Page 21 of A Recipe Called Home
“All teachers at the school are required to have each other’s contact information. For safety reasons,” Winnie said, brushing it off. “Give me your phone, I’ll add him. Then you can send him a text.”
And with that, Jules now had Miles’ contact information saved in her phone again, almost like it never left.Funny how things tend to come full circle, she thought to herself.
Phone back in her possession, her fingers hovered over the blank text screen. Should she ask him? It would setsomethingin motion, but just what, she didn’t quite know.
With the false bravery that comes from almost two glasses of wine, she went for it. The worst that could happen between them already had years ago.
Hi Miles, it’s Jules. Winnie gave me your number. Wanted to see if you were free to tag along with us to the Heritage Days Festival Friday night? Candied corn and caramel apples are on me.
She took a long look at the draft, deleting the last line right before she hit send; she didn’t want to appear desperate. Plus, candied corn was gross.
The rest of the evening flew by as they ate their way through the mound of food, and Jules and Winnie drank the two bottles dry. Jules noticed Emily still had the same glass from when she first arrived.
They talked about upcoming travel plans; Winnie and Emily were taking a trip to Italy next month. Jules shared her lunch date with her mother, and they both encouraged her to give Barb some grace. Emily’s mother, who she wasn’t close with, passed away unexpectedly last year, so she knew what regret felt like since they never had a great relationship, either.
The night felt cozy and warm, like they were wrapped in a cocoon sitting in the snug living room on a worn but comfortable cornflower blue couch that matched the curtains. Jules hadn’t realized how much she’d needed time with her best friend.
Just as Jules’ got ready to pack it in for the night and call an Uber, her phone vibrated. It was a text from Miles.
I’d love to. Pick you up around six?
“Is that Miles?” Winnie chirped as she watched Jules try to suppress a grin.
“He’s in for Friday,” Jules responded, not looking up from the screen. She couldn’t trust her face not to betray her even more.Be chill, she told herself.You’re a thirty-year-old woman, for God’s sake, this isn’t high school anymore.
“Great! We can meet you both there then."
They sorted the details as Jules collected her shoes.
“I can take you home,” said Emily. “I haven’t been drinking, so no need to call an Uber.” An obvious look passed between Winnie and Emily as she said this.
“What’s going on?” Jules asked, darting her eyes between them.
“Go ahead, tell her. I know you’re dying to,” Emily told Winnie, lips pursed in a bashful smile.
Winnie seized the opportunity, blurting, “We’ve been doing IVF.”
“Wow. That’s amazing news.” Jules wrapped her arms around them for a group hug. She had known Winnie wanted to be a mother someday, and they were at the age when people started families, so she shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“But can’t you drink when you’re doing IVF?” Jules asked, a bit confused.
Pulling back from the hug, Winnie broke out in a huge smile. “We went for a blood test this morning. It was positive.”
Emily wrapped her arms around Winnie’s waist, pulling her close. They looked so happy in that moment. When they were younger, Winnie would talk about her future kids as if they were a sure thing, but now it was real.
“It’s still early, though. We haven’t told anyone yet, so please don’t share with anyone else,” Emily said to temper expectations, although Jules could tell Winnie had high hopes. No matter what happened, she knew they would be great parents and told them so.
“Now, let’s get you home before you turn into a pumpkin,” Emily joked, hyper aware of the conversation taking a turn towards the status of her uterus and private bits.
On the ride home, Jules responded to Miles with a quick, “Sounds good. See you then,” and told herself to relax. She had to stop thinking about him or else she’d get no sleep tonight.
Chapter 8
GrandmaRosa’srecipecardscovered every available surface of her antique wood dining table. There were so many, Jules wondered if they’d ever be able to cook them all, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was the opportunity to spend time with her grandma.
Not sure how to file them, she took a step back for a collective look at the hundreds of recipes in front of her. Plan forming in her head, she picked out the recipes that interested her the most and plotted them on a calendar hanging in the kitchen. Her organizing included color-coded sections denoting “Lunch, Dinner, Side, or Dessert.” Breakfast was Grandma’s least favorite meal; there was not a single breakfast dish in the entire box.
Energized by all the sorting, Jules slipped each of the recipes back into the tin, now arranged in neat sections. The thought crossed her mind it might be easier to see everything if she put them in a book format, but that would take too much time. She needed to focus on the promise she had made to her grandma to cook through as much as they could while she was back.
