14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
J ules was amazed by how much effort Winnie and Emily had put into the party. It was only supposed to be an intimate get-together, a reason to see friends, but throughout the house hung streamers and banners that read, ‘Welcome Back’ and ‘The Jule is Back in Town’. She didn’t know what to say and wondered why they'd go through this much trouble just because she was back for a few weeks. Didn’t they realize it wasn’t a permanent thing?
Jules groaned at the thought of having to correct everyone tonight when they asked her about it.
Sensing her apprehension, Emily looped her arm through Jules' and steered her into the kitchen where she had been arranging charcuterie boards full of deli meats, sliced cheeses, grapes, nuts, and olives. Bottles of white wine were chilling in metal buckets of ice on the kitchen island next to bottles of red and empty wine glasses ready to be filled.
“I know it’s a lot,” said Emily in a hushed voice. Winnie had gone to change her clothes before people arrived, so it was just the two of them. “But Winnie needed a distraction. She’s been out of her mind with worry about the play and other things,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “I hope you don’t mind all the fuss.”
Jules understood. Throwing herself into things helped Winnie during stressful times. It was her coping mechanism.
“I don’t mind. I’m flattered but also a bit worried people will think I’m moving back for good,” Jules said, helping Emily slice the last of the two blocks of Gouda. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, and I don’t know how to explain it to people yet.”
Emily cocked her head in thought. “Well, fuck ‘em. Just say you’re working on a confidential project. It’s technically not a lie. You are working on you . You don’t owe anyone the details, especially not these people.”
Jules knew Emily was right. She didn’t owe anyone anything right now, besides her grandmother. At that moment, she decided she was going to enjoy the night and not worry too much about what people she didn’t know anymore thought about her.
She gave Emily a tight side hug at the counter and said, “Thank you. I think that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
The night progressed, with people showing up at six on the dot, toting in more bottles of wine to add to the kitchen collection. A few men held what looked like expensive whiskey bottles, but Jules knew nothing about brown liquor, only that she didn’t have a taste for it. Jules kept a watchful eye on the front door for the first hour, expecting, hoping, for Miles to walk in, but he never did. It’s for the best , she thought to herself after a while.
What she saw, however, was Winnie following Emily around like a nervous child, asking every few minutes if she felt alright, wanted to sit, or needed water. She had insisted on bringing Emily a plate of food and then making a show of rubbing her shoulders. At one point, Jules made up a reason she needed Winnie’s help in the kitchen, just to give Emily a few minutes of space, which was returned with a wordless ‘thank you’ from Emily.
To Jules’ surprise, she knew almost everyone at the party, except for a few spouses who tagged along. It was amazing to her how many people who grew up in Riverbend stayed and made their lives here. And for the most part, they seemed happy. Many of them were teachers in the school district, but a few commuted to work in Chicago.
The conversations were easy going, and no one asked or even seemed to care much what she did for a living, which was a refreshing change. In D.C., it was one of the first questions asked when you met someone: What do you do? It was the way people sized each other up out there. How important are you? Are you worth knowing or just a waste of time? Not here. People were genuinely nice and talked about the local football team, their kids, or what they were growing in their gardens.
Even some friends she hadn’t seen since high school were there. After making a first round through the party greeting guests, she tucked herself away in a cozy corner of the living room with two friends, reminiscing and catching up. She’d missed a lot in the past twelve years: Jill already had four kids! Jules couldn’t even imagine having one kid, let alone four. But her friend beamed with pride as she swiped through pictures of them on her phone. Her other friend, Veronica, played in the Chicago Philharmonic. Impressed, Jules asked her why she still lived in Riverbend rather than move to the city.
“My life is here. My family and friends. Right now, it works for me. But maybe in the future, I’ll end up somewhere else. Who knows?” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
That made Jules’ mind spin off in a new direction. Was anything ever truly permanent? Just because you might decide to do a thing now or even for a period of time, it doesn’t mean you have to do it forever, right? She liked the idea of reinvention and trying on multiple versions of herself. It differed from how her Grandma Rosa approached life, and veered dangerously close to her mother’s ideology, but the notion intrigued her. Could she change her way of thinking from black and white to a more flexible approach? Running into Veronica shifted Jules' thinking at the exact right time.
