Page 33 of Finding Mr. July

W ith Ava’s help, I set out to transform Jude’s third garage bay into a Christmas wonderland.

It’s always been her favorite holiday, so when I ask her to lend a hand, she’s in the attic space pulling out tubs of decorations before I can say “Santa Claus.” She even offers to bake gingerbread cookies, and who am I to say no to that?

It’s only October, but the spicy-sweet scents from the oven do lend an air of authenticity to the scene as we’re seated on a white comforter (“snow”) on the concrete garage floor, wrapping random empty boxes as presents.

“I’m going to hold on to these for actual Christmas,” Ava says. “That’s all Dad will get this year. Air.”

I glance at her face, set in concentration as she curls another ribbon. As much as I understand her position, I need to get her talking to Jude again. For all our sakes. “And will that make you feel better?”

“Maybe.” She continues wrapping.

I put my scissors down and throw a stick-on bow her way. “Hey.”

She looks up.

“He’s not doing this to spite you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I pause for another moment. “Why do you think your dad wants to move?”

Ava cuts a square of wrapping paper with a loud wrrrichhh . “For Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Sure. Any other reasons?” I push off the floor to put the stack of presents we’ve wrapped under the tree. When I sit back down, Ava has stopped wrapping.

“I know he’s still sad,” she says. “But he has me. And I thought we were a team.” She looks up, the anger no longer as obvious in her eyes.

“He only has you for a couple more years, though. You’ll go off to college, and he’ll… what? Work more? What kind of life is that?”

“That’s what you do.”

“Ouch. And also that’s different. I’m at a crossroads, and that demands my full attention.”

She rolls her eyes again.

“Ava…” I wait until I have her attention. “I think you know he needs to move on. That he deserves to move on.”

Ava’s gaze travels to the far garage bay where her mom’s old Corolla still sits beneath a tarp, awaiting the day she turns sixteen. “You’re saying he can’t do that here.”

“I’m saying he’s been holding steady all this time for you. He’s ready for a change. And maybe part of him needs that change to happen on his terms, before you leave. Before he’s completely on his own.”

She flips the present in her hands around. Views it from all sides. “I wasn’t thinking of it like that.”

“Which is fine. I get it. I’m not saying you can’t be sad and upset. Change is scary.”

“Are flights to Scotland shorter from Texas?” she asks. “In case you win.” She starts digging around in the paper bag that holds Jude’s Santa costume. Jonathan is bringing a second one from Wayne so that both our models can dress up.

“In case?” I pretend to be offended. “Do you not see the magic we’re creating here?” I gesture around us. “But seriously. Talk to your dad. Please.”

She hooks the Santa beard over her ears and says in a deep voice, “Ho, ho, ho. Have you been a good girl this year, Aunt Holly?”

I play along. “So good. May I please have a new job in Glasgow for Christmas, Santa?”

“A job? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a new car or a trip to Hawaii? Or maybe a diamond ring from a certain handsome photographer?” She hugs a large, felted gnome to her chest and makes kissing noises.

Suddenly, the spirit of the season sticks in my throat because, the truth is, there are moments when I’m no longer sure I don’t want that. When that vision I had of a life with Jonathan threatens to overwhelm all my other wants. It’s terrifying.

“Very funny,” I say, getting off the floor again so she can’t see my face.

“I think that’s enough wrapping, don’t you?

What else?” I go through the list in my head.

Snowballs, presents, tree, decorations, cookies, stockings, the sled from the lawn decor for the dogs…

“The ladder,” I say. “I’ll need it to make it snow. ”

Once that’s set up, we’re ready to roll.

Jonathan, Ava’s coach Marcus, and his partner Naveem are impressed with our holiday display when they arrive.

Ever so subtly, Jonathan sidles up to me and rests his hand at the small of my back. “Nice work.”

“This will almost make up for the mall Santa photos my parents never let me take,” Naveem says, tapping one of the fake snowballs with his shoe.

Marcus lifts an empty box and shakes it. “You’ve got presents and everything.”

“Careful. Don’t ruin Jude’s gift,” I say, winking at Ava. Hopefully after tonight’s conversation, my brother will get something better than air under the tree this year.

“Here are the costumes, Coach,” Ava says. “You can change in the bathroom over here.”

