Page 3 of Finding Mr. July

S itting down to dinner that evening, I let go of cramped spaces and awkward conversations as I sip a glass of sauvignon blanc in my brother’s airy kitchen.

Jude and I are across from each other at his oval table while his fifteen-year-old daughter, Ava, busies herself by the fridge.

Jude and I are both average cooks, but Ava is going through her high school’s culinary arts electives as if her life depends on it and already has her sights set on a year at a French institute after she graduates in three years.

That is, unless she gets a full ride to play college tennis somewhere. She’s keeping her options open.

“It smells great, hon,” Jude says, sitting back in his chair. The glow of a gorgeous September evening lights up the room from the window behind him. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “Man, what a day.”

“Do I want to know about it?” I ask.

“Probably not.”

“Contested paternity,” Ava supplies from the stove where she’s sticking a thermometer into a pork tenderloin. “Guy doesn’t have a case.”

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Jude asks.

“Come on, Dad. I saw them at the office when you dropped off paperwork the other week. The kid looks exactly like him.”

He rolls his eyes in good humor. “Glad we’ve got that figured out, then. I’ll tell the judge, shall I?”

“I’m just saying.” Ava sets a coaster on the table and then the meat, which is fragrant with garlic and herbs.

There’s also jacket potatoes, carrots, and a red wine jus.

Not shabby for a Monday night. Their goldendoodle, Morris, agrees, judging by his skidding entrance into the room.

His tongue flops as he swings his head between the table and the kitchen as if unsure where it smells best.

“Go lie down, bud,” Ava tells him.

His head tilts, one ear perked up, but then the message hits home, and he saunters to his bed in the corner and lies down with a dejected huff.

“Do I have to sign something so you get class credit for this?” Jude asks her.

“This isn’t an assignment.” She sits down at the head of the table. “I just wanted to try out this recipe.”

“How do you have his genes?” I ask her.

“Hey.” My brother gives me a pretend glare. “And here I thought you’re a guest in my house.”

“I offered to pay rent.”

“With what money?”

I stick my tongue out at him even though he’s right. Not that I need to be reminded of the events that led up to draining most of my savings and taking an unpaid internship.

“Too soon?” Jude mimics flicking food off his fork in my direction.

“I really feel for Grandma and Grandpa right now,” Ava says. “Were you like this growing up, too?”

“Worse,” I say.

“Great.” Ava pushes the bowl of glazed carrots my way. “More eating, less talking, then. How is it?”

“Amazing. As always.” Jude shoves another forkful into his mouth.

I try the meat, which melts in my mouth. “I never want to stop eating this.”

Silverware clinks against ceramic plates as we let the flavors silence us, and for a while, only the house finches nesting outside the open window above the sink provide an additional soundtrack.

But once we’re on to second helpings, Jude points at me with his fork. “Speaking of Mom and Dad—have you talked to them lately?”

I shake my head. “They’re always so busy. And when they’re not, I am.”

They moved to Texas seven years ago and are living the good life with sun, golf, friends, and activities customized to their demographic.

“You know they’re not upset with you any longer, right?” Jude studies me.

Why would you throw away half your life?

is how Dad phrased his initial reaction to my news that I’d left the firm.

I’d wanted to follow in his lawyerly footsteps for as long as I could remember, even before Jude announced it was his chosen path as well.

Falling from grace had left a lasting bruise even though I knew there was much more to my story than simply quitting. “Yeah, I know. Did you talk to them?”

“Dad threw his back out again. It’s been a bit of a hassle.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Starting to wish they weren’t so far away. They’re not getting any younger.”

Always the responsible older sibling. “They chose to leave,” I say. “And I don’t think any amount of convincing will get them back here.”

Jude nods as he rummages his fork around in the potato for a last bite. “No, I know.”

I rest my hands over my stomach. “Oof, I’m so full.”

“Not too full, though, right? I’m trying out a dairy-free chocolate mousse for dessert.” Ava gestures toward the fridge.

“Maybe give us a few minutes,” Jude says. “At our age, we don’t digest things like you.”

“As someone six years your junior, I urge you to speak for yourself,” I tell him, and we’re off again. While we bicker, I help Ava clear the table.

I really do have the best big brother that a girl could wish for.

When my ex, Chris, threw me under the bus at the law firm where we both worked, and I chose the quiet exit offered, I had to move out of my apartment to save what little money I had left.

Jude offered his guest suite without questions asked and didn’t once blame me for what happened.

He knows firsthand that the legal world can be cutthroat and disillusioning, though he still gets energy from his cases and clients.

I sit back down again when we’re done, but Ava gets a rapid burst of notifications on her phone and disappears into the living room.

Jude glances after her. Then he leans across the table toward me and lowers his voice.

