Page 11 of Finding Mr. July

R achel’s text pings as soon as I get in the door that evening. We’ve been apart less than an hour, but her incredulity knows no bounds. I wait to look until I’m in my room because it sounds like Jude and Ava are arguing in the kitchen.

I cannot believe you made out with him in the office!!!

I sink onto my bed and lean against the cushions as my phone keeps pinging.

Ping! I know you said you don’t want to talk about it…

Ping! But this is a big deal…

Ping! And I’m a really good listener.

Ping! And I won’t tell a soul.

I scrub a hand across my forehead. I knew it was a mistake to tell her. She’s always on about how I need to get out more, so she’ll never shut up about this.

But also, she’s my best friend, and she means well. It’s not like I don’t understand the universal appeal of juicy gossip.

I sit back up, crossing my legs.

Ping! At least tell me if it was any good.

The offending earring rests on my nightstand.

I reach out to straighten it. As I do, the echoing sensation of him carefully lifting it out of my ear reverberates through me.

Such a small move, but the delicate touch, the withdrawal of the cool metal, and the soft, warm pressure of his lips in its place replay in my mind, drawing my fingertips to the spot. I shiver. Yes, it was fucking good.

Let’s just say it wasn’t bad, I text her.

Ping! Knew it. Do you want to kiss him again?

Well, that’s a no-brainer. Absolutely not, I type.

I have a full plate without adding that sort of complication to my life.

I’m about to check responses to my dating profile, and at some point before bed, I also want to email info to the veterinarian who left me a message earlier saying he’d be interested in learning more about the calendar.

Not to mention how dating someone from work backfired last time I gave it a go.

When two doors slam closed downstairs in rapid succession, I add to my list a possible need to mediate between my brother and niece. What on earth are they fighting about?

I pull my laptop out of my workbag and log into Pawsome Partners.

To my surprise, I have five matches already.

Two are old enough to be my dad, so I decline those.

I know I’m not looking to date these men, but it would still feel weird.

The third one’s username is FelineFiend, so I reject him, too, before accepting the “connect” requests from the remaining guys.

I’ll have to respond to them before calling it a night.

Since one of the printers I spoke to earlier can get me scheduled for October 10 with a five-day production timeline—the closest option to my original plan—I plan on signing their contract as soon as they send it over. The time crunch is now real.

Ping! Do you think he wants to do it again?

I stare at the words on my phone. Does he? Jonathan’s attentive eyes flash before me, causing a flutter in my belly. No. He doesn’t appear to remember much from our night together.

I start peeling my socks off, and once my feet are free, I wiggle my toes.

But what if he did want to? If he initiated something, would I decline?

My mind labors over this hypothetical situation while I change into a pair of yoga pants.

We are coworkers—teammates as of hours ago—so there’s that.

I plan on leaving Washington for good, hopefully soon and through GCL, though he knows that already.

And if that’s not enough, we also have nothing at all in common, and neither one of us is looking for a partner.

Not that anyone said anything about dating.

I shrug out of my bra and into a tank top before reaching for a soft crewneck sweater.

But I suppose, with that in mind, if he did suggest an openness to an encore, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst situa—

Ping! Hello?

My thoughts come to a screeching halt. What is wrong with me? Surely I’m not seriously entertaining the idea of unbuttoning buttoned-up Jonathan Summers again. Even if I didn’t have personal reasons to avoid entanglement, he barely tolerates me.

I can say with certainty that he doesn’t, I text Rachel. Sorry to disappoint.

I tell her about the two hits on Holly Saint Bernard’s profile and promise to share my responses with her in the morning. Then I give in to my growling stomach and set course for the kitchen since whatever war was being waged down there is now at a ceasefire.

I’ve almost finished making myself a sandwich when Jude pushes open the door from the foyer and enters, Morris on his heels. It’s started raining outside, and the goldendoodle shakes off a few droplets before coming up to sniff my knees.

“There you are,” Jude says. “I thought you were working late, but then I saw your car in the driveway.” He grabs a slice of cheese from the pack I have out and tears it in two before offering one half to his eager companion. “Good boy.”

“I didn’t want to get in the way,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“You heard that, huh?” My brother sinks onto one of the counter stools.

“Everything okay?”

He runs a hand through his dirty-blond strands. “Depends on who you ask. I thought I had exciting news to share when I got home today. Ava thinks I’m ruining her life.” He reaches for another slice of cheese.

“Want me to make you one of these?” I ask, indicating my sandwich.

He nods.

“What happened?” I ask as I smear one slice of multigrain with mayo and another with mustard.

“I was able to get a couple of interviews lined up in Texas. Figured I’d tell her about the plans.”

I put the knife down and rest my hands against the cool marble. “And is that how you said it? ‘Hi, sweetie, guess what? I’m interviewing for a job in Texas, and we’ll be moving. Thought you should know.’”

He tuts. “Of course not. I told her it will likely take several months. I’m only starting to look.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Do you know your daughter at all?” I tuck a wad of turkey and some lettuce between the two slices of bread and push the plate his way. “She’s a teenage girl with ambitious plans. A move would be a huge deal for her.”