Sensing Marcus’s hesitation, I suggest Ava make herself scarce while we work. I do want the guys without their shirts on, after all. “The fewer people the better. For the dogs,” I add.

“Speaking of which, I’ll go get them from the car. We’re almost ready, right?” Marcus looks to Jonathan for an answer.

“Yup. Just a few minutes.”

The bulldogs are bonded sisters but could not have more different personalities.

Bee acts as if it really is Christmas morning as soon as she’s let in.

She runs from person to person, her little stump wagging at the attention and the commotion, burrows her head into the fluffy comforter on the floor, and rolls over for belly scratches.

And when Marcus asks her to come sit so she can try on the reindeer antlers, she does so without a fuss.

Lou, on the other hand, remains in the doorway watching the whole spectacle unfold, her nose turned up in seeming dismay.

“Come on, Lulu,” Naveem cajoles. “You get to be in a picture. You like pictures.”

Lou huffs as if that’s preposterous, but when Bee starts pushing one of the gifts around with her nose, Lou lets out a low whine and sets one tentative foot on the step leading into the garage.

“Does she want a treat?” Jonathan asks, searching his pocket.

“Since when do you carry around dog treats?” I ask, adjusting the ladder so that it won’t be in the picture. Once we’re ready, I’ll be at the top of it, throwing handfuls of “flakes” onto the Christmassy scene.

“Um.” Jonathan looks from the treat in his hand to me. “Must have been from the dog fair.” He crosses the floor and offers it to Lou.

Thankfully the treat works, and Lou descends the steps, but only to stop once more when she reaches the concrete floor.

“What now?” Jonathan asks in a soft voice. He squats in front of her and scratches her ear.

“She doesn’t like hard floors,” Marcus says behind her. He’s wearing Jude’s Santa pants held up by suspenders, dark boots, and the classic red hat. And man, tennis players are fit. “Your turn to change,” he tells Naveem.

“You don’t like hard floors?” Jonathan coos to Lou.

In response, she lifts one of her front paws and glares at the concrete.

“Let’s go over here, Lou.” Marcus passes her and reaches the spread-out comforter. “You’ll like this better.”

“Does she need to be carried?” Jonathan asks.

Marcus laughs. “She wishes. She can walk on it fine; she’s just being a diva. Come on, Lulu.”

Finally, Lou takes another step in our direction, then another, but she does it in a slow, tiptoed version of the passage movement horses do in dressage competitions. Each of her paws only touches the ground briefly as she bounces up and down, shuffling toward her sister.

“We had to install carpet in most of downstairs,” Marcus says. “You’re such a spoiled lady, aren’t you?” He praises Lou once she gets to the comforter and starts walking like a normal dog.

Naveem joins us, now also dressed in red and white. Wayne’s old suit doesn’t have suspenders, but the pants have a wide belt holding them up. “What are we thinking? Jacket? No jacket?” He flashes open the oversized coat.

“Your call, Holly.” Jonathan gestures for Naveem to get closer to Marcus and tells him where to stand so he can check the light.

The two men don’t look at all like traditional Santas with their toned torsos and beardless jawlines, but then again, Bee and Lou are no reindeer either.

I join Jonathan by the camera to see how he’s framing the shot. “I say keep it on, but open,” I tell Naveem. “Maybe put your hands in your pockets.”

Once Jonathan is done with his prep work and all forms are signed, I climb the ladder with my bag of fake snow.

“Let’s do a few without snow first.” Jonathan snaps his fingers to get the dogs to look his way. He captures the scene in a series of shots but pauses to look up at me. “And please don’t fall off that thing.”

While I wait for my turn to shine, I turn on a Christmas playlist. Soon, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Mathis, and the other greats croon about winter wonderlands and jingle bells, setting the tone.

Marcus and Naveem aren’t natural models, but gradually, they come around to making this yuletide photo shoot gay all the way.

“And now with snow,” Jonathan says to me. “Only a pinch at a time. Marcus and Naveem, feel free to react to the snowflakes like you would if they were real. Lou and Bee, great job. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Lou huffs another one of her signature snorts but stays where she is. Her antlers are tipped jauntily to the side, adding to the festive feel.

