10. Jude
Shrouded in silence, Jude could feel the slow trickle of autumn surrendering to the approach of winter. The week after Thanksgiving made students scarce, creating the scene of a ghost town on West Bridge”s campus.
His body stretched over a bench on the grassy edge of the lawn outside the dorms, warmed by the hot lunch on his lap. Heat seeped through the metal container, and the slightest lift of the lid would send a rush of steam to graze his skin.
He left Del Mesa late last evening, spending as much time as possible with his family before finals, which turned his every waking thought into stress. He managed a brief pit stop at Giselle”s to gift her some baked goods his mom bought for their holiday dinner. Ever the sweetheart, Giselle insisted he take a to-go box of the Thanksgiving meal she cooked, unwilling to accept no for an answer since they had been caught up in their respective family traditions.
Predictably, Jude caved.
He hauled three tins of Giselle”s Thanksgiving feast in the passenger seat of his car, imprinting the heavenly scent of homemade food into the upholstery. He”d let his car smell of turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy for the next two years if Giselle flashed him the puppy eyes she had when he stood on her doorstep with a basket of muffins.
”Alright, I”ve been waiting for this all day.” Jude rustled into his backpack”s front pouch, revealing a plastic fork he stole from the dining hall after breakfast with Levi and Billie. He cracked open the insulated lunch box, and the aroma of his lunch hit him all at once. ”Oh, wow.”
He scooped up some turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and stuffing from the lunch box, taking a moment to savor the aroma before he dug in. The moment the bite hit his tongue, Jude”s eyes rolled into the back of his head while a moan escaped him. He might”ve been more embarrassed if people were around, but he couldn”t stop himself.
He had dinner at Giselle”s plenty of times, knowing she cooked well, but she blew him away again. She told him about college not being for her, but Jude would raid his inheritance if she woke up one day and wanted to attend culinary school.
She protested when he splurged on her, even as a friend, but he wouldn”t care. Regardless of anything else, Giselle deserved every cent spent on her if it made her smile.
As he devoured the leftovers, Jude kept himself company with thoughts of the chef. Giselle mentioned having a shift at the plant nursery and taking a rain check for a day in the city. Another opportunity would eventually come along, and Jude didn”t mind waiting.
Knowing her, Giselle would fall in love with West Bridge”s campus. She might never want to leave the grassy lawn underneath the sunshine or the cozy loveseat nook inside the Coffee Castle. Jude imagined making a day of their trip. He”d take her to lunch off-campus, saving some time to feed the ducks and spend their last stop before home at the adorable matcha shop he was putting off trying until he found someone to accompany him.
In every bite of his lunch, Jude sifted through thoughts of Giselle as she sat beside him on the bench.
Before long, Jude”s fork scraped the bottom of the container, and the last bites of lunch disappeared, taking all thoughts of Giselle with them.
But his lunch break tumbled to a halt when he caught sight of a familiar pair of leather boots walking in his peripheral. He snapped upright, facing Dr. Miranda-Silva as she approached.
Her brisk pace slowed noticeably as she drew closer. She almost stopped before Jude as she greeted, ”Afternoon, Mr. Beauregard. Thank you for agreeing to a meeting on the go. I didn”t want to get too far into the week before we spoke about your paper.”
”Thank you for finding time in your busy schedule.” Jude rocked onto his feet, snatching his backpack with one hand, and slinging it over his shoulder. He fell into step with Dr. Miranda-Silva, hanging on her left side, as the two wandered deeper into campus. ”I promise not to take too much of your time.”
”I don”t think you”ll need too much guidance from me. I re-read your paper in preparation for our meeting,” Dr. Miranda-Silva hummed with her signature calmness, taking longer strides to match his.
Jude shouldered his bag and forced his eyes off the lines etched into the concrete, paying attention to Dr. Miranda-Silva”s profile. The loud thumping of his heartbeat ringing in his ears increased at every furrow of her dark, angular brows or the narrowing of her sharp eyes.
”I appreciate that, ma”am. Any feedback will help.”
”I”ll keep it succinct so you can return to your lunch. . . homemade, I assume?”
”Uh, yes. My Giselle made it,” Jude said, and his brain hit an immediate flatline when he processed what came out of his mouth. His Giselle? He could”ve gone with ”his girlfriend” or ”Giselle,” but his tired mind mashed the two together.
Dr. Miranda-Silva tucked her hands into her pockets. ”I assume this Giselle is your girlfriend.”
”Yes, ma”am,” Jude stammered. ”Giselle is my girlfriend, yes. She loves to cook and sends me leftovers to feed me through the week.”
”I know what that”s like. My partner”s love language is food. But she has a law firm to run while I”m on campus until the evening,” Dr. Miranda-Silva replied. Jude nearly stopped in his tracks. Throughout the semester, he couldn”t recall a single instance when the professor spoke on anything outside school matters. ”Now, about your paper.”
