15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
I’m playing at the Golden Kernel tonight, if you want to stop by. No pressure.
At the sight of his name on her phone, Jules’ body went warm. A part of her desperately wanted to see him but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.
Ultimately, desire outweighed her better judgement and she convinced herself it would be fine. For one, she had no plans and wasn’t cooking for the ladies at The Landing. And two, she wanted to see how Roxy and Jax were doing. She had to be close to popping by now!
She rewrote her text a few times before sending it, not wanting to come off too eager.
Thanks! I’ll swing by for a bit.
Jules cursed the butterflies in her stomach as she walked through the front door of her grandma’s house. Her body was betraying her mind, and she needed to get a hold on that fast. Friends. That’s all she could offer right now.
The rest of the day was a blur as a slew of repairmen that she’d hired came to fix the various things around the house that needed tending. Between greeting them and playing defense from her grandmother’s incessant hovering and snide comments, she lost track of time before noticing the microwave clock read six p.m. She wanted to be there when Miles’ set started.
Hurrying upstairs to change, she gathered her hair in a sleek ponytail. The dark auburn color was dulling, most likely because she’d missed her regular six-week touch-up at the beginning of the month. Maybe she would let it keep growing out to her natural color. She wondered if she had any greys yet as she made her way out the door. It would have to do for now.
The gastropub was quiet when she arrived, with only a handful of people scattered around the bar, and Miles was already on stage, preparing his sound equipment. As she slid into an empty bar stool, he gave her a tight smile, which she thought was odd. Maybe he was in a hurry and wanted to start on time.
Her stomach growled, so she ordered some food and a drink, a welcome distraction. A few moments later, Jax came over to say hello.
“Where’s Roxy?” Jules asked as he wiped off the bar top with a wet rag.
“She’s at home, resting. She might come later, but her back has been killing her.”
“Everything ok with her and the baby?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. She’s just ready to not be pregnant anymore,” he said with a hoarse laugh. “How come I haven’t seen you here in a while? What's going on with you and our guy over there?”
Jules twirled the bottom of the water glass in her hand on the counter.
“Well—” she started.
“Ahh, I see. Trouble in paradise,” he interrupted.
“Not exactly. We agreed to be friends while I figure some stuff out,” she continued.
“That explains why he’s been so sulky. Could barely get more than two words out of him this past week.”
Jules’ cheeks reddened. It made her uncomfortable that Jax knew this much about their relationship. He probably thought she was an awful person, her coming back into town and leading Miles on. But no one knew their full history, or why they didn’t work the first time around. Jules and Miles even had secrets from each other.
Sensing the discomfort, he asked if she was planning to stay in town for a while or if she was going back to D.C. soon.
“I might stay around for a little longer. It depends on a few things,” she said. Jules hadn’t quite figured out what those few things were, but she was working on it.
For the next hour, she ate her gourmet fish and chips, which looked like they belonged on the cover of a food magazine, and listened to Miles sing. His voice seemed far away, almost underwater and she wondered if it had anything to do with her being there. He avoided looking her way and when he did, he averted his eyes down to his guitar. It didn’t take her long to feel like an outsider again, like she wasn’t welcome here.
Luckily, she didn’t have too long to think about it before Roxy walked in and plopped down in the chair next to her. Jules couldn’t believe she was even walking at this point. Her shirt, a dark green button-down that probably belonged to Jax’s, stretched over her round belly that had almost doubled in size since the last time she saw her.
“Oh, my word. How are you feeling?” Jules asked, turning away from the stage.
“Oh, you know. Like a school bus,” Roxy said, waving at her stomach. “I can’t believe there’s only one in there. I wouldn’t be surprised if we came home with triplets. Just crossing my fingers I make it through next week.”
“Next week?” Jules asked, confused.
“The Bear Ball."
“That’s right. Sorry, I completely forgot it was coming up. Is the planning going well?”
Roxy told her she had the menu all planned out but was worried about the prep work. Her kitchen staff was flaky at best, and she needed all the help she could get in her current state.
“I have some extra time on my hands and would love to help,” Jules offered.