“I don’t want to say too much yet, but I’ve been thinking.

If you get this job, you’ll be moving to Scotland, right?

Maybe it’s time for us to make a move, too. ”

“Where to?” I distribute bowls and spoons to our place mats.

“Texas. Mom and Dad are going to be old in a few years, Hols. They’ll need someone to help them with stuff, and if you’re across the ocean, that leaves me.”

“But you haven’t talked to Ava about it?”

“It’s too soon. I will, though.”

We lapse into a silence punctuated by Ava’s laughter in the next room.

I can’t help but wonder what she’ll think of this idea.

I scan the black-and-white photographs on the walls.

This is the only place she’s ever lived.

The only place with a connection to her mom.

Ava might not remember her, but this house still bears Jolene’s fingerprints if you know where to look.

“What are your chances of landing this job?” Jude asks after a few minutes, interrupting my thoughts. “If you’re going to be realistic.”

“Well…” I adjust the spoon next to my bowl while I consider the past few months.

I may not be the typical intern, but no one at GCL has ever made me feel that’s a disadvantage.

If anything, I think I bring a lot to the table from my previous career.

Too bad I’m not the one doing the hiring.

“I’d say one in three. I don’t see either Callum or Ashley being top picks.

Not saying they’re bad at what they do, and they’re both very nice, but if it was up to me—which I know it’s not—I’d say they need a bit more experience under their belts for a job like the Glasgow one. ”

“Which leaves… was it Letitia?”

“Letitia and Eric. Any company would be lucky to have them. It’s really going to come down to whatever this final task is. Who excels.”

Jude nods. “Do you have a plan B?”

His question triggers that stupid lump in my throat again because I know I should have one.

It’s irresponsible not to. But I quit Heckles & Romer so suddenly that it spun my world off-kilter, and when Rachel hooked me up with the internship at GCL shortly after, it seemed like the perfect solution.

Not only did she vouch for me with Manny to get around my lack of references—at that point no one at Heckles & Romer would have touched me with a ten-foot pole—but also GCL sounded like the complete antithesis to what I was leaving.

That’s to say it’s people-centric, committed to lasting global change, and not-for-profit.

And, best of all, the internship sounded like a fortuitous twofer for the future winner of the intern challenge—a fast-track ticket into a new career and the opportunity to help start an office far away from Washington State and the rumors of my disgrace.

Less than a month later, I did my intern orientation.

There’s been no time to stop to consider the possibility that this might not work out.

It has to work out. I would have a lot of explaining to do if I tried to go back to law again, and I cannot stay in Seattle, where reminders of my past abound.

“I intend to win,” I tell my brother, having swallowed away the intruding angst. “And like Dad always says, ‘intention is half the battle.’” It helped me graduate high school at the top of my class, do my undergrad in three years, my grad in two, pass the bar on my first attempt, and land the first job I applied for.

Granted that was years ago, and I haven’t flexed my intention muscles in a while, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.

“You can say that about a lot of things, though,” Jude says. “Intention is half the battle, discipline is half the battle, intelligence is half the battle, hell, money is half the battle.”

“You think Dad is full of it?”

“I think Dad started his own practice at thirty with the help of his dad’s inheritance.

Those were different times. But…” He holds up a finger to stop my rebuttal.

“That said, I do think this change has been good for you, even though what happened to you was wrong. Last year this time, you were such a miserable curmudgeon. If anyone can do what they set their mind to, it’s you.

” He raises his glass in salute and drinks.

I relax against the back of the chair and finish my glass of wine. “Thanks.” His words help me remember a not-too-distant past when I was invincible. I can get there again. They also prompt an image of another curmudgeon I know. Is that what’s going on? Is Jonathan just unhappy with the work we do?

“Hey, have you ever had a client that you couldn’t read?” I ask Jude.

“Like if they were lying to me?”

“Yeah, that, and what their motivation was, what they were thinking.”

Jude chuckles. “I don’t ever know what my clients are thinking. That’s beyond my pay grade and psychic ability. Why do you ask?”

I gnaw at my lower lip as I picture Jonathan retreating down the hallway. “No reason. It’s someone I work with. I can’t figure him out.” I twirl the stem of my glass and peer toward the living room where Ava is pacing, still engaged in animated conversation.

“Hoo boy, I know that look,” Jude says, interrupting the spinning wheels in my head.

“What look?”

“That look.” He circles a finger in the direction of my face. “The ‘Holly tackles a challenge’ look. I pity the fool.”

I ball up my napkin and toss it at him. “No need. This one is a lost cause, and I don’t have time for any more challenges right now.”

He smirks. Then he stands to get dessert out of the fridge because Ava sounds like she’s finishing up. “Whatever you say, sis. Whatever you say.”