Page 25 of Finding Mr. July

A va takes second place in her tournament and is still recapping match balls she’s particularly happy with when we enter the restaurant. Her cheeks are flushed from the game, and she’s radiating energy, but once she gets a malted chocolate milkshake in front of her, she finally falls silent.

“They have the best milkshakes here, don’t they?” I ask as I watch her drain half of her glass in one go.

She nods and sets it down. “So good. I haven’t had one in forever.”

I consider my options. We can chitchat about school and friends, eat and be merry, and then I can ruin the mood by bringing up Texas at the end of our meal. Or I can rip off the Band-Aid right now and have time to turn the mood around before we get home to Jude. I decide to rip.

“Didn’t your dad use to take you here every first day of school or something?” I ask.

“Yeah.” A shadow passes across her face, but she doesn’t say anything else. She puts her straw back between her lips, but this time, she just nibbles on it.

“You’re pretty upset with him, huh?”

“Duh.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She spins her glass and then drags a finger through the condensation ring on the table before she looks up at me. The light in her eyes has dimmed, and I hate that I’m the cause of it. In my book, she has every right to be upset, but I promised Jude I’d try to mediate.

“There’s not much to talk about, is there?” She pouts. “Dad’s just being an asshole.”

“Aw, come on now. That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

“You already know, then.” One corner of her mouth quirks up.

I smile. “Girl…” Maybe not all is lost here if she can still joke about him.

She sits back. “I just don’t get why he needs to move now. Things are fine here. I’m happy here. Doesn’t that matter?”

“It should,” I say before I can stop myself. “I mean, he knows that. But maybe he thinks you’d be even happier there.”

She scoffs. “I really don’t think he cares. This is only about what he wants to do. It’s just not fair.”

“Right.” I clasp my hands together on the edge of the table and then unclasp them again. I need a new angle here.

The waitress comes to my rescue with our food right then, which gives me a moment to regroup. Once she’s left and Ava has dug into her fries, I try again.

“Okay. I’m not saying you don’t have reason to be upset, and I’m not taking sides. But as a thought experiment, walk me through what you think it will be like to move.”

She waves a fry in the air. “It’s going to suck.”

“Because…” I take a bite of my burger, which is topped with chèvre and bacon jam.

“My friends are here, I know where everything is, all the trees, I like the rain…”

I cock my head. “You do not like the rain. Do you know how many mornings I wake up to you stomping down the stairs because, and I quote, ‘this fricking rain will ruin my hair again’?”

Ava rolls her eyes. “Fine. Not the rain thing, then. But my tennis team, and my school, and my house.”

I nod. “There are a lot of good memories here. And I totally get that you’ll miss your friends. But you would still be connected on social media, and you’re old enough to travel back to visit on your own.”

Ava grumbles something inaudible in response.

“What about good things?” I ask. “There must be something.”

“Nope.” She balls up a napkin and reaches for another. Her burger comes with pineapple, and it’s juicy.

“Come on. What about tennis? I’m sure sunny Texas is prime, all-year-round tennis heaven.”

Ava presses her lips together before she concedes. “Maybe.”

“And your grandma and grandpa are there. You can swing by anytime.”

She pulls the bamboo skewer out of the second half of her burger. “I do miss seeing them.” She nibbles on her lip. “But it’s just… Texas! Of all places.”

“I get it, believe me.”

“Like, how would you feel if you had to move somewhere against your will?”

“Not great,” I admit.

“Right. But because I’m ‘a child’”—she puts bunny ears around the word—“I’m supposed to just smile and go along with it?”

“I don’t think that’s what your dad is expecting at all. I think he wants to talk about it.” I lean forward to catch her eye. “But it’s kind of hard to talk to someone who’s giving you the silent treatment, no?”

She has nothing to say to that, so I back off and take another bite of my burger. Hopefully, I’ve at least planted a seed.

“So when’s the next tournament?” I ask after I’ve allowed a few minutes of quiet reflection. Time to undo this tension.

