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—"