Lou's eyes rise up from the computer screen. "Heading home?"
"Yeah. But before I go, I wanted to ask if I was still invited to dinner."
He smiles. "You know you're welcome any time."
"Would tomorrow work?"
"Tomorrow would be perfect. Tuesday is steak night. You like steak?"
"I love steak. Can I bring something? I make a really good potato salad. Do you like potato salad?"
"It's one of my favorites. Marge used to make hers with pickle relish and pimentos. I couldn't get enough of it. I've tried to replicate it but haven't been able to."
"What time should I come over?"
"Six-thirty would be good. I assume Nash will be coming with you?"
I shake my head. "No. Just me."
"Something happen with you two?" He eyes me suspiciously. "Did you break up with him?"
"Why do you keep assuming I was dating him? We're just neighbors. That's it. There was never anything more between us."
He leans back, squinting his eyes and rubbing his chin. "I don't know what it is, but you and Nash seem similar somehow."
"We're actually more like opposites." It's true for things like movies and music. We have totally different tastes. But as for who we are inside? Lou is right. Nash and I are similar in many ways.
He winks. "You know what they say. Opposites attract."
"Yeah, well, that's not always true. See ya tomorrow, Lou." I hurry out of there before he says anything else about Nash and me. I don't know why he keeps pushing me to date Nash. He's never pushed me to date anyone else.
On my way home, I stop at the store and buy the ingredients for potato salad, including pickle relish and pimentos. I don't usually put those in my potato salad, but I will this time because it's what Lou likes.
The next night, when I leave to go to Lou's house, Nash is out mowing his grass. He waves at me as I drive away. I'm sure he's surprised to see me going out. I'm just as surprised, and nervous, because I'm always home at night and now I'm not. When I'd go to Nash's place at night, at least my house was just a few yards away.
Why am I so afraid to leave my house? Why am I so afraid of change? I feel like I'm not even making a conscious decision to be this way. It's just who I am now. The thought of doing something different makes me anxious so I avoid it. But not tonight. I told Lou I'd be there and I'm keeping my promise.
"Hi, Lou," I say as he opens the door for me. "The steaks smell good. I could smell them when I got out of the car."
"They're on the grill. I went all out and got ribeyes. It's not every day I have a guest. This is a big night."
His comment makes me sad. I didn't think Lou was lonely living on his own, but maybe he is, and just tries to hide it like I do.
"I hope you like the potato salad." I hand it to him.
"You know me. I eat anything." He pats his belly.
We go in the house. It's the first time I've seen it. The furniture is old and dated and the place is kind of messy, like Lou's office. Organization isn't his strength. There are photos of him and his wife on the wall and on a table in the dining room.
Photos were the only thing I packed away after they died. I couldn't take looking at them day after day.
"We're eating on the deck," he says, "so if you want to head out there, go ahead."
"You need help with anything?"
"No. It's all set."
We eat dinner, and Lou raves about the potato salad, saying it's almost as good as Marge's. He tells me about the other foods she used to make, like her famous fried chicken and some kind of casserole with sausage and potatoes, and her cherry cobbler.
"Sounds like she was a good cook," I say, as we have the lemon meringue pie Lou brought home from the bakery.
"She was the best cook in the state." He holds his fork up. "She had blue ribbons to prove it. Every year she won at least one ribbon at the state fair."
"Do you still have them?" I ask, curious to see if he's kept her things.
"They're packed away in a box somewhere."
"Do you, um...have other things of hers?"
"Not much. Her sister came here after Marge died and packed up her things and donated them. I still have the quilts she made and things like that."
"It must've been hard to get rid of her stuff."
He scoops up a forkful of pie. "It would've been harder to keep it."
Is he implying something? Does he know I haven't gotten rid of their things? No, he couldn't possibly know.
I change the subject. "So what do you like to do besides fishing?"
"Read. Watch TV. Marge and I used to love playing cards, but after she passed away, I wasn't able to find anyone who wants to play."
"I could play." The words come out before I could think. But he sounded so disappointed that he couldn't play cards anymore that I had to at least offer. "Do you have a favorite game or do you play all kinds?"
"Marge's favorite was Rummy so we played that a lot. But we also played Bridge and Spades."
"I've never played those. You'd have to teach me."
His brows rise. "You'd really play cards with me?"