Make a Scene

by Mimi Grace

  “Well, I don’t want to mess with your day or nothing. I only dropped in to say hi,” Duncan said after shaking himself internally. This particular edition of introducing himself to the business owners in the complex had to end before he started asking the pretty baker invasive questions.

  “Oh, actually, while you’re here, I should discuss something with you,” she said, stepping closer to him. “You’re new around here, so you wouldn’t know how things operate yet, but each business has their own parking spots. My staff and I have the three to the far left.”

  Duncan frowned. “There was nothing about assigned parking in the rental agreement.”

  “W-well, it’s more of an unofficial thing that we all follow,” she said.

  “And let me guess, my gym gets the spaces nobody wants.”

  Retta shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls. “Yes.”

  Several seconds of silence passed before something clicked. “You’re the one who’s been leaving the threatening Post-its on our cars.”

  “Uh, yeah. They weren’t supposed to come off that way,” she said, squirming in place. “You really lose tone in writing.”

  For weeks he and the staff had been finding notes that demanded they move. They hadn’t known who they were from, so they ignored them.

  “I’ll have to discuss it with my business partner and get back to you,” Duncan said, already knowing it was going to be a battle. They weren’t going to give up the spots. “Do you have a card or something?”

  “Yeah, give me a second,” Retta replied.

  As she reached over the counter, his eyes traveled up the length of her long legs. They seemed to go on forever, but they progressed into the curve of her butt where two faint flour handprints sat on either cheek.

  “Here you go,” she said, turning back around and handing him the card.

  Clearing his throat, he studied the information.

  “No pressure.”

  “All right, great,” he said, heading toward the door. “Thanks.”

  “Donut be a stranger,” she called out.

  Duncan looked back in time to catch her wince.

  “I’ll forget that one too,” he said.

  “Fourth favorite person,” she replied.

  He left the bakery with a smile, and within a few seconds, he entered his gym, Spotlight Boxing Studio. It was a little surreal to know that this was his reality. From the red walls to their logo etched on the glass door, everything had fallen into place for him and his partner. Except maybe how they were now battling for parking space.

  Jessie, one of the trainers, was working the front desk between her classes and gave him a nod in greeting.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Duncan asked, approaching the counter.

  “Good,” Jessie said, taking a bite from a shortbread cookie. “Busy.”

  He gestured to her hand. “Where did you get that from?”

  Food, especially sweets and dessert, didn’t last long at Spotlight despite Duncan’s best efforts to keep the fridge stocked up for his team.

  “Oh, from this,” Jessie said, leaning back in her chair and retrieving a large basket with an extravagant purple bow. “Someone from the bakery next door delivered it this morning.”

  Unfolding the cloth that hid the contents of the gift basket, he studied the remaining pastries. He wondered if Retta had handpicked them herself. When he took a bite out of the most appealing one, the noise around him disappeared. All he could concentrate on was the tartness of the raspberries on the pastry. The way the tip of his tongue zinged before the slightly sweet custard that accompanied the dessert mellowed out the flavor.

  “Good, right?” Jessie asked.

  He nodded, choosing two more pastries to try.

  Chatter filled the foyer as the one o’clock drill-based class was let out. Duncan smiled at all the sweaty, giddy faces emerging from one of the downstairs gyms.

  “Have a good afternoon,” he told several of them.

  His best friend and business partner, Anthony, followed behind the hoard of people, equally as sweaty as his students but with his typical scowl in place.

  He met Anthony at the water fountain where he was filling up his bottle. The big guy was someone who at first glance seemed intimidating. Well, also at second glance. Truthfully, even when you got to know him, he wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine. But he was always kind and was a hit with literally anyone who took his classes.

  “How did networking go?” Anthony asked, pushing his curly hair from his eyes.

  “Fine. Except we’re apparently infringing on some unspoken parking rules.”

  Throwing the towel over his shoulder, his friend asked, “What do you mean?”

  “There’s assigned parking,” Duncan said.

  A big reason they picked this location for the gym was for those spaces.

  His business partner rubbed his face roughly with his hands. “There was nothing about that on the rental agreement.”

  “I know, but we’re trying to play nice and not make enemies,” Duncan said, taking a bite from his croissant. If the persistence of the Post-it notes were any indication, Retta would take it personally if they didn’t come to some sort of understanding.

  Anthony, however, was similarly stubborn. “No way. It’s not happening. If we’re not legally obliged, who cares about angry neighbors?”

  Duncan let out a sigh. “We’ll discuss it and come up with a compromise when you’re less…”

  “Less what?”

  “Grumpy. Less grumpy,” Duncan said, patting his friend on the back. “Please eat something.”

  In one swift motion, Anthony grabbed the pastries still in Duncan’s hand and placed them in his mouth.

  “I meant literally anything else.”

  During his last class of the day, Duncan wiped the sweat from his brow with the side of his forearm before speaking into the headset, “Hook your right arm above your head. Stretch those triceps. They worked hard today.”

