.

  At six-fifteen, I set the table on the back deck. I didn't want to eat inside because I don't want Nash in my house. He'll see their things and ask questions.

  Hiding this from him was stupid. I should've just told him, but I didn't because I thought I'd meet him one time and that'd be it, so I wasn't going to tell him something so personal. After we met, I thought he'd keep to himself, but instead he won't leave me alone. Now I'm embarrassed to tell him the truth. He'll think I'm crazy. I just need to make it through tonight and then I'll avoid him from here on out. If we're not friends, he doesn't need to know about my family. Neighbors don't need to know that stuff.

  The bread is done and I take it out of the oven. I used butter and herbs but left out the garlic, not because I plan on anything happening with Nash tonight. I just simply forgot to add it, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. I transfer the pasta to a large bowl and add my homemade sauce, tossing it all together.

  I like spending time in the kitchen again; chopping, mixing, stirring. It's a good distraction. Better than watching TV. And I like having the aroma of a home-cooked meal fill the house. Usually I have cold sandwiches or cereal for dinner, so the house hasn't smelled like this for a long time. And as much as I was annoyed at Nash for inviting himself over, it will be nice to not be eating alone.

  "Hey, Callie, can I come in?" It's Nash, standing at the screen door that leads to the deck.

  "We're going to eat out there so you can just wait on the deck."

  He comes in anyway. Of course. He never listens.

  "I need to give you this." He hands me a bottle of red wine and some purple wildflowers.

  "What's all this?"

  "Wine to go with the meal. And I picked the flowers from my back yard. Turns out there's a patch of wildflowers mixed in with the weeds I still need to cut down."

  "You didn't have to bring me this stuff." I set the wine on the counter, then grab a big plastic cup from under the sink for the flowers.

  "When you show up for dinner at someone's house, you have to bring something." Nash leans against the counter, grinning at me. "That's a hint, by the way."

  "You're saying I should've brought you something last night?"

  He shrugs. "You didn't have to, but it is good manners to do so."

  "So now I don't have good manners?" I stuff the flowers in the cup. "I'm pretty sure insulting the hostess is not good manners."

  "I wasn't insulting you. I simply pointed out the fact that it's often nice to bring something to the person hosting the dinner." He reaches over and turns the water on in the sink as I hold the cup under it.

  "I brought you a pie last night."

  "That was from Lou." He smiles.

  I sigh in exasperation. "You're impossible. I don't think I'll make it through this dinner."

  He just laughs.

  "Here." I hand him the flowers. "Take these outside. They'll be our centerpiece."

  For once he does as I ask, but instead of staying out there, he comes right back.

  "You can just wait out there," I tell him as I toss the pasta once more to distribute the sauce.

  "I'd rather be in here with you." He stands behind me, leaning over my shoulder and taking a deep breath. "That smells amazing. It looks good too. I thought you couldn't cook."

  "I never said that."

&
nbsp; He's standing so close I can smell his cologne. Or maybe it's just soap. Whatever it is, it smells really good.

  I pick up the bowl and spin around. "Would you take this out to the table?"

  "Sure thing." He goes out there while I fill some glasses with water. He comes right back. "Need anything else?"

  "No, I got the rest."

  He starts searching through the drawers. "Got a corkscrew?"

  "Second drawer on your left. And by the way, it's not good manners to go through people's stuff without asking."

  "I did ask." He finds the corkscrew.

  "Yeah, after you already started searching."

  "When a job needs to be done, I do it. I don't wait around to be told what to do." He has the corkscrew in place and opens the bottle faster than I've ever seen anyone open a bottle of wine. "When you're leading a construction crew, you can't be indecisive. You can't stand around, figuring out what to do. You make a decision and you go with it."

  "This isn't a construction project. It's just dinner."

  He goes to open a cupboard, then stops. "Wine glasses?" He grins. "See? I asked that time."

  "Next one over." I go outside with our waters and moments later he appears with the wine. "You can sit down. I just need to get the bread."

  I go in and get it and as I'm walking out, I smile a little, seeing how nice everything looks. The flowers, the wine, the meal that I made.

  I actually made a meal. A real dinner. And I have a guest. A guest who can be kind of annoying at times, but overall is a good guy who brought me flowers and wine.

  Even if we never do this again, I'm glad we did this tonight. It's normal. And it seems like a really long time since I've done anything normal. Normal used to bore me, but now? Normal is good.

  I'm doing something normal. And normal is good.

  Chapter Ten

  Nash

  "Callie, that was awesome."

  We just finished dinner and are now lingering at the table, having another glass of wine.

  "It's just spaghetti," she says.

  "Yeah, but that sauce was freaking amazing. Best I've ever had, and I've eaten at some damn good Italian restaurants back in Chicago."