”Right. In your opinion, should I stick with the topic I presented?”
”Yes. While some areas can use more cohesion in analyzing the data and presenting points, the presentation would appeal to the layman and most professionals. You chose a challenging topic, and it paid off. . . I admire your willingness to embrace challenges.”
”Thank you, ma”am.”
”If you want more concrete advice, the carceral policies section is beyond your paper”s scope. I”d cut it and focus elsewhere, like on the financial incentives for private prisons.”
Jude nodded. ”Will do. I can restructure the second half of the paper around those specifications.”
”I”m glad you”re so receptive to advice, Mr. Beauregard. That”ll set your paper apart from the remainder of your classmates,” Dr. Miranda-Silva remarked, much to a sudden rush of heat down the back of Jude”s neck. ”Now, is that everything you wanted to know?”
”Not quite. . . I spoke with Professor Rothschild for an advisory meeting after class the other afternoon. He mentioned the Truman scholarship.” In Jude”s ears, the slight rattle at the end of his breath snitched about the anxiety pinging around in his chest like a fierce tennis volley. ”Ma”am, not to pry, but is it true that you nominated me on behalf of the department?”
By then, he and Dr. Miranda-Silva reached the stairs ascending into the Kelly building. So when she stopped, he followed her lead. Dr. Miranda-Silva turned to him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her blazer.
”I did,” Dr. Miranda-Silva remarked. In shock, Jude blinked at her, his mouth pulled into a taut line, narrowly avoiding gawking. ”Did I make a mistake by having such faith in your future, Mr. Beauregard?”
”No! I mean. . . no, ma”am.”
”Did you assemble your materials for consideration?”
”Yes, ma”am.”
”Good. I recognize the potential in you, Mr. Beauregard. I see students come and go from this department with their diplomas and sense of knowledge, but so few of you stand out to me with genuine promise for the future of the field. You”re one of those few.”
Jude couldn”t remember the last time he received such comments from a professor, let alone one of the harshest in the department. His thoughts evaporated entirely, leaving him at the mercy of his speechlessness. So, he nodded hard until his body remembered how to form complete sentences.
”Yes, ma”am. I”ve assembled my items for the scholarship application.” It wasn”t a lie. He hadn”t finished the portfolio, but his deadline was in two weeks. He expected to finish it within the next few days.
Dr. Miranda-Silva stared at him head-on, and if he looked closely, the ghost of a smile passed across her face. ”Good. May I impart some advice to you before I take my leave?”
”Please,” Jude resisted the urge to mumble, raising his voice to project confidence but not enough to broadcast their conversation through the open door.
”In your personal statement, you”re supposed to explain your plans for the scholarship, right? If you want to impress them, be bold but not overly ambitious to an unrealistic degree. You don”t seem the type to let delusions of grandeur guide you, but you do shy away from seizing the moment fully.”
”Right. . . and the other piece of advice?”
”Don”t focus so hard on being someone you think the panel will like. You”ll hurt yourself more by bending into pleasing shapes than being authentic and honest about yourself. That”ll be it for our meeting today.”
”Of course. Have a good week, Doctor.”
Jude stood on his step while Dr. Miranda-Silva vanished into the Kelly building without a goodbye. However, Jude embraced the break with open arms, sucking in a deep breath.
She nominated him. He could secure her as his advisor if he aced his paper and won the scholarship, right? No pressure.
Jude backed down the stairs and set his sights ahead, focusing on the winding road that would take him into the city surrounding the campus.
There was one more piece of business on his agenda for the day.
While he could”ve run to the parking lot and taken his car into town for a faster trip, Jude embraced the opportunity for the scenic route. He slotted his headphones into his ears and strolled along the pedestrian route into town, keeping himself company with his favorite playlist.
After a ten-minute walk through the quiet stretch of the city, Jude arrived outside one of the beloved haunts known as ”Lord of the Fries”, a pub with its pun-stricken name dedicated to a long-gone English professor from West Bridge. Faculty, students, and campus visitors comprised the pub”s clientele.
He jogged toward the doors, holding them open for a departing party of girls stumbling out in West Bridge apparel. The afternoon barely started, but the girl staggered onto the pavement, too drunk to walk straight. But hey, Jude hoped they reached campus safely.
Once the girls moved along, he ducked into the clink of drinks from the bar and the ambient noises of people”s conversation slipping through his headphones. He yanked them out before dropping them into his backpack.
His eyes scoured the pub until he spotted his dad tucked into a corner table. He remained dressed nicely, wearing his favorite sports coat over a polo. His dad nursed an IPA and perused the menu with a stern knit of his brow.
Jude danced through the crowded pub floor, clearing his throat as he grabbed the empty chair across from his dad. ”Is this seat taken?”
