Next to Me

by Allie Everhart

"Yeah, especially with meat. With steaks or burgers, I always like a heavier beer."

  "Same here." He sets it on the table. "Thanks for bringing it."

  "You're welcome." I glance at the table, which is set with real plates this time, along with forks and steak knives. "You washed dishes?"

  "Just those plates. I had to use the bathroom sink."

  "You can use my dishwasher if you want."

  "That's okay. I don't want to inconvenience you. It'll be a while before I have a kitchen again."

  "Do you need help with anything?"

  "You could go inside and get the coleslaw while I check the grill."

  The grill is sitting on the slab of concrete that's just off the deck. He goes over to it while I go inside.

  His kitchen isn't even a kitchen anymore. It's demolished to the point that it's just an empty room with big plastic sheets hung in the openings to the other parts of the house to keep the dust down. He's hauled out the old cabinets, the sink¸ the counters, and the wallboard from the wall he demolished. He's really done a lot in a short amount of time. I expected it to be a complete mess in here but it's all cleaned out and ready for whatever step is next.

  There's a blue cooler on the floor and when I open it I see the coleslaw sitting on ice next to bottles of pop and beer. Given his lack of a kitchen, it's a lot of work to host dinner. Now I'm feeling kind of bad for turning him down earlier. It was nice of him to invite me over and go to all this work to make dinner.

  I take the coleslaw and head outside just as Nash is coming in. I run right into him and his arms instinctively go around me so I don't fall on my unstable leg.

  "You all right?" he asks. My head is right up next to his chest and God, he smells good. I don't know if it's the soap he uses or his laundry detergent or just him, but whatever it is¸ he smells good. Just like last night.

  "I'm fine." I back away.

  "Steaks are done. I think we're ready to eat." He holds the door open for me, then holds my chair out for me and I sit down.

  "Thanks for dinner," I say as he sits across from me. "It must be a pain to make dinner without a kitchen."

  "It's not easy, but it's better than eating out every meal."

  "If you need to use my fridge or microwave sometime, just let me know."

  "I might just do that." He hands me the coleslaw. "Thanks for offering."

  "Or, if you want to have dinner again...I guess that'd be okay." I spoon some coleslaw on my plate.

  He smiles. "Are you inviting me over for dinner?"

  I shrug. "Not every night but maybe once in a while."

  "Like tomorrow?" He laughs a little as he offers me some potatoes.

  "Aren't you getting tired of having dinner with me?" I spoon some potatoes onto my plate. "Or are you just asking because you're afraid to eat alone?"

  "I told you, I'm not afraid to eat alone. I just don't like it. And as for why I asked, it's because I like you. I like being around you."

  "Why?" I ask, because honestly I can't understand why he'd want to spend time with me. I'm not the person I used to be. The old me was fun and normal and liked to go out. But the me that remained after the accident is someone I don't recognize. I'm not fun or normal, and I never go out, except to go to work.

  "Hey." I feel Nash's hand on my arm and I look up and see his serious expression. "Why would you ask me that?"

  "I just wondered why you always want to hang out with me. You barely know me."

  "But what I know of you so far, I like. And the more time I spend with you, the more I'll get to know you. Unless you keep that no question rule going, in which case I may never know the real Callie." He smiles and lets go of my arm. "Do you work for the CIA? Is that why you're so secretive?"

  "No." I don't laugh at his joke because my mind is trying to decide if I should just tell him about my family. But if I do, he'll look at me differently, and treat me differently. He'll feel sorry for me and act serious instead of joking around. There'll be a darkness and heaviness in the air. And that's the last thing I want. I just want to continue like we've been doing, having dinner and talking about things that have nothing to do with death or dying or the family I no longer have.

  "Callie, is something wrong?"

  I smile. "Nope. My mind just wandered for a minute."

  He nudges my foot under the table. "You got so quiet I was starting to think you really were a CIA agent."

  "Sorry, but no. Just a regular, boring college student."

