6. Jude
Silence needled at Jude”s paper-thin focus, sitting heavily on his shoulders with the smothering weight of a winter coat. Around him, the bright cream color of the walls did little to settle the sterileness of the quiet library. The fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over the walls, and the stainless silver shelves of textbooks and other reference materials were stacked across the room like dominos.
Jude shouldn”t be so distracted with a handful of other students spread across available work desks in West Bridge”s library, silently at work. But the blank document and its blinking cursor taunted him. He had been there for almost two hours with little to show. The pages of handwritten notes he brainstormed after yesterday”s hours of collecting resources and references collected dust, untouched and staring at him expectantly.
In approximately a week, the scariest professor in the political science department—Dr. Leandra Miranda-Silva—would have his midterm paper. . . and Jude had no clue how to save himself from flunking the assignment.
Partially, it was his fault; he chose to debate the merits of capital punishment and the retribution focus of the justice system. None of his classmates considered touching the topic with a ten-foot pole after the in-class discussions, resulting in four fights, two broken friendships, and an air of hostility in the seminar room. But Jude went the thought-provoking route, deciding to challenge himself like an idiot.
”I can stare at these graphs all day, but the conclusions aren”t helping,” Jude grumbled under his breath, leaning his back over his chair. His spine cracked when pressed against the curved top of the chair, the equivalent of his body groaning for mercy. He should probably call it quits for the night.
His thoughts buzzed in his head, torn between giving up and powering through until a breakthrough struck like lightning. But Jude embraced the welcome distraction when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The screen read ”unknown number,” so he declined the call and set his phone face down on his desk.
Jude scooted closer to his laptop and picked up his notes, reading over the theory and policy perspectives on capital punishment. From ideologies of biblical times to recent developments in abolitionist politics, Jude held all the pieces to a good paper with no idea how to execute it.
The assignment required a basic explanation of the complicated purpose of capital punishment, one that a stranger on the street with no formal education could understand.
Jude clicked through the assorted graphs he gathered in his research, charting the data points with a silent rhythm to keep him motivated. The data called out to him, spelling out a clear conclusion, but he stood stranded at the start with no idea how to start.
His phone buzzed again, another well-delivered interruption. Jude checked the screen, finding an unknown number for the second time. He hated telemarketers.
Jude buried his head into folded hands, propped up on the desk by his elbows. He sighed and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment. As much as he”d love to put his paper away for the night, all four courses had midterms. The assignments or exams occupied his free time for the next two weeks.
October and November were the hellish months every college student loathed.
So, with an impending deadline, the paper needed to be finished that evening. But coherent thoughts rushed out the door at the first opportunity, not coaxed back by any begging, bargaining, or bribes to grab an overpriced coffee from the campus café.
At the third buzz of his phone, Jude instinctively went to deny the call, expecting another telemarketer. But he, at the last second, checked the caller ID.
INCOMING CALL: GISELLE (nickname to be decided) COURTLAND
Jude almost dropped the phone, hands scrambling to catch it from slipping and hitting the desk or floor. The phone caught between two of his fingers, and Jude couldn”t breathe before hitting the answer button.
He sandwiched the phone between his ear and shoulder. He glanced around, ensuring no one could overhear him. “Hello?”
Instead of a greeting, the other side of the call rustled with background noise. Jude listened for a second, waiting for Giselle’s chipper voice to chime in, but the rustling continued.
So he cleared his throat, voice louder than before, “Giselle? Are you there?”
“Jude?” At first, Giselle’s response sounded distant and muffled. But after some static interrupted the connection, her voice echoed clear enough for Jude to hear the slight panting. “I’m so sorry! I accidentally dialed you.”
“It’s alright. How’s your week going?”
“Pretty good. How about you?”
“College is… well, midterm season just started. All of my classes require my undivided attention, and all the assignments are starting to pile up.”
”That sounds stressful, I”m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jude sighed, slumping back in the plastic chair of the library cubicle. “I’ve been stuck in the library for the last four hours today, and I’m questioning whether I’m getting anything productive done today.”