“If you’d be willing, I’d appreciate it so much. I’ve heard you’re a skilled cook from a few people at The Landing.” Roxy's face looked pleading and relieved at the same time.
Jules told her she’d be glad to help and to email her the details. She’d be there. For someone without an actual job, she sure was keeping busy. However, she worried how Miles would feel about her volunteering. These were his friends, after all.
Two songs and a glass of wine later, Miles finished his set and packed up. Jules knew it would be her only chance to chat with him that night, so she made her way over to the stage.
“You sounded great,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. He did sound good, just different.
“Not my best performance, but it’ll have to do,” he responded as he continued to put his gear away, not bothering to make eye contact. There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence before he added, “But thanks for coming."
Well, this was more awkward than she’d feared. Taking a deep breath and trying not to fidget like she always did when she was unsure of herself, Jules asked, “Are you upset with me?”
The question seemed to hang in the air between them for a few seconds before he turned to face her, letting out a long sigh.
“No, not exactly. It probably wasn’t the best idea for you to be here tonight, though,” he admitted, which flared up a lick of anger in Jules.
Without thinking, she shot back, “ You invited me , remember?”
Holding his hands up defensively, he said, “I know…I know I did. And I thought I wanted you here. I always want you. That’s the problem.” Miles’ head slumped down, shoulders rounding, heavy with an invisible weight.
Softening now at his honesty, Jules told him she understood. She felt the same way, which was part of the issue.
“But, friendship is all I can offer right now. Anything more and we’re likely to hurt each other, again. I wish it were different, but it just isn’t.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know if I know how to be just your friend. We’ve always been more,” he responded, starting directly at her now.
A pit in Jules’ stomach grew. She didn’t know how to be just his friend, either. Hell, just standing here, watching him put his guitar away in his tight light-washed blue jeans and signature black V-neck had her mind going to many unfriend-like places.
“Maybe it’s best if we just give each other some space for a while to figure it out,” he suggested, running his hand over his face.
She wanted to sink even farther into the floor. His words gutted her. And even though she knew he was right, it brought her right back to the summer after graduation, feeling alone and unwanted.
“Yeah. If that’s what you think,” she whispered. “I can give you space.”
“Sorry, Jules. It’s just a lot to process and I need to do it my own way." He turned away from her to pick up his guitar case and slung it over his shoulder.
She understood. This was her fault, after all. She should never have started anything with him she wasn’t ready for. It could never just be easy and casual with Miles; she was a fool to think it could.
“Got it,” she said, nodding and heading toward the door. “Guess I’ll see you around, then. Bye, Miles.”
She heard him say a quiet, “Bye, Jules,” just before she reached the door, wondering if Jax, Roxy and the handful of other customers in the place heard all of that. God, she hoped not.
She hurried as fast as she could to the car without running, but before she could even turn the ignition, her tears welled over. How was she here, again? Crying over the same guy who’d shattered her heart into a million tiny shards years ago? Sitting alone in her grandma’s Subaru, she made a deal with herself. She would let herself cry until she got home, and that’s it. After that, she’d only look forward.
As she lurched the car in drive, she remembered she’d forgotten to tell him about helping Roxy with the school benefit. Maybe this town was too small for both of them , she thought to herself.
Taking it as a sign, she texted Benjamin from the Washington Post when she returned home to set up a time to connect the next day. It was time to explore her options.
***
Wednesday meant another evening cooking at The Landing. This time, Jules would be on her own. Earlier that day, Grandma Rosa had not so subtly told her it was “sink or swim.” Jules had a feeling her great-grandfather had given Rosa more than one lesson in the restaurant kitchen before leaving her to her own devices.
But if Jules was anything, she was a planner, so it didn't take long for her to come up with a detailed list of what she needed for that night's menu which she could cook in her sleep: an easy spaghetti pomodoro with a roasted zucchini and red pepper side. For dessert, pies from John’s Shoppe would have to do. Baking was never her strong suit, anyway.
Jules rushed through her shopping list and made it to the retirement community with hours to spare. She had a call with Benjamin that afternoon, too.