  "You're not boring." He looks at me, his foot still touching mine, and I start to wonder if maybe he's only spending time with me because he's hoping we'll have sex. I know he said that wasn't his intention, but maybe he just said that. Maybe sex really is all he wants. Truthfully, I wouldn't be opposed to that. It's been so long since I've done it. The past year, I haven't even thought about it, until Nash showed up, stirring up that aching need to be with someone like that again. But I don't want us to go there. It'll just complicate whatever this is we have together.

  "Nash, we can't...." I set my fork down. "We can't do what we did last night."

  "Have spaghetti with your awesome homemade sauce?" He cuts into his steak. "That's too bad because I was really hoping you'd make that again."

  "That's not what I meant."

  He nods. "Yeah, I know what you meant. Message received."

  There's a finality to his tone that makes me wish I hadn't said anything. Because the truth is, I want Nash to kiss me again, and do more than that. But it's not a good idea. He's leaving at the end of summer, and even if he wasn't, I shouldn't be getting involved with him.

  "How's the steak?" he asks.

  "Good."

  "That's it?" He acts offended. "You're supposed to say it's the best steak you ever had."

  "It's really good, but I've had better." I stab a chunk of it with my fork.

  "Where? At a restaurant?"

  "My stepdad used to make the best steaks ever."

  "And he doesn't anymore?"

  Shit! I keep using the past tense. This is why I can't be around him. I keep slipping up.

  "He hasn't for a while," I say, trying to ignore the images forming in my head. I can see Greg standing over the grill in the back yard, smiling as he watches my mom cut flowers, Ben running around next to her. One, two, three, four....

  "Callie." I feel a hand over mine and open my eyes to see Nash is no longer across from me. I turn and see him beside me, looking even more concerned than he did earlier. "Are you okay?"

  I nod and force out a smile. "Yeah. Why?"

  "You shut down just now. And then you, um...started counting."

  I let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah. That was just a joke. I was a math major in college and sometimes I count out loud just to see how people react. It's a nerdy thing math people do." I pull my hand back from his. "You obviously didn't get it."

  He's staring at me like he's not sure if I'm kidding or telling the truth.

  "Aren't you still a math major?" he asks.

  "Yeah. Why?" I turn back to my plate and pick up my fork.

  "You used the past tense. Are you changing your major?"

  Dammit, I did it again.

  "I'm still a math major. I don't know why I used the past tense. Probably because it's summer and I'm not in school."

  He gets up and returns to the seat across from me. "So why math? I know that's a personal question but you brought it up so you might as well explain."

  "I was going to—" I stop, realizing I used the past tense again. "I've just always liked math and knew I wanted to be a teacher. I'm planning to teach high school math."

  "I hated math in high school. But if I had a hot teacher like you, I would've looked forward to math class."

  I glance up and see him casually taking a bite of steak. Was he flirting with me with that comment, or just making a statement? I'm guessing it was just a statement. I think Nash is the type of guy who flirts with all girls, not just me. I think it's just part of his personality
.

  "So tell me what you want me to do with your grandfather's things," I say, changing the subject.

  He spends the rest of dinner going over how he wants me to sort through the boxes, describing what's worth keeping and what's not. Then we go over timing. I agree to come over for an hour in the morning, then come back for a couple hours after work. This is a huge change to my schedule and just talking about it has me feeling anxious. The only thing keeping me calm is knowing Nash will be there. The guy scared me to death when I first met him, but as I've spent more time with him, I'm finding he's able to ease my anxiety. I think that's why I keep agreeing to hang out with him. My mind craves the relief from the constant worry and guilt I've felt since that horrible day.

  "Ready for dessert?" Nash gets up and takes my empty plate. I'm surprised it's empty. I haven't finished a meal in over a year. I've had almost no appetite, but tonight I somehow managed to finish that entire steak.

  "What's for dessert?" I ask.

  He chuckles. "The cookies. Do you want me to go get them?"

  I totally forgot I was supposed to bring cookies. I never made them. It was just an excuse I made up to explain why I was looking back at the house when he mentioned my parents.