Giselle hummed, sounding perfectly sympathetic to his lack of productivity. “Maybe take a break? Can you spare a day?”
“I’m sure I can, even if I don’t want to. I probably should take a break.”
“Will you be coming back home tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Actually, my one Friday class was rescheduled. It’s already the weekend for me,” Jude said.
“So you’ll be back early?” Giselle’s voice pitched higher, twinkling with a hopeful tone. “Would you be interested in having dinner at my place? I planned to make chicken pot pies from scratch, and if you’re in the area, I’ll have an extra one hot and ready for you.”
At the mention of dinner, Jude”s stomach wailed with the scraps of his last meal—a meager bowl of oatmeal and fruit and two helpings of bad dining hall coffee.
But the gentle offering from Giselle tempted him with its soft, welcoming intention. He wasn”t uncovering a breakthrough in his assignment any time soon. He should clear his head with a drive and enjoy a fantastic meal with someone instead of heading back to his apartment and eating his leftovers.
Jude sat taller and pushed his laptop closed. ”Is it my turn to meet the parents?”
”Not yet! I don”t expect them to come home during dinner, so you and I would be alone. As friends. You have the nice house and the Ridge, but I thought it would be important to share a meal and show you my way of living,” Giselle spluttered and each stammer pulled Jude”s grin wider.
A chuckle escaped him, but a swift shushing to his left revealed the ancient librarian pushing a book trolley toward the stacks. With stark white hair and a withered frown, she hobbled past him and clawed a crude hand gesture. Her sneer screamed, ”No phones or talking”; Jude caught the memo loud and clear.
He grabbed his backpack and slid his laptop inside, zipping it shut. He juggled his bag and phone, rushing to get up. Dinner at Giselle”s waited for him, and a gentleman rarely showed up late.
”Giselle, I was teasing,” Jude hummed and shouldered his backpack. His eyes took in his slacks and favorite chambray shirt, hoping his more comfortable fit was ready for dinner. ”Give me a few moments, and I”ll head down to you. I have a fast pass for the highway, so I can beat some of the traffic.”
”You still have my address, right?”
“I do.”
“Great! See you soon!” Giselle promised, talking more to background clatter, and Jude passed through the library doors, still listening as the phone cut out.
Stepping out of his car, Jude almost tripped on the curb but caught himself quick enough on his still-open door. He righted himself and cleared his throat, brushing off the unseen specks of dirt from his clothes.
With his backpack in one hand and his phone in the other, Jude locked the car behind him. He double-checked the address on his texts to the faded brass numbers mounted onto the bungalow before him. Giselle’s world was beautiful.
Jude liked the look of the neighborhood. Close-knit and inviting. Much like the quiet suburban air, the house appeared unimposing but stood out from its neighbors in beige and white. A single-story painted pond green with white and slate accents in the roofing and the fencing surrounding the home radiated an eclectic energy befitting Giselle. The stone walkway and flowery shrubs planted around the front of the house added dimensions to the otherwise manicured lawns in the neighborhood.
As he stood on the sidewalk, Jude stared at Giselle’s house. Somewhere beyond the door, she waited for him with the promise of dinner, and the thought eclipsed the small bundle of nerves in his stomach. He’d never been to her house before, not even back in high school. The younger version of himself would be in shambles if he knew that the sweetest girl from Del Mesa and he were pretending to date but hanging out like friends again.
Jude approached the front porch, taken aback by the bright yellow deck chairs with their flower-patterned pillows and the swinging lantern hung overhead. He knocked on the door and peered toward the windows, seeing through the undrawn curtains into the living room.
Jude checked his and Giselle”s texts with no one visible through the window. However, with his notifications muted, one final text slipped through his notice while on the road.
Giselle: hey! When you arrive, feel free to let yourself in the back. There”s a gate accessible from the front of the house after you push on the latch.
Giselle: I”ll be in the garden.