“I know that. She’ll miss her friends and her tennis cohort and whatnot, but she’ll meet new ones there. And we’ll be close to Mom and Dad, so she’ll have grandparents around.”

“She doesn’t care about that. She’s fifteen.”

“Oh, come on. She loves them.”

“Of course she does. But you’re nuts if you think they would replace her friends.”

Jude takes a big bite of his sandwich and chews it carefully. “So what am I supposed to do, then? Not move? Stagnate in my career? Let Mom and Dad figure things out as best as they can, fingers crossed?”

A drumroll of footsteps thunders down the stairs, and Ava appears in the doorway. “You’re supposed to talk to me first,” she yells. “You’re supposed to care what I have to say, and you’re not supposed to move us to fucking Gilead.”

“Language, please,” Jude says. “And I don’t know of any Gilead in Texas. The jobs I’m looking at are in Austin near your grandma and grandpa. I already told you that.”

Ava lets out a frustrated growl before she stomps back upstairs and slams the door to her room.

I eye Jude as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“What?” he asks.

“I take it you didn’t read The Handmaid’s Tale in high school. Margaret Atwood?”

His forehead creases. “Don’t think so. Why?”

I explain to him as briefly as I can that Gilead refers to a fictional, misogynistic, dystopian society. “Honestly, it’s a valid concern. With women’s and reproductive rights under siege in this country, I don’t think you can dismiss it outright. Some states are safer than others.”

“Oh.” He looks decently chastised. “Didn’t think about that. But she’s likely going to college elsewhere anyway. It would only be for a couple of years.”

“Sure. But talk to her about it. She’s not a kid anymore.”

“I know.” He brings the sandwich toward him as if about to take another bite but stops. “I don’t like it.”

I chuckle as I put the condiments back in the fridge.

Artwork Ava made in elementary school still adorns the door, held up by magnets.

Stick figure milestones. It wasn’t that long ago, and yet it feels like another lifetime.

If I move to Glasgow (correction— when I move to Glasgow), what more will I miss?

I run my fingers over the yellowed paper.

“It’s times like these I wonder what Jolene would have done,” Jude says. “I bet she’d have known exactly the right thing to say.”

My brother has that faraway gaze in his eyes that’s reserved for memories of his late wife. He doesn’t talk about her often, but it’s clear she’s still very much with him.

“It would be her first time parenting a teenager, too,” I tell him. “So I’m not so sure about that.”

“Mmm.” Jude turns his plate ninety degrees, still somewhere else in thought.

I study him, my big brother. He wears his hair longer nowadays, almost long enough to stay behind his ears when he tries to tuck it. His jaw is intentionally stubbled, he keeps himself in shape, and he has the most contagious smile. It’s a shame he has no one to appreciate him.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

He smirks. “Since when do you need permission?”

Around us, the house is quiet except for the faint music coming from Ava’s room.

Everything is orderly, the counters clean.

In the family room off the kitchen, a tray on the coffee table is home to a candle, a stack of books, and the remotes.

A gray blanket lies folded over the armrest of the couch.

There could be so much more life here, I think.

And once I move out, it’ll be even worse.

“Do you ever think about getting out there again?” I ask. “Finding someone?”

Jude taps his fingers against the marble top. “Sure.”

“But?”

“Between work and Ava, there’s not much time, is there? And Morris,” he adds when the doodle lifts his head off his paws at Jude’s feet. “Can’t forget about you, bud.” Jude scratches Morris’s ears.

“I don’t think Jolene would have wanted you to be alone.”

He sighs. “I know that.”

“So why not do something about it?”

He watches me for a moment. “Since when are you pro-relationship? You’re like the poster child for putting work first. Did something happen?”

“No.” It comes out too fast.

Jude sits up straighter. “Who?”

“No one.” I grab his plate and put it in the sink.

“Nothing.” I force a smile before I turn back to him.

“Just looking out for you.” It’s not a lie, I tell myself.

I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life alone.

I’m legitimately busy, and this thing with Jonathan is a complete nothing-burger.

Rachel’s words must be messing with my head.

“And I joined a dating site to find guys for the calendar—that’s probably what got me thinking. ”

Jude’s eyes remain narrowed, but thankfully the new topic distracts him. “Really? What’s that like?”

Phew.

I tell him about it and my other plans to find models while I do the dishes, and by the time I finish up, we’ve gotten far enough from the relationship topic to move safely into the evening.

Still, I vow not to drop the issue of his singlehood entirely.

Jude needs some fun in his life, and if he’s unwilling to put himself out there, maybe I can help now that I’m soon to be a dating site pro.

At the very least, I could set him up on a few dates so that when he gets to Texas, he’ll already know how to go about it.

It will be less intimidating that way, and then Texas can be the fresh start he needs, as much as Scotland is for me.

I know better than most that it’s hard to see new possibilities when you’re still surrounded by the past.