  "Um, I didn't actually make any cookies," I confess.

  "Then why did you say you did?"

  "I don't know." It's the only explanation I can come up with, but it's not a very good one because he's giving me this strange look. But then he smiles.

  "Come on. Let's go." He takes our plates and gets up and goes into the kitchen.

  I follow him. "Go where?"

  "We're going out for dessert. There's an ice cream stand about five minutes from here."

  That's the stand I used to take Ben to all the time. He loved it. We went almost every day in the summer.

  "No," I say, images of Ben filling my head. I can still see him in his little green shorts and his white t-shirt with the dinosaur on it. He wore that shirt constantly and he'd always spill ice cream on it.

  "You don't want to go?" Nash asks, setting the plates down on the large box he's using as a temporary table.

  "I'm not hungry." My voice is shaky and I take a breath in an attempt to steady it.

  "Would you mind going with me? I could really use some ice cream. It won't take long. We'll just—"

  "No!" I yell, then realize how loud I said it and feel my face heating up.

  There's silence and I feel him staring at me but I won't look at him.

  "Callie, what's going on?" he asks cautiously.

  "Nothing. I just don't want ice cream." I hear my voice crack and get the urge to run out of here and back to my house. But that would make me appear to be even crazier, so I remain where I am, standing next to the door with Nash in front of me, my eyes staring down at his feet.

  The room is silent and I see his feet step forward and feel his arms wrap around me. And before I can stop it, tears well up in my eyes, then fall slowly down my cheeks. Why am I doing this? I haven't cried in months, other than last night when stupid Cat made me cry with his sad face. But why am I crying again? I don't understand this. The only thing I know for sure right now is that I want to stay like this, in Nash's arms, for just a little bit longer.

  Nash is my neighbor, a man I'm just getting to know, and yet there's something about him that makes me feel like he understands me. Obviously he doesn't. He doesn't know anything about me. But he's still here, after I've told him to go away multiple times and turned down his many invitations and even accused him of shooting at me. And now, he has no idea why I reacted that way about the ice cream and he's still here, holding me, the strange girl from next door.

  I sniffle and feel Nash's hand at the back of my head, gently pressing it into his chest. His strong heart beats against my ear in a steady rhythm that calms me and stops my tears.

  "Callie." His deep voice rumbles through his chest where my head is resting.

  "Please don't ask me," I whisper.

  He's quiet and then, "Okay."

  We stand there a moment, not saying anything, and I wish it could continue. I've never been a touchy-feely type of person, but after a year of being alone, totally alone, I crave the feel of being close to someone like this.

  Minutes pass and Nash doesn't pull away. He doesn't even move. He just stays there, steady, unmoving. Eventually, I back away and he lets me go.

  "Sorry," I say quietly, my head down.

  "Don't be sorry." His voice is soft. He sets his hands on my shoulders. "You can talk to me, Callie. About anything. I'm a good listener."

  "I don't need to talk. I'm fine." I try to smile but it's no use. He'd know it was fake. He knows something's wrong but I don't want to tell him what that is. I'm not ready to give up what I've had these past few days. I don't want to be the girl who lost her family and can't seem to put herself back together. I want to be the way Nash sees me, as just a regular college girl home for the summer.

  His hands are still on my shoulders. They feel solid, steady. I like solid and steady. For the past year, I feel like I've been slipping, falling, crumbling down a teetering slope. I would give anything for some solid ground. Some support. A rope to pull me back up.

  "I know we just met," he says, "but I worry about you. You seem...sad."

  "I'm not sad." I force out a laugh. "What do I have to be sad about?"

  "I don't know. That's why I'm asking." There's concern in his tone. It's real and genuine and caring.

  "I need to go," I say, turning to leave.

  "Callie, wait." He catches my hand as I'm halfway out the door.

  "Nash, I need to go home. I can't—"

  "Are you a Cubs fan?" he asks.

  "Um...yeah. Why?"