A string of heart emoticons underneath her last message gleamed with signature Giselle energy. The same vibe wrapped around her family”s colorful house in the quiet Del Mesa suburb. Jude stepped off the porch and approached the dark gray gate.
He pushed open the gate and slipped inside, carefully closing it behind him. Even by the entrance, flowers and bushes crawled up the side of the house and the fencing surrounding the bungalow.
Giselle wasn”t kidding about her garden.
During the dinner with his parents, Giselle had espoused having a green thumb. Jude hadn”t stopped imagining her home garden since. From the size of the lot, he assumed she had a few plots for fruits, vegetables, and flowers. . . not a greenhouse.
As Jude stepped into the backyard, nothing could”ve prepared him to see the sprawling garden consuming the backyard. He spotted dozens of little brown pens with signposts sticking out of the dirt and vibrant plants flourishing in every shade of the rainbow.
His eyes dropped to the ground when something bumped into his knee, finding a pair of bright green eyes with nothing behind them. The eager tail of an orange cat curled around his ankle, and its ears pointed toward the sky, looking friendly.
A hearty meow from the cat and a second bump of its head directly into his knee seemed like a welcome to Giselle”s vibrant garden.
Jude leaned down, offering his hand for the cat to sniff. He didn”t pull back at the cat”s wet nose or the sandpaper roughness of its tongue, leaving little marks on the pad of his thumb. ”You seem like a well-behaved guy. . . or girl.”
The cat ambled forward, staring at him expectantly with slow blinks before meowing at him. Jude”s eyes wandered past and settled on the soft pink gingham skirt draped against the grass.
Sitting on her knees with a long, flared skirt riding up her thighs, Giselle leaned halfway into one of the fenced dirt patches. Tresses of copper were held back from her face with a white embroidered bandana. In her flower-patterned oversized gardening gloves, Giselle held an unrecognizable plant. Beside her, a wicker basket sat stuffed with vegetables or some leafy greens.
Jude approached the edge of the grass—formed into a small landing strip between the pavement and Giselle”s homegrown garden—but didn”t say a word. The sensation of the cat”s tail curling around his ankle grabbed his focus, but not for too long. His eyes traced over Giselle”s back, admiring every ruffle of her skirt and the short-sleeved top she wore.
Her sweet yet unabashedly loud humming filled the backyard with the first sign of life he”d seen in the entire neighborhood. The tennis court used to be his sanctuary, and it was clear that the garden was Giselle”s.
Jude tucked his hand into his back pocket and cleared his throat. ”Need any help? I can”t promise I”ll be the best at foraging.” He smiled.
Giselle”s head whipped around, and her pre-existing smile became much brighter, ”Jude! I didn”t hear you come in!”
”Your garden is bigger than I expected. . . and I see how much effort you put into it.”
”Well, it”s my one source of pride.”
Giselle discarded her gloves into a small chest at the end of her row and stood up, grasping the wicker basket in her hands. She skipped over but crouched toward the ground.
She gasped. ”Carrot likes you! He”s not social with most people, but he”s attached to your hip! He”s a great judge of character, it seems.”
”You named him Carrot?” Jude asked, arching a brow.
”Yes.”
”Because he”s an orange cat?”
”No, silly. I named him Carrot because I discovered him sleeping in the carrot patch a year ago. He”s not mine, but not the neighbor”s either. . . the current theory is that he”s a neighborhood stray but hangs out with me since I feed him the best,” Giselle cooed.
She set the basket down and reached her hands toward Carrot, who beelined into Giselle”s welcoming embrace. Carrot purred louder than Jude”s car engine when Giselle rubbed his ears and scratched under his chin.
Giselle gave Carrot a final scratch under the chin and scooped up the basket again. But when Jude offered his hand to help her, she grasped tight and popped onto her feet with his assistance.
”Well, maybe he should be yours. He seems comfortable here,” Jude mused, glancing at his hand still connected to Giselle”s. At any moment, she could let go of him and move on. No one was watching them, so there was no need for a show.