  He looked out into his students’ faces, obscured by the dim lights in the studio.

  As the upbeat music transitioned to chill, vibey hip hop, he said, “All right, one more deep inhale.”

  The class mimicked the way he swung his arms above his head. “Now exhale. Thank you all for joining me tonight. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

  People scattered to the edge of the studio to collect their belongings.

  “And if you all could grab a disinfectant towel and wipe down your punching bag, that would be great,” he said.

  As he cleaned his own equipment, a woman in her thirties approached him. “I was nervous about coming. I thought it would be too intense for me, but I loved it.”

  “That’s great, thank you. Hope to see you again,” he said.

  Walking over to the exit, he gave each person who left the gym area a goodbye and a smile. And before long it was only him and his older sister, Gwen.

  She leaned on the floor to ceiling mirror at the front of the class.

  “What did you think?” he asked, walking to her.

  “Meh.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She threw her towel at him. “You know it was great.”

  He grinned at her. They were two years apart and had always been close. Being the older sibling, however, had made her a little bossy growing up. But she’d also taken her job as firstborn seriously and had been the best role model. Maybe that’s what made her such a great school teacher now.

  “You came in late,” he said.

  “I was at the school and lost track of time.” She watched him tidy the gym. “Do you need help?”

  He tossed a bottle of glass cleaner at her. “You can get your fingerprints off my mirror.”

  As she sprayed and wiped down areas of the glass, Gwen said, “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

  “Not the important ones,” Duncan replied.

  “All of them are important,” his sister said, flipping the end of one of two large c
ornrows over her shoulder.

  “Debatable.”

  “So, are you coming to brunch?” Gwen asked.

  Duncan let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe.”

  His sister turned to him. “You can’t make me go on my own again.”

  Sunday Brunch was a monthly Gilmore family tradition and obligation after some family therapist recommended it almost a decade ago.

  The hectic months leading up to Spotlight’s grand opening had given him an excuse to miss the gatherings. He could probably get away with skipping another one, but he felt bad he’d left his sister to deal with their parents alone.

  Closing his eyes, he said, “I’ll be there.”

  “Great,” she said, returning to mirror cleaning. “Oh, and if you’re bringing whoever you’re dating this month, please make sure she’s not like the last one.”

  “I told you I didn’t know Kennedy was going to do all that,” Duncan said, cringing at the memory of the woman’s conspiracy theory tirade. “But I’m also not seeing anyone at the moment.”

  Gwen squinted. “Really?”

  “Yeah. This,” he gestured around him, “has been taking up my time for months.”

  “The women of the city will understand.”

  Duncan made a mocking laugh.

  “But on a serious note”—Gwen looked around—“Time well spent. And Mom and Dad can’t stop bragging.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get some award soon and oust me as their favorite child.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “I’m throwing you a bone in the meantime.”

  Chapter Four

  During the last hour of the workday, Retta looked up from her conversation with Cheyenne to see Irene’s mother, Wendy, enter the bakeshop. It was such an unexpected appearance that Retta stopped talking mid-sentence.

  Her aunt looked like she was fresh out of the salon chair with her perfectly pressed bob that swished from side to side as she approached the front counter.

  “Wow, I haven’t been here since your grand opening,” Aunt Wendy said, looking around the store.

  They made eye contact, and it was as if they simultaneously remembered how at that time Retta was still dating Chris. He’d stood by her side as she made a toast to business longevity. Now he was going to be her son-in-law.

  Retta neatly placed her hands on the counter in front of her. “A lot of trial and error, but I like it now.”

  “It’s beautiful,” her aunt replied quickly.

  “Are you looking for something specific today?” Retta asked.

  “Oh, right,” the older woman said, gently smacking her temple. “Chris and Irene are having an engagement party of sorts that’ll also work as her bridal shower, and I wanted to know if I can order one of those macaron towers you sell.”

  Cheyenne, like the impassioned intern she was, appeared with an order form on an iPad. Luckily, this type of order had a quick turn around, so they usually could fulfill even the most last-minute requests.

  Retta’s aunt filled out the form but momentarily looked up to ask, “Are you coming to the party?”

  Seeing as Retta still didn’t have a suitable date, her impulse for the last week had been to text her cousin and cancel her RSVP to the wedding. But whenever that urge surfaced, she remembered the humiliation that surrounded her breakup. She couldn’t yield.

  Internally shaking herself out of her head, Retta looked at her Aunt Wendy and said, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  The older woman smiled before ducking her head to finish her request. “I also saw you’d RSVPed a plus one to the wedding.”

  Of course this was the time her aunt wanted to go over this particular detail.

  “I did.”

  “Is it a special someone?” her aunt asked, and to perhaps eliminate any confusion with what she might mean by “special someone,” she accompanied her question with a wink.

  There were a couple of customers still in her shop, and her team was in earshot. “Hey, Auntie, why don’t you text me. You have my number, right?”