  "There's a game starting in a few minutes. I wondered if I could come over and watch it. I don't have a TV."

  That's another thing Ben used to do. He'd watch the Cubs with Greg, and a couple times a year, we'd all go to a game.

  "I don't feel like watching the Cubs tonight."

  "Then we'll watch something else." He keeps hold of my hand. "I don't want to do any more work tonight. I'm tired and just want to watch TV, but I don't have one. So can I watch yours?"

  He's only asking because he doesn't want me to be alone. And honestly, I don't want to be alone. So do I let him come over? But then he'll see everything. He'll see Greg's book and my mom's knitting and Ben's toys.

  "No questions," I blurt out. "If you come over, I don't want you asking questions."

  "Questions about what? Anything?"

  "Yes. You can't ask questions."

  He smiles. "You're totally working for the CIA."

  I yank on his hand and pull him outside. "Hurry up. You can watch for an hour but then you have to go."

  As we walk to my house, he asks, "What if it's a two hour movie?"

  "Then you'll have to miss the end." I unlock my door and he holds it open for me.

  "I can't miss the end. I have to finish what I start. Not just with movies, but anything. I've always been that way. I can't start something and not finish it."

  "Then I guess we won't be watching a movie." I set my keys down and open the fridge. "You want a pop or anything?"

  "I'll take a Coke if you got one."

  I hand him one just as Cat appears from the hallway, running up to Nash.

  "Looks like my friend came out to say hello." He leans down to rub Cat's neck. Cat purrs in response.

  "That's weird the way he's so friendly to you like that. He was never a friendly cat, even before—"

  "Before what?"

  I wave my hand around. "I don't remember what I was going to say. Anyway, watch whatever you want. The remote's on the coffee table."

  "Aren't you watching with me?"

  "Yeah, I guess I will, but you can pick what we watch. I don't really care."

  We take our drinks and go sit on the couch. I move to the end, keeping plenty of distance between us.

  Nash turns the TV on and
flips through to a reality show where some guy tries to survive in the wild. "How about this?"

  "That's fine."

  He smiles. "Callie, I was joking. I didn't think you'd actually want to watch some guy trying to catch fish and make a fire for an hour. I'll find something else." He flips through the channels.

  "Nash, really. I don't care. You came over to watch TV so watch whatever you want."

  He mutes the TV and looks at me. "That's not why I came over."

  My stomach clenches as I prepare for him to confront me about my mini breakdown. God, I can't believe I did that.

  "Then why'd you come over?" I ask, lifting my legs onto the couch and hugging my knees to my chest.

  He has that same concerned look he had when we were at his house. "Because I—"

  "Don't," I blurt out.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't say whatever you were going to say." I pull my knees even tighter to my chest.

  He notices my closed off body language and his face turns from concerned back to his normal, casual, smiling self. "I was going to say that I like hanging out with you. You're strange, but in a good way."

  "I'm not strange!" I extend my leg out and jab him with my foot.

  "I said in a good way." He laughs and grabs my foot, moving over a little so he can set it on his lap.

  "Let go of my foot," I say, trying to yank it back.

  "You like foot rubs?" He kneads his thumb into the base of my foot and, holy crap, that might be the best feeling ever. I relax my leg and let him continue. "Is that a yes?"

  I nod. "Yes."

  He chuckles. "Sink down a little. It's not as good when you're sitting up."

  Before I can analyze if this is a good idea or not, my body slides down on the couch. Nash turns the sound back on the TV but lowers the volume. Then he wraps both hands around my foot and massages it, his thumbs making long deep strokes from my heel to my toes. My head relaxes against the throw pillow and I close my eyes, focusing on how amazing this feels. One of my boyfriends in college gave me a foot rub one time and it was horrible. It hurt, and then tickled, and then hurt even more, so I never let him do it again.

  But this? This is incredible. Nash is only touching my foot and yet I can feel it affecting other parts of my body. My head's relaxing. My arms. My legs. And...oh, God, how did that happen?