Later that night, after all the guests had left and Emily had gone to bed early, exhausted from the day, Winnie and Jules cleaned up. They were rinsing dishes in the sink when Jules asked Winnie if she was alright. It was as if someone had let the air out of an overfilled balloon; Winnie hung her head and slumped her shoulders forward over the sink, letting out a long, heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice as a sob leaked out.
Jules grabbed her friend, wrapping her arms around Winnie’s shoulders. She hadn’t seen her this worried since her mother’s battle with breast cancer a few years ago.
“You can tell me anything, or we don’t have to talk. I can just hold you if that’s what you need,” she said.
Winnie turned away, making her way to the pedestal table set in an alcove of windows near the back of their kitchen, as Jules followed.
“I’m just a bundle of anxiety lately,” she started. “I know I’m on Emily’s last nerve, but I can’t help it.”
“What’s going on? Anything I can help with?” Jules asked.
“No, you’re already helping by giving me a distraction and support for the play. But it’s all just a lot right now. The play, the pregnancy, everything.” Jules just nodded along, encouraging her friend to continue. “I’m so excited for the baby. But I’m also scared as shit.”
“It must be so scary to know you’ll have to take care of a small human soon,” Jules agreed.
“It’s not just that, which yes, is terrifying on its own,” she said looking up at Jules before taking a deep breath. “Last year, we lost a baby. Emily had a miscarriage around the fourteen-week mark, which is where she’s at right now.”
Jules felt punched in the gut. How could she not have known? It all made sense now.
“Oh, Win, I’m so sorry.” Jules reached for her hand.
“It’s alright. The doctor says the baby is healthy and growing, so we should focus on other things. But I just can’t seem to do that. It’s all I think about.”
Jules heart ached for her friend, who did not know how close to home her news hit.
“Whatever you need, please know that I’m here for you and Emily. I love you guys so much.”
“We love you, too. Who knows how bad I’d be if you weren’t here.”
Jules was glad she was home and could give Winnie support this time, but hearing about what happened made her feel guilty for being so self-centered. Jules had only focused on herself since the break-up with Luke, obsessing over her own life, and had missed that her friend was suffering a traumatic loss. She knew the ache of going through something like that alone.
“I promise I’ll stick around for anything you need.” And she meant it.
***
Her first shift cooking dinner at The Landing came sooner than expected. Jules spent most of Monday morning shopping for the ingredients she’d need to make a large batch of mozzarella and basil stuffed chicken that she planned to serve with fresh bread and a light, crispy Italian salad. The menu had popped into her head last night just as she was drifting off, causing her to click on her table light and jot down a shopping list and schedule for the next day. She got little sleep.
Filling her cart with food and seasonings at John’s Shoppe, her excitement grew alongside her nerves. She was looking forward to cooking in a large commercial-grade kitchen for the first time, but she worried she wouldn’t know how to use everything, so she rushed to give herself extra time.
Arriving two hours before she needed to, she was surprised to find Grandma Rosa waiting for her as she hauled the bags of groceries into the large, all stainless-steel kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” Jules exclaimed.
“I thought you could use some help on your first day. It’s been a while, but I used to know my way around a kitchen like this,” she said, gazing at the space, which appeared to be brand new. “I had a feeling you’d come early.”
“Why does it look like no one has ever cooked in here?”
Just then, Val rounded the corner.
“That’s because this is the special ‘catering’ kitchen they put in for what they thought would be special meals for holidays and such. They built it for outside caterers, but that never happened,” Val explained. “Until you!”
Jules’ belly flipped with anticipation to get her hands on the equipment. But first, she needed to do a thorough inventory of the place to find out what she was working with.
“I’ll let you ladies get to it,” Val said before slipping back out.
For the next few hours, Jules and Rosa worked side by side, taking occasional breaks to rest. The time flew by as her grandma showed her how to prep everything she’d need before cooking and later how to cook the food so it would go out on time and be warm. It was hard work.
By the end of service, both were exhausted, yet proud of the meal they’d put together. They’d heard some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as the food went out to the dining room and later received many compliments from the diners. It was a successful first night and the first time she hadn’t thought about her future or Miles on a constant loop since arriving back in Riverbend.