After organizing the ingredients and necessary cooking tools, she prepped by chopping the tomatoes, zucchini, and red peppers until her hand felt as if it might fall off. Didn’t most chefs have kitchen staff? Needing to prove to herself and her grandma she could do this, she pressed on, knowing she’d be sore tomorrow. Gone were her days of sitting at a computer typing away, although she didn’t much mind. Cooking at this scale kept both her hands and mind busy for hours at a time, leaving little room to think about anything else.
By the time everything was chopped, trimmed, and simmering in a large pot, Jules had just a few minutes to gather her thoughts before ringing Benjamin at the agreed time. Surprised to find herself nervous, she dialed his number in the back corner of the quiet kitchen.
“Jules, so glad to hear from you, again!” he greeted her with a booming voice.
He seemed to genuinely like his job, which made Jules even more eager to tell him she was interested in working for The Washington Post , but she had some stipulations if they were to move forward.
For one, her time working for Secretary Monahan was off-limits, she would not talk about it. And second, she wanted to explore the option to work remotely with travel as needed.
“That all sounds reasonable. Why don’t I set up a time for you to meet with our editor to discuss this more?”
Jules agreed.
Feeling powerful and in control of her future, Jules crushed the dinner service. Sure, it was a stressful few hours in the kitchen, but everything came together except for a few overcooked zucchinis that ended up in the trash.
Tired to the bone, she went home, wondering how professional chefs did that every night without their bodies giving out. Although exhausting, she was grateful for the opportunity to learn more about cooking, preparation, and self-reliance in a large kitchen. Not to mention, she didn’t have time to think about Miles.
The editor of the Washington Post called Jules the next morning for the informal interview Benjamin had arranged. Julian Arnault was an accomplished journalist with over thirty years in the business. Jules had never met him, but anyone in D.C. who kept up with the news knew of him. He had more Pulitzer Prizes than she could count and was most recently an editor at the New York Times before taking on the role of WaPo’s managing editor. To say she was nervous was an understatement. She couldn’t keep her hands steady as she picked up the phone, standing to pace her childhood bedroom.
“Hello, is this Jules Cuccia?” Julian’s voice boomed through the phone with an ambiguous accent. Mandatory pleasantries exchanged, Julian got right to business.
“So, I hear you may be interested in joining us as a regular columnist here at WaPo ?”
“Yes, I spoke to Benjamin earlier this week and it sounds like an intriguing opportunity, but I’d love to hear more about your vision for the role,” she countered, trying to sound calm and professional.
Julian gave her a quick overview, echoing what Benjamin had already shared, but ended by asking Jules about her thoughts on the role.
“I want to be transparent with you, Mr. Arnault,” she started before he cut in, instructing her to call him Julian.
“Ok, Julian. I’ve always wanted to write for a major news outlet, as I did study journalism, but I’m not sure I’m the right person for this topic."
“Tell me more.”
“I’m at a crossroads in my career and not sure what comes next. But I do know that it needs to challenge my creative side. I’m worried that this role will be similar in content to what I’ve been writing about as a speechwriter for the past ten years.”
Jules was proud of herself for being so honest. A younger Jules would have leaped at this opportunity, yet here she was, telling Julian what she wanted first.
“I understand. When your name came across my desk, we thought it would be a perfect fit given your writing experience and your background. But I see why you’d want to explore other options,” he said, which Jules took as a signal for ending the conversation.
However, after a brief pause, he continued, “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you think about what it is you want to write about? Then we can talk again in a few days. I see potential in you, and I’d like to explore how we can work together."
She’d expected this conversation to be short. A quick, “Thank you for considering the role, we have other candidates…,” but it sounded like he wanted her to work there.
Jules told him she’d think about it, and they set up a time to reconnect early the following week. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Julian Arnault would offer her a job. Jules wasn’t used to being sought after like this. Sure, she was relatively successful at what she did, and Becca had asked her to come work with her, too, but she didn’t feel like that counted anymore.
For the most part, Jules had aggressively pursued every job she’d had, just like her accomplishments. The perseverance and grit that she’d developed at a young age, determined to have a future different from the other women in her family, had let her leave Illinois for college and move to D.C. days after graduation. She always knew what she wanted and worked hard to get it. But this time was different. Although Jules was out of her comfort zone, she could recognize an opportunity when it hit her in the face. She just needed to figure out how to make the most of it.