I take on my responsibility as snow machine with gusto, flinging handful after handful over the models below. Unlike real snow, these flakes don’t melt on the tongue, so we get a few sputtered takes before Jonathan is happy and calls it a wrap.

Everyone gathers around the camera to have a look except Lou, who paces the edge of the comforter as if the floor really is lava. Then she barks once and plops down with a huff to wait for rescue from the scary, unyielding terrain.

“Is it just me or are the snow ones better?” I ask.

Jonathan smirks at me. “You did demonstrate superior snowflake action.”

“It’s in the wrist, baby.”

After looking through the photos, we send the guys on their way with a promise to email them the whole series as they want to use one of the funny ones for their holiday card.

“Isn’t it weird how everyone wants the bloopers?” I ask Jonathan as we start packing up.

He picks up a wrapped box with a chewed-off corner courtesy of Bee and shrugs. “It’s where they look most like themselves. Usually, people don’t get high-quality candids.”

I fold up the comforter and then push the Christmas tree back into its corner, while Jonathan moves a stack of gift boxes off the floor.

“Watch out for the spiderweb,” he says as I’m covering the tree back up with its sheet.

I freeze. “Where?”

“By the air duct.”

Still not moving, I glance upward. It’s not there—almost as if someone’s walked through it already. “Jonathan,” I say, my throat tight.

“Yeah?” He stacks another several boxes along the wall.

“I think it’s on me.” I close my eyes. Is that crawling I’m feeling on top of my head? “The spider,” I whisper. “Help.”

Finally, he stops what he’s doing and comes over. “Where?”

“In my hair.” I lean forward so he can check.

“I don’t see anything.”

It’s probably nesting somewhere deep in my strands. A chill moves through me. “That doesn’t mean it’s not there,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Maybe—”

He doesn’t have time for more because that “maybe” makes it sound like he’s found it, and that sets off the panic. “Get it off me,” I cry, shaking my head. “Do you see it? Did you get it?”

“Holly, stop. There’s no spider.”

“Ouch!” My hair has snagged on something. Then I realize what he said. No spider? “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But my watch is stuck. Hold still.”

“I thought I felt it crawling,” I say in a small voice.

Jonathan shuffles his feet to my side. “I can’t reach. Come over here. Can you sit?” He taps his foot against a kid-sized stool.

My head bobs back and forth as he tries to untangle my head from his wrist, and that’s what Jude sees as he finds us a moment later.

“Oh fu—Sorry!” he sputters upon entering. “Damn it, Holly, there are kids in the house.”

Realizing what this must look like since Jonathan has his back to the door, I hurry to explain. “I got stuck in his watch. My hair, I mean. Really, there’s no funny business going on.”

As soon as Jonathan manages to break free, I stand, brushing my tangles back.

Jude studies us through narrowed eyes but seems to conclude that I’m telling the truth. “Okay fine. I was going to ask if you wanted dinner. We ate already, but there’s more.”

I put another few feet between me and Jonathan. “Thanks, but we have to finish packing up, and then I’m helping him bring this back to his place.”

“Gotcha. No worries, then.” Jude raises a hand in an awkward salute.

“No ‘funny business’?” Jonathan asks when we’re alone again. Humor plays in his eyes. What about some ‘canoodling’ or ‘hanky-panky’?”

“Shut up.” I laugh as he saunters toward me. “And what’s wrong with ‘canoodling’?”

“Nothing. I could go for any of those.” His hands settle against my waist. “I was almost getting nostalgic there—you stuck, me coming to the rescue.”

“Is that so?” I fling my arms over his shoulders, my adrenaline finally simmering down.

“Mm-hmm.” He leans in and runs his nose up the side of mine.

“As tempting as that is, let’s not forget my family is on the other side of that wall. How about we finish up and get out of here? I’m ready for it to be just us the rest of tonight.”

He doesn’t argue, and before long, we’re in his driveway getting ready to unload the equipment into his garage. But once there, he hesitates before turning off the car. “Hey, Holly?”

I pause with my hand on the door handle. “Yeah?”

His face scrunches into an expression of great conflict. “Remember when you said you were looking forward to some one-on-one time tonight?”

I smile, my guard naively down. “You mean fifteen minutes ago?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “So about that…”