  Her aunt squinted. “Okay,” she said almost pensively. “But remember catering is paid by the person. We lose if someone who said they were coming doesn’t show up."

  Retta smiled and nodded. Way to apply pressure on her date that very evening.

  After Cheyenne completed the transaction, Aunt Wendy left the store with an order confirmation form and a box of madeleines.

  Upon closing up shop for the day, Retta got ready for her date in the small bathroom.

  When she emerged, she was met with sincere compliments from Omar and Philippa.

  “Who’s it today?” Omar asked as they walked together to their vehicles.

  “A graphic designer,” Retta said. Or was he the college admission’s officer? The profiles were starting to run together.

  Drawing nearer to her car parked on the street, she was pleased to see no ticket flapping underneath her windshield wiper today. While her staff helped her load in some baskets of laundry into her back seat, she spotted Duncan hauling two garbage bags.

  “Who’s that?” Omar asked.

  “One of the owners of the gym,” Retta said as they all watched Duncan dump the trash into the green bin.

  “When’s this parking mess getting resolved?” Philippa asked.

  It had been two days since she’d brought it up to Duncan. “Hopefully soon.”

  She was giving him a few more days, but Retta was tired of playing “has my car been towed or did I forget where I parked it”.

  Duncan must’ve felt the intensity of several pairs of eyes searing into the back of his head because he suddenly looked over in their direction. All three of them struggled to find a natural orientation that didn’t look like they’d been staring at him for the last twenty seconds.

  “This is awkward,” Philippa said.

  Retta braved a look and caught Duncan waving.

  She returned the greeting, and he started jogging toward them.

  “I-is he coming this way?” Omar asked, squinting.

  “Yes,” Retta said. “Don’t be weird.”

  “Never,” Philippa said, before placing one palm awkwardly on the side of Retta’s car and the other on her hip like a bad pin-up model.

  “Jesus,” Retta said under her breath.

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the gift basket,” Duncan said when he arrived in front of them. “It didn’t last long.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Retta said.

  He introduced himself to her team. In the process, he complimented Philippa on her tattoos and asked Omar about the backpack he wore.

  “What was your favorite thing you tried?” Omar asked.

  “Oh, hands down the blueberry scone with the…”

  “The lemon glaze,” Retta said.

  “Yeah,” Duncan said before closing his eyes and producing an exaggerated shiver. “Flaky and buttery. There’d be a problem if I could make them myself. Do you have a recipe?”

  “I’d need your firstborn child and hair follicles as payment,” Retta said.

  “Done,” he replied without skipping a beat.

  She laughed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but someone called for him from the back entrance of the gym.

  “I’ll catch you later,” Duncan said.

  Once he was out of earshot, Philippa said, “I might get my ass a boxing gym membership.”

  Retta bid the two of them a good evening and entered her car. She had a date to get to.

  Before she could pull out into the street, however, a message came through her phone. She laughed when she read the text her would-be date sent: Hey, so sorry this is last minute, but raincheck?

  Chapter Five

  As Duncan stepped into the house he grew up in, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t holding his breath that it would fade at any point during brunch today.

  “Hi,” he said as he entered the bright yellow kitchen. He found his mom in front of the well-used stove and k
issed her on the cheek before washing his hands.

  “You made it,” his mother said, beaming at him as she placed her hands on her hips.

  Gwen laughed from her place at the dining table. She was occupied with marking students’ work, so she didn’t catch his cutting look.

  “What do you want me to do?” Duncan asked.

  She handed him a plate of pancakes and a jug of orange juice.

  “How’re the first weeks going at the gym?” his mother asked as she continued to flutter about in the kitchen.

  “Good,” Duncan said, placing the food on the table. “We got a nice feature in a business magazine. Also, we’re seeing decent monthly and annual pass purchases.”

  “Look at my baby,” his mother said as she joined them at the table.

  His sister put her work away, and they studied the meal spread out in front of them.

  “It’s a shame the food is growing cold,” his mother said after a moment, still smiling. She looked at the time on the stove before turning back to face her children. “Just like your father to be late for something scheduled.”

  But it was as if speaking about Malcolm Gilmore’s tardiness made him miraculously appear.

  “Hello, hello, hello,” Duncan’s dad said, his voice ringing through the house. When he entered the dining area, he slapped Duncan’s back and gave Gwen’s shoulders a squeeze.

  He looked over to their mom and said, “Trudy.”

  “Malcolm,” she replied, fluffing the short curls on her head.

  The greeting was on par with how they interacted nowadays. Before, there might have been a peck on the cheek or a cold hug. If nothing else, Duncan appreciated the lack of pretense. It had been six months since his parents separated. His father moved out soon after the announcement; however, you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at the place. Plants his father had nurtured for years were still in the house. The bookshelf remained packed with his books. Even the coat closet still smelled like his cologne.

  They all settled around the table and filled their plates. A breeze filtered in through the open sliding door, carrying with it the laughter of the neighborhood children.