Now that Jules had concrete options ahead of her and not just the ambiguous black hole she’d been envisioning ever since she left D.C., time sped up. Thursday went by in a blink as she shopped for that evening’s dinner ingredients and planned out the meal. The actual prep and cooking went even quicker, as her mind was elsewhere. All she could think about was her conversation with Julian. What did she want to write about?
Jules got so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Val standing next to her at the stovetop that evening. Jules jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Woah, I didn’t mean to startle you, but I’m glad I did. Your chicken is burning,” she said, pointing down to the sizzling pan in Jules’ hand. She was right. Instead of searing the chicken, she’d charred one side to a black crisp.
“Shit,” Jules sputtered. “It’s ok, I’m almost done anyway. I’ll fire up a few more,” she said, rushing around the stainless-steel workspaces to grab the last of the chicken breasts from the large walk-in fridge.
“What’s on your mind, Jules?” Val asked, watching her.
“Oh, just my future. No big deal,” Jules said. She wasn’t trying to come off rude. “Sorry, Val. I’m good, actually. Just a lot going on.”
“Ok. Well, the ladies would like to know if you could join them for dinner tonight. You know, after you’re done cooking? They’d love to thank you.”
In a rush to finish on time now, Jules nodded yes, and Val disappeared back to the happy hour event that The Landing hosted every night. Jules wondered if they just wanted a new face to gossip about later. The ladies were lovely, but they fed on drama.
Even with a few burnt pieces of chicken, Grandma Rosa’s recipe for Petti Di Pollo al Burro , Italian butter chicken, was a colossal hit. Jules served it family style in the dining room alongside enormous platters of cooked pasta and dressed greens. Eating, and now serving, family style meals were her favorite because they encouraged people to talk while they passed their plates. It was like an interactive version of dinning. Even from the kitchen, she could hear the different conversations happening over the table. It filled her with joy and contentment. She had created this experience for them, and it made her happy to hear them so happy.
After the last main dish was served, Val came back to the kitchen a few glasses of wine heavier and dragged Jules to a table of women yelling to hear each other—they did all have hearing aids, after all.
The dining room was an ornate space, designed to look traditional yet upscale. Each of the tables sat up to six people and had lavish place settings that the wait staff set out before dinner. This wasn’t their usual dining room, but it had gotten much more use for dinners now that Jules was cooking. Before that, it was only used as a meeting space for different groups and clubs. Val had commented earlier that week that the residents loved seeing it used for its original intention and Jules had to admit that it was an impressive room.
Following Val, she took the only other empty seat, as the room’s attention turned towards Jules.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” a woman with dyed black hair and very red lipstick demanded to know.
Before Jules could even answer, the lady sitting next to her yelled, “She’s Rosa Cuccia’s granddaughter, Bette. You know this!”
“Oh, leave her be, Flo. We all forget things,” said another, patting Bette’s hand. “Your food is wonderful, Jules. But what we all want to know is what is going on with that hunk of a man who helped you drop food off a few weeks ago. Where is he?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at her.
Oh lord.
“His name is Miles and we’re just friends,” she politely replied.
“That’s a euphemism these days, ladies,” another chimed in.
Luckily, Val came to her rescue, calming them down and returning the chatter back to Jules’ cooking. All the women complimented Jules’ food, some saying it had brought back memories of their mother’s cooking from their childhoods in Chicago. It was amazing how many of them were Italian and had grown up close to Grandma Rosa. It really was a small world.
“Well, we are just grateful to have you here. We hope you don’t go back to that big city full of blustering politicians anytime soon. Although, then maybe we’d see more of your grandma around here!” cooed Bette as she sloshed her wine around in the glass.
Just as Jules started to have a good time, her heart sank. She was mortified to think about the possibility of her grandmother living at The Landing if she went back to D.C. While these ladies seemed nice and lovely enough, she knew her grandma wouldn’t want to live here. But what alternative would she have? Rosa couldn’t take care of herself and the house anymore; it just wasn’t feasible. The reality of it stung. While the Washington Post was a dream, her grandma was a priority.