Ava licks off her finger, her shoulders visibly lowering. “Next weekend in Olympia. Coach wants me to get as much match play in as possible this year, so I have a better chance of being scouted as a junior.”

“I don’t doubt colleges will be fighting over you.”

A grin lights up her face. “Fingers crossed!”

Jude is already home when we get back, feet on the couch, reading.

He does not look like someone who’s just had his first date in over a decade, but I wait until Ava has disappeared upstairs before I launch an inquisition.

As usual, she doesn’t even say hi to him, but hopefully that’s because she’s desperate to shower and get her homework done, not because my talk failed. If Jude notices, he doesn’t let on.

“So,” I say, balancing on the armrest of the couch, “tell me everything.”

Jude looks at me over the frames of his readers. “About?”

I shuck a throw pillow at him, which dislodges his grip on the book. “Don’t be cute.”

He smiles and takes off his glasses. “Oh, you want to know about my evening? The date you set up? The one you blackmailed me into going on?”

“Blackmail?” I huff. “Aren’t you a lawyer? I suggested a mutually agreeable proposal. Now, spill.”

He swings his legs over the edge and sits up straighter. Morris lifts his head next to the couch. “Fine. We had drinks. A few appetizers. She works in IT, grew up in New Mexico, married once.”

“And?” I spin my finger to encourage more details.

“And…” Jude runs a hand through his hair and inhales deeply. “I don’t know. Her name is Mona. The food was decent.”

“But did you have a good time? Are you going to see her again?”

“It was fine, I guess.”

“Oof. Not great praise.”

“Yeah, we didn’t make plans if that’s what you mean. She was just very”—he wiggles his head as if searching for the right words—“factual.”

Not what I was expecting. “She seemed cool in her profile.”

Jude raises an eyebrow. “Maybe she, too, had a meddling sibling create one for her.” He leans down to scratch Morris’s ear.

“I’m not saying it was bad. It just lacked a bit of, I don’t know, fun, maybe?

Energy. Like, you know, when Rachel came by the other day.

How vibrant and positive she is. It’s kind of contagious, right? ”

I nod in agreement, though I have no idea how Rachel has suddenly become a part of this conversation.

“Mona was the opposite of that. Very nice, sure. But not for me.”

“Noted. I’ll make sure the next one is a better fit.”

“Next one?” He pushes off the couch. “No, no, no. This was a one and done. No more. Have you talked to Ava?” He turns to Morris, who’s now on his feet, tail wagging. “Are we going outside, bud? Are we? Yes, let’s go.”

I stand, too. It’s never a good idea to be the only person sitting during a conversation like this. “As a matter of fact, I have. And I think you’ll find her more amenable to a conversation now.”

“Then good.” Jude extends a hand to me. “Deal, done.”

I shake it. “Fine. Then I’m going to bed.” I grab my bag from the floor, intending to make a smooth exit, but then I remember I have an early morning photo shoot, and darn it if I didn’t forget to stop at the store.

Jude and Morris are already on their way to the door when I call out, “You didn’t happen to pick up more cereal bars, did you?”

My brother watches me for a moment, his lawyer persona still at the surface, but then his features soften and he smiles. “Two boxes. Milk and eggs, too.”

Like I said—the best brother.

Unfortunately, no amount of breakfast foods is enough to prepare me for Robert the vet who shows up to our morning shoot without a dog.

“I didn’t realize you wanted one in the photo,” he says. “I thought it only mattered that I work with them.”

I make Jonathan look at our email exchange to verify that yes, the subject line of all our emails was always “guys and dogs photo shoot” and I’m not losing my mind. Then we reschedule for Robert’s next available day, which is the twelfth after work.

“And I can bring any pet?” he asks as we part ways.

Jonathan puts a hand on my shoulder as if he senses I’m about to blow a gasket. “I’ve got this,” he says to me before setting Robert straight.

“A dog,” he says. “Please bring a dog.”