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Turning my back to him, I drag over the bag of bark and begin to spread it in the flowerbed. The fucking shadow is still there and I consider that maybe this guy is a mental case. What would make someone stubbornly linger where they are not wanted?
“Do you like football?”
The odd question—coming on the heels of all the other strange questions and his lingering presence—sends me rising once more and glaring across the fence. “Yes, I like football. Now would you mind leaving me alone? I’ve got shit to do.”
Finally…finally… the cocky smile slides from his face and something that looks like hurt crosses over it. “I’m really just trying to get to know you, Davis. I’m no threat to you or your family.”
“I don’t have a family.” The statement is quick and automatic, rushing from my mouth before I can even consider the repercussions of it.
He blinks a few times in rapid succession, as if I’ve stunned him somehow, but quickly changes the subject. “I’m having a few people over next week to watch the Super Bowl. You’re welcome to join us.”
I can’t recall the last time someone invited me to go somewhere or do something. It’s not like I have friends, and my siblings have their own lives. I’m so completely stunned I can only stand there with my mouth hanging open while he continues talking.
“It’s no big deal, just some beer and snacks. Very casual. Wander over whenever you want, the door will be open. Game starts around three.” With that he sends me a wave and starts to turn away. “I’m really not a bad guy once you get to know me.” A few more steps and he shoots me a broad grin over his shoulder. “Enjoy your Saturday.”
I swallow hard as I watch him return to his yard and get the mower going, returning to the task he abandoned just to try to get me to talk to him. I doubt he’s a bad guy, but he sure is a nosey one.
So why the hell do I get this nagging need in my gut to allow him in, let him get to know me? I haven’t wanted to have friends in years, maybe even before that. I’ve never been the type of guy who was surrounded by a group of close friends. I had a few, the same ones who disappeared from my life completely once grief took over. I don’t blame them for fleeing. I’m not exactly a fun guy to be around.
I used to be. I suppose I could be again. Then again, maybe not. I’m tied down by an unending, heavy sadness that will not dissipate. I can barely function doing the most menial tasks, and I spend far too much time with my head inside a bottle. How the hell am I supposed to involve myself in a friendship with a complete stranger, when I can barely keep myself upright?
