"No, but I do have some things to do later, so could we start eating?"
She keeps saying she has stuff to do but then never explains what those things are.
"Help yourself." I open the pizza box and slide it over to her. "I got pepperoni, assuming it's what most everyone likes."
"I love pepperoni." She takes two slices.
I lift open the cooler. "Pop or beer?"
"One of each?"
"Coming right up." I set them on the table and take a beer for myself.
"Thanks." She takes a bite of pizza. I've noticed she takes tiny bites. I take huge bites. It was something I learned growing up with three brothers. You had to eat fast or your brother would snatch your food off your plate, especially pizza.
"I haven't had pizza in a while," she says. "This is really good."
"You guys don't order pizza much?"
"Not really," she says softly.
"But I bet you eat a lot of it in college. I have a friend who delivers pizzas and he said the majority of his deliveries are to colleges." She doesn't respond so I say, "You never told me where you go to college. Do you go out of state?"
She hesitates. "I um..." She sets her pizza down. "I go to Northwestern."
"No shit?" I raise my brows. "Wow. Congratulations. That's great. That's a hard school to get into. What's your major?"
She takes a breath, her eyes on the table. "Math, combined with education. I was going to be a math teacher."
"But you're not anymore?"
Her eyes dart up. "What?"
"You used the past tense. You said you were going to be a math teacher, so I assume that means you changed your mind?"
"No. I mean—never mind." She gets up from the table. "I'm not really hungry. I have to go." She takes off down the stairs.
"Callie, wait!" I hurry to catch up to her, which isn't hard because she's slow with her injured knee. "Callie, what's wrong?" I go around to face her.
"I'm just not very hungry."
"You were like a minute ago."
"Well, I'm not now so..."
"Then just sit and talk to me. You know how I hate to eat alone." I give her an exaggerated frown.
Her lips creep up a tiny bit. "Just get a dog. Then you'll always have someone to eat with."
"I'm not eating with a freaking dog." I pretend to be offended. "They can't even talk."
"Then learn how to interpret their barks." She's smiling a little more now. "I think they have classes for that. How to speak dog."
I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not interested in learning to speak dog."
She shrugs. "Then I'll guess you'll have to get over your fear of eating alone."
"It's not a fear. I just don't like it." I get serious and lift her face up to mine. "Callie, tell me what I did to scare you off. Because I swear, I didn't mean to. I was just trying to make conversation."
"I know." She closes her eyes, then opens them again. "I just..." Her voice trails off and she seems sad.
"What? Tell me what you were going to say."
She takes a breath, then straightens up. "You ask too many damn questions."
Her sadness has suddenly turned to annoyance, which I find humorous.
"I was just trying to get to know you."
"Well, it's far too many questions. To the point of being nosy."
I can't help but laugh, from both her tone and her use of the word 'nosy'. I thought only old people used that word.
"I asked where you went to college. I'd hardly call that being nosy."
"Oh, it's nosy." She points her finger at me. "You know what you are? You're one of those nosy neighbors. The kind that spies on people with binoculars."
I laugh. "I ask a couple questions and now I'm a nosy neighbor?" She doesn't answer. "If I stop asking questions, will you go back to the table?"
She squints her eyes at me. "No questions? You promise?"
"Yes."
"Okay." She limps back toward the deck. I'm behind her and lift her up and over my shoulder.
"Nash! What the hell?"
"You're too freaking slow. Our food's getting cold." I set her down in her chair.
"You're crazy," she mutters. "And I'm only slow because you shot at me."
"You need to stop saying that. If someone hears you, they'll have the cops arrest me."
She picks up her slice of pizza. "Have you ever been to prison?"
I laugh. "Now who's the nosy one? And what happened to the no questions rule?"
"No one said I couldn't ask questions. And asking about your prison record isn't being nosy. It's being safe. I need to know if I have an ex-con living next door."
I can't tell if she's serious or kidding but I answer her anyway.
"No, I have not been to prison. Or to jail."
"I have," she says nonchalantly.
I almost choke on my beer. "You've been to prison?"
"No. Jail." She takes a bite of her pizza.
I stare at her as she takes another bite. "Are you going to explain?"
She finishes chewing, then says, "Freshman year of college I walked around topless to protest the fact that guys can be shirtless in public but girls can't."