After helping the wait staff give the kitchen a good scrub, they headed home late in the evening. The night sky darkened with clouds, and a slight autumn chill caused Jules’ skin to prickle with goosebumps.
Upon arriving back at her grandma’s, Jules headed straight to the kitchen to make two cups of warm chamomile tea.
As Jules warmed the kettle on the stove, her grandma sat, slipping her shoes off to rub her feet. “So have you seen Miles at all?” she asked.
“Umm, yes. Yesterday for a few minutes.”
“I take it you’re cooling things off for a bit?”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Jules responded, biting the inside of her cheek as she filled the two mugs and set them on the table.
Her grandmother let out a moan of pleasure as she sipped her tea, humming a song Jules didn’t recognize. She was either too tired to respond or was letting Jules have space when it came to Miles.
After a few moments of silence, she asked, “How’s your mother?” It was the first time Grandma Rosa had mentioned Barb in the last few weeks.
“She seems good. Better than I’ve seen her in a long time,” responded Jules. “She’s going to school to be a vet tech, you know.”
Grandma Rosa’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Well, that’s nice, I suppose. Where is she living now?”
“She’s in Naperville. Living by herself. Well, I guess with a cat, too.”
“Oh. I don’t think she’s ever lived alone.”
Knowing this could be an opportunity to help heal things between her mother and her grandma, Jules treaded lightly. “She seems happy and determined to finish her studies while working. I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“Hmm. We’ll see,” Grandma Rosa said, rising from her chair. “I’m going to call it a night and get some shut-eye. You should, too.”
“I’m right behind you. Just need to rinse the cups,” Jules said. “Thanks for your help tonight. It meant a lot to me you were there.”
“You would have been just fine on your own, but I wanted you to know that you always have support,” she said before disappearing around the corner to climb the stairs for bed.
Sitting alone in her grandma’s kitchen, Jules felt the familiar blanket of comfort that she knew so well growing up. This was the place she always went when she needed advice, comfort food, or just to be with someone who loved and cared about her. Although it wasn’t much more than a modest kitchen, it was everything to her. She may not know what the future looked like, but she was sure this kitchen would always feel like home.
That evening, sleep washed over her like a steady wave. Both her mind and body were empty, and she fell into a deep slumber that caused her to wake with start when she glanced at her alarm clock that read ten in the morning. She hadn’t slept that late since college. But it didn’t matter since she had no plans for the day. Her next shift at The Landing wasn’t until the following evening, so she did the thing she’d been putting off: catching up on emails. Surely, they’d contain official instructions for ending her employment at the Treasury Department. She’d written her resignation letter last week before her flight home but hadn’t paid it any attention since.
At the top of her inbox sat a message from the Human Resources department outlining next steps and other details about her benefits. Jules groaned, deciding to deal with it later.
Scrolling down, a message from a name she didn’t recognize caught her eye. It was a journalist from the Washington Post , asking her to call him to chat about her employment. She hesitated. If they wanted her to give them inside information about the secretary, she wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t her story to tell, and Jules didn’t want to be the reason his wife found out about his affair, if she wasn’t already aware. But the journalist had been vague enough to pique her curiosity. What could he want with her? Her head swam with possibilities as she reached for her phone.
Benjamin McAllister picked up on the second ring with a proper eastern seaboard accent in tow.
“Hi, this is Jules Cuccia. You emailed me yesterday.”
“Hi, Miss Cuccia. Thanks for taking the time to phone,” he responded as they dispensed of the common pleasantries.
“I wanted to talk to you about your recent resignation from the U.S. Treasury Department. You were Secretary Monahan’s Chief Speechwriter, correct?” he asked.
Jules responded with a suspicious, “Yes.”
“And before that, you wrote for several members of Congress, correct?”
Another curt, “Yes,” from Jules. “What is this about, Mr. McAllister?” she added. She wanted him to get to the point already.
“Well, I would love to know why you resigned from your latest role but also wanted to inform you we have an opening on our staff here at WaPo . Given your background, I think you might be a good fit for it.”
Jules didn’t quite understand. Was he offering her a job? And was it in exchange for a scoop? She couldn’t tell.
Picking up on the discomfort coming from her silence, he added, “I’m only interested in your resignation as it pertains to your current employment status. Are you available for and interested in other professional opportunities?”