”All yours,” his dad remarked before glancing up from the menu, snatching his hand into a firm shake. ”Thanks for penciling me in, son. I know you had a meeting, but I couldn”t wait for the weekend.”
”Dad, it”s alright. The professor and I arranged a shorter meeting for her schedule. Besides, I always make time for you and Mom when you come to my side of town.”
”I got lucky. I have a kid who likes me instead of one who blows all my money and doesn”t take my calls.”
”Yeah, that”s because you chose to raise me instead of burdening some overworked teenage nanny with my care,” Jude remarked, and the feel of the words on his tongue slid off with a wicked edge. Then, the aftertaste of guilt spread across the inside of his cheek as he bit down too hard.
In his circumstances, having parents who genuinely cared for him and stayed involved was a blessing not many people had. All the kids he went to school with lost their parents at some point, separated when parenting became too much of a chore or when the finest gifts money could buy sufficed as ”love”.
Jude cleared his throat after the silence extended too long. ”So, dad. . . what brings you by? We don”t typically make small talk. You”re stalling.”
”Am I that obvious?” his dad asked, sighing, and set his menu down. He shut the menu”s laminated flaps and slid it away, whereas Jude never picked his menu up, still full from his lunch. He should’ve saved Giselle’s Thanksgiving leftovers for later, but he didn’t regret it.
”I”m afraid so.” Jude laced his hands together. ”But you have my attention, and I”m all ears.”
”I don”t want you to take this the wrong way, but we need to talk about Giselle.” At his dad”s words, the world fell out of focus. All the ambient noise of the pub vanished, leaving Jude to the loudness of his thoughts.
His shoulders tensed, but he forced them to loosen up. His hand reached for his backpack, curling around the cloth handle, and squeezing hard. While his mind digested the solemn tone surrounding the otherwise vague declaration of Giselle as the hot topic, his body scrambled and braced for impact.
”What about Giselle?”
”I”ve been thinking about the two of you, which led me to wonder exactly how serious you are, relationship-wise?”
”We”re exclusive if that”s what you”re asking. We”ve been dating for a few months after years apart, so we”re not putting pressure on our new relationship.”
”Yes, but the next few years are pivotal to establishing you for the rest of your life. You”re a Beauregard man, and that comes with expectations to be as self-sufficient as possible and with your focus on the right things.”
Jude”s jaw clenched, but the tension lining his mouth couldn”t stop him from reacting. ”Dad, I love you. . . but if you have a negative opinion about Giselle or her place in my life, then I”m not interested in hearing it.”
No amount of disapproval from his dad, unexpected or not, would tear down his image of Giselle. He spent too long admiring her and discovering that every piece of her exceeded the image of her he had built in his head.
However, instead of arguing, his dad tilted his head, visibly confused. ”Jude, what are you talking about? Your mom and I adore Giselle.”
”What? You do?”
”Please, your mom couldn”t stop talking about their amazing brunch at the Ridge. In her head, she”s already picking out wedding centerpieces for you two.”
“Then, why do we need to talk about how serious she and I are?”
”That was a poor choice of words on my part. Your mom and I haven”t seen you smile this much in literal years, not since before high school. Since she”s largely responsible for this newfound happiness, I want to know how serious you are about keeping such a sweet and grounded girl in your life.”
The tension rushed out of Jude”s body as he leaned back into his chair, overwhelmed by exhaustion. Breathlessly, a nervous laugh escaped him. ”Oh. Sorry, I thought that conversation was going in a different direction.”
”Clearly.” His dad frowned. ”But we can table the discussion about long-term plans to keep Giselle close and not let school divide the two of you. What made you think I didn”t like her?”
Jude took a moment in the silence, gathering himself. He knew, of course, why he rushed into the heat of a fight that didn”t exist with his weapons drawn.
”Look, Giselle hasn”t received the best experiences on behalf of the social circles our family runs in. People treated her like a pet or a toy simply because she doesn”t come from money, and interacting with people like us is a frightening experience sometimes. She”s a better person than most of the people we associate with. . . way better,” he whispered.
”Oh. I”m sorry to hear that. I can ask your mom to scale back on social outings, so we don”t overwhelm her.”
”No, it”s okay. Giselle will tell me if it”s too much or she”ll handle her feelings. But the truth is, I can”t guarantee that I”ll be able to keep her. The expectations of our social circle might crush her good heart, and because her happiness matters to me, I”d let her go if she wanted out.”
”Even if you”re still in love with her?”
”Yeah. Even then.”
Jude”s throat burned. Giselle deserved to be happy, even if someone else was the one who made her happier. He averted his eyes from his dad, not interested in the pitying glances. His dad and mom bought into his and Giselle”s love story with open arms. But the downside was how hard their hearts might break when he and Giselle inevitably parted ways.