At eight-thirty, I consider going to Nash's house. This is when I'd normally go over there to work, although the past few weeks I've been over there all the time. It keeps my mind from going to the places I don't want it to go, so I guess that's one reason I should keep working for him. Another is that it's an excuse to see him, because if I don't see, I'll miss him. The thought of never talking to him again gives me that hollow, empty feeling I had before I met him, and I hate that feeling.
And reason number three? I don't want Nash to be all alone after telling me about Becky. Even though it happened years ago, by telling me the story, he had to relive all those memories and I know what that's like. I live with my own painful memories every day. I surround myself with them, and I don't know why. But I do know that being alone with those memories makes them even more painful. Sometimes just having someone else around makes them easier to handle, which I only know because of Nash. Ever since he started spending time with me, the memories haven't consumed me like they did in the past.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I make my way over to his house, greeted by his overly loud country music. I used to hate country music but it's starting to grow on me, and from now on, whenever I hear it, I'll always think of Nash.
I'm not ready to talk to him, so I just get to work, returning to the box I was going through earlier. It contains a mix of items, mostly junk; a broken magnifying glass, some reading glasses, an old wallet with nothing in it, and more newspapers. Why would Mr. Freeson keep these things? Is it because he had nothing else in his life? He had no family, no friends, so he clung to his possessions? Is that going to be me someday? Am I going to be just like Mr. Freeson?
"Hey, Callie," Nash says, walking past me and out the door, as if the incident at my house didn't happen. He returns holding boxes of tile and goes right back to the kitchen.
I go in there and see Cat perched on top of the wooden crate Nash uses as a chair. Damn Cat doesn't even acknowledge me. In fact, he seems happy and content being here with Nash.
Nash also doesn't acknowledge me. He's kneeling down on the floor, setting the tiles in place.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" I ask.
"About what?" He reaches up to the counter and grabs a handful of tile spacers.
"Um, nothing. Never mind."
"You said you didn't want to talk." He places the spacers between the tiles. "So we won't talk."
"But you still want me to work for you?"
"That's up to you. I can't force you to."
"Okay, well, I'm going to keep working here."
"Good. I could use the help."
"And um...I don't think we should continue what we've been doing. I think it's best if we keep this relationship strictly professional."
I'm thinking he'll disagree and give me some flirty comeback, then get up and kiss me, reminding me why we should keep that part of our relationship going, but instead, he just continues working on the tile.
"Nash, did you hear me?"
"Yeah. Got it. Strictly professional."
My heart sinks, that empty feeling washing over me. But it's what I said I wanted, and it is for the best.
"I'll get back to work, but first I need to take Cat home." I go over to him. "Cat, come on." He doesn't move, and when I go to pick him up, he jumps off the crate and runs over to Nash.
"Hey, buddy." Nash rubs Cat's head and he purrs. "Guess he doesn't want to go."
I set my hands on my hips. "You can't keep my cat."
"Then go ahead and take him."
When I reach down to get him, he runs off into the living room.
I sigh and say to Nash, "Promise you'll take care of him?"
"Only until you're ready to take him. Then he's yours again."
"As you can see, he has no interest in me."
"He will when you're ready for him."
"What does that mean?"
"You can't take care of others until you take care of yourself."
"I DO take—"
"Callie." He looks up at me. "Just think about it." He turns back to the tile. "I need to finish this. I'll see you later."
When I return to the living room, Cat spots me and slowly slinks back toward the kitchen.
"You're not very nice," I say to Cat, scowling at him as he goes past me. "You have no loyalty, you know that? I feed you, clean your litter box, and this is the thanks you give me?"
He just ignores me and continues on to the kitchen.
Later, when I arrive at the coffee shop for work, I want to yell at Lou for telling Nash the truth about me, but I don't, because this isn't Lou's fault. It's mine. I should've told Nash from the beginning. It was stupid of me to try to hide it. My desperate attempt to have a few moments of normalcy failed miserably.
My time at work goes quickly because there's a big catering order to fill, and before I know it, my shift is over. But before I go, I stop by Lou's office. He's typing orders into the computer. He does this every day, then he cleans up the dining area, and does prep work for the next morning. At night, he goes home and has dinner alone and watches TV. He has some fishing buddies he goes out with now and then, but otherwise he's alone. I wonder what his life was like before his wife died. I've never asked him. But he talks about her and says she was the love of his life, so how does he go on without her?
"Lou." I stand at his office door, my heart pounding. This is a huge step for me but I need to do it. It'll be good for both of us.