Interesting , Jules thought. Was she open to other opportunities? She hadn’t considered that people would seek her out this fast.
“Possibly. But may I ask how you found out about my resignation? I haven’t told many people yet.”
“It was in a news bulletin the Department sends to the Associated Press each Monday.”
That made sense. Becca was trying to get ahead of things, although she’d never considered that her resignation would constitute news.
“Got it. Tell me more about the open role,” said Jules.
Benjamin explained the role was new, and they were looking for a professional writer, not a journalist, to pen a weekly column about Federal and Congressional staff in the D.C. area. The vision would be to give a voice to government workers and the issues that mattered most to them, highlighting what their day-to-day looked like. Apparently, she was an ideal candidate because she was an experienced writer, had worked in government, and of course already lived in the district.
It sounded intriguing, but she wasn’t sure if jumping into another job right away was wise. Not to mention, it was a role that would ensure she lived and breathed all that was D.C. But it was WaPo , after all.
“Could you send me the job description and give me a day or two to think it over?” she asked.
“Of course. If you are interested, the next step would be a chat with our editor, who is eager to meet you,” Benjamin informed her.
The editor of the Washington Post wanted to meet her ? It felt surreal. She needed time to think things through, so Jules told him she’d follow up with him before Thursday.
To clear her head and get her blood flowing again after a night of dead-to-the-world sleep, Jules threw on her tennis shoes and hopped out the front door for a quick run. She usually avoided running as exercise, but she needed to move and feel the blood rush through her veins. Plus, she didn’t have access to a fancy gym here like the one in her apartment building in D.C. This would have to do.
Deciding to head towards Main Street, she eased into a slow pace that might leave her able to reach downtown and back. Overhead, the sun beamed through large white fluffy clouds that gave her cover every few minutes, making the temperature mild and pleasant.
As she ran by the ‘50s and ‘60s rambler-style houses in her grandma’s neighborhood, she could smell the fresh scent of cut grass. The street was quiet except for the chirp of birds in the trees, but no one was outside, thankfully. Jules didn’t feel like talking. She’d neglected to put on any makeup or even brush her hair.
As she ran, the anxiety that pressed against her throat after her conversation with Benjamin eased, replaced by deepening breaths growing in rhythm with her steady steps. She passed the downtown shops, including the new coffee shop, John’s, and Nicholson’s hardware, deciding to turn around at the end of the business district to grab coffee on her way back.
The young maple trees lining main street were showing signs of fall as their leaves had turned a bright yellow at the tips. In just a few short weeks, the trees would be an array of yellows, vibrant reds, and deep purples before littering the ground, giving the town the unmistakable aroma of autumn that Jules knew so well. She realized she wanted to see the change. Fall was never quite the same anywhere else.
Looping around the ornate early nineteenth-century bank at the end of Main Street, Jules made her way back to the coffee shop, entering under the hand-painted sign reading “Drips” over the red and white striped awning. A few customers queued at the register, but the line moved quickly.
Iced vanilla latte in hand, Jules took a few minutes to sip while reading the assortment of fliers hanging from the community bulletin board in the back of the cozy shop. One flier promoted a sketch comedy show for that Saturday in Wicker Park, a part of Chicago she was familiar with.
Winnie loved comedy shows. They used to watch Saturday Night Live together every weekend growing up and took trips into Chicago to see Second City shows once they were old enough.
An idea formed; maybe her and Winnie could go into the city Saturday to see the show? They could make a whole day of it.
“That’s perfect,” Jules said to herself, snapping a picture of the flier.
Friday night was the one and only night Our Town would run, so it could also be a celebration of sorts. Not to mention, it would give Emily almost a full day to herself. Jules called Winnie to lay out her plan. She was in.
Taking her time to walk back to her grandma’s, Jules noticed all the renovated houses she passed. The area looked the same as how she remembered it from years ago, only now it felt like someone had given it a good scrub and fresh coat of paint, leaving it glistening and new. Riverbend looked more like a historic suburb now, rather than the small farming town where she grew up. The improvements left her feeling proud but also nostalgic for the past. Everything seemed like it was changing, even the place that had been the one constant in her life.
Before turning back onto her street, her phone chirped with a text. It was Miles.