Giselle mentioned being a touchy person, but Jude tried to envision how she’d be so hands-on with a real boyfriend. . . and thoughts like that would get him in trouble. She just got out of a relationship with an asshole like James, and there Jude was, tripping over her pretty smile.
Unaware of Jude’s thoughts detour, Giselle squeezed her grip tighter. ”Well, he”s welcome to become my little buddy whenever he wants. Let”s head inside so I can start filling the pot pies! You”ll keep me company with school talk.”
Giselle flounced toward the glass doors, and Jude followed behind her, dragged along by her surprising strength. Looking at Giselle, he wouldn”t have guessed she could pull him like a limp doll instead of a six-foot grown man. Color him impressed.
If Jude thought the outside of the house screamed eclectic, the inside did too. . . a little more subtly than the exterior. The open-walled dining room and kitchen had vibrant pops of color and framed wall art all over the space.
He set his backpack on a stool tucked underneath the kitchen”s countertop. He peered over Giselle”s shoulder at her basket of fresh goods; he spotted carrots, peas, potatoes, and herbs tossed together inside the wicker circle.
The hiss of the sink as water rushed through the faucet brought Jude”s hands to roll his sleeves up. He hummed, ”If it”s alright with you, I”d like a break from thinking about school. Any chance you need a second pair of hands in the kitchen?”
”Actually. . . I would love a second pair of hands,” Giselle smiled as she plunged her hands into the steaming water, lathering them clean with foaming soap. She tipped her head toward the sink. ”Wash up here, and I”ll grab the aprons.”
”I get an apron?” Jude smiled, hoping his cheeky comment landed right.
”Of course! Do you prefer lemons or oranges?”
”I”ll take oranges.”
Giselle stepped out of the sink, letting Jude dip his hands into the water. At first, the sudden prickle of scalding water hit Jude”s skin with the urge to recoil. But soon enough, the heat subdued. He lathered his hands until his skin felt clean enough to cook.
Jude turned off the water and barely spun around, finding Giselle holding a soft cream apron with oranges patterned all across the front. She held up the neckline toward him, and her mouth valiantly fought against a smile, failing to hide the amusement etched into her features.
Jude leaned down and allowed Giselle to slip the apron over his head, hanging awkwardly small on his taller frame. Regardless, Jude reached for the ties and looped them in the back.
Giselle reached around, produced her apron—patterned with the lemons to his oranges—and slid hers over her head. She beamed, ”Alright, I”ll need your help slicing the veggies.”
”Sounds like a plan,” Jude agreed; his eyes trailed her when she passed, grabbing utensils like a cutting board and a colander to wash the produce. However, he spotted the untied strings of Giselle”s aprons hanging at her sides untied. Before he could stop himself, his hands reached out and snagged them between his fingers. ”Let me get your apron.”
”Oh. Thank you.”
”Sure.”
Jude sidled up to Giselle and tied the loose strings of her apron together in the back, forming a pretty bow for her. Focusing on the strings in his hands became a challenge with his heartbeat so loud in his ears. He dropped his hands to his side once he caught Giselle”s gaze over her shoulder.
”Let me wash these. It”ll only take a moment. . . but please feel free to set up your station,” Giselle stammered before she turned back to the sink.
Jude heard a soft noise, sounding awfully close to a shaky inhale, partially buried under the running water. Yet, he didn”t pry as he followed Giselle”s instructions and laid out his cutting board.
Within a minute, damp stalks of celery and carrots landed on his board by a wet hand. Giselle wriggled under his arm and peered at him. ”I assume you know how to chop veggies?”
”Yes. I promise I have a basic level of cooking skill.”
”I”m glad. I would”ve taught you anyway.”
”Maybe I should teach you something too. You”re the perfect audience for working through my troubles on my midterm paper.” Jude passed over the other knife when Giselle laid her cutting board beside his.
Giselle”s lips twitched. ”I”m all ears, Jude. Teach me something new.”