Make a Scene

by Mimi Grace

  “Where’s Eric?” their dad asked Gwen.

  “He’s on a business trip,” his sister said of her long-term boyfriend.

  “One day we’ll have everyone at the table,” their mom said, laughing lightly.

  For a while, they ate in silence.

  “A bit cold,” his father said after a forkful of pancakes.

  Their mother took a sip from her glass and said, “Well, if you’d shown up a little earlier maybe—”

  “Mom, I think he means the wind,” Gwen said, standing up to close the sliding door to the small backyard.

  “Oh,” their mother said. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Trudy.”

  Duncan looked between his parents. This separation was doing wonders for their communication.

  “I know it’s hard for you to turn off the nagging after thirty-two years,” he continued.

  Cutlery clanged as Duncan and his sister simultaneously let them fall against their plates.

  Their mother laughed humorlessly. “And as always I wouldn’t have to nag if you regularly did the right thing.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I can’t give you perfection.”

  “I never wanted perfection. Just effort,” his mother said.

  There was a beat of silence where his parents stared at each other. The calm before the storm, if you will. When the outright bickering commenced, Duncan sighed and sat back in his seat.

  The chosen topic for this particular argument was anything remotely annoying the other person did in the past three decades. They didn’t seem deterred by the fact they literally didn’t have to do this anymore. They were separated. Soon to be divorced. Were they not tired?

  There’d been periods of relative harmony in their marriage, but it wouldn’t last more than three months. As a kid, Duncan had tried to prolong that time of peace by exaggerating events that had happened at school. His sister, on the other hand, chose to appeal to their teacher parents by presenting good grades and even better behavior.

  Having company over also helped reduce the likelihood of a fight. But as soon as he got his driver’s license and a crappy car, he didn’t have to dread the end of the three month peace period because he could simply leave when things got loud.

  Duncan threw back the remainder of his orange juice and got up from the table with his half-eaten food. “Excuse me.”

  His parents immediately halted their fighting to look at him.

  “Wait, wait,” his mother said. She looked across the table to her soon-to-be ex-husband. “We shouldn’t be fighting.”

  His dad nodded and even reached for the dish of scrambled eggs to serve himself another ladle full.

  “Also, we have something to ask you two,” his mom said, without breaking eye contact with her estranged husband.

  He stopped and braced himself.

  “Your dad and I would like for you both to say a few words at the divorce party.”

  Duncan huffed. He’d somehow blocked out that impending event. It had been his mother’s idea. She’d seen a segment about the trend on a morning talk show. Surprisingly, their father had gone along with it. It might’ve been the first time they’d agreed.

  “Say something?” Gwen asked.

  “Yeah, like a speech,” their father replied. “Nothing too long.”

  Duncan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d barely committed to showing up to the contrived party. “What would we even say?”

  Their father lifted his heavy shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever you want. Keep it celebratory. Keep it light.”

  Celebratory and light. They were still trying to perform a lie.

  His mother touched his arm. “Think about it.”

  He’d managed as much as he could of this brunch, and there were a dozen things left to do for the day. “I should get going.”

  Retta had re-downloaded a meditation app, and it was working. Despite her canceled date being in rescheduling purgatory, she was taking it in stride. Her water heater still sounded like the percussion section of a junior high jazz band, but she was unfazed.

  Even the pending engagement party and wedding day elicited renewed energy to actually find someone to go with instead of anxiety.

  As Retta helped the next customer in line, she resolved to get more serious about dates. She needed to expand her pool and carve out time to actually go out.

  She hadn’t been this strategic about her love life since she was a preteen. But if Retta went with the flow now, she risked showing up to Irene’s festivities without anybody.

  When the line thinned out, Retta took it as an opportunity to offer the patrons sitting inside her store some samples. Picking up the tray, she made her way through her bakery apologizing once again about the noisy water heater.

  “It's our new shortbread cookies with blood orange caramel sauce,” Retta said.

  The women on their lunch breaks studied the offering and took one each.

  It was on this little journey that Retta noticed a woman who was obviously some sort of social media influencer.

  The beautiful young woman casually took a bite of a croissant and posed as a man across from her snapped a picture with a professional camera. Once the photo was taken, she spat out the piece she’d bitten.

  Sure, it would be easy to make fun of such a display, but Retta refused to hate on anyone’s hustle. The woman had paid for the various treats in front of her after all, and she’d tag Dutch Oven in the eventual posts she’d upload.

  Returning to her spot behind the counter, Retta continued to study the influencer’s photoshoot.

  “I once tried to do the social media thing,” Cheyenne said, also watching the scene play out. “A girl from my high school started a YouTube channel when we were sophomores and now she’s rich. People buy t-shirts with her face on it. I quit after six months. It was too much work.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Retta said.

  In the next set up, the photographer’s hand was in the frame. The woman grasped it and smiled at the camera adoringly. The narrative was clear: she was in a fabulous, wonderful, absolutely superb bakery with a boyfriend or a date.

  However, based on how quickly they pulled their hands from each other once the photo was taken, Retta wondered if that was true at all.

  “I don’t think they’re actually a couple,” Retta said.

  Cheyenne shrugged. “Does it matter? As long as it looks that way to her followers.”

  “I guess,” Retta said.

  That’s what I need.

  She internally chuckled at the absurd idea of totting a guy around at the wedding who was only pretending to be her boyfriend. Even though it would definitely clear up the mental space this damn wedding was occupying, and there’d also be no emotional investment in some long-term future.

  “I even heard there were agencies now that you can hire extras to pose in your content,” Cheyenne continued.

  Yeah with all the disposable income Retta was rolling in, she was totally going to rent a boyfriend. She’d stick to the dating apps and the disappointments she was used to.

  Cheyenne left her then to clear vacated tables as Retta helped customers who’d walked in.

  After processing a payment, she looked up to see Duncan step inside the bakery. His stature filled the door and his presence drew several eyes to him.

  “Hi,” he said, walking up to the counter.

  She straightened her apron. This was it. She could feel it. “You here about the parking lot?”

  “I am.”

  “Perfect,” she said, grabbing a glass of water for him and motioning toward a table in the far corner of the store, right behind the croissant-spitting influencer.

  Once they were seated, she watched him place his arms corded in muscles on the table. They took up the majority of the space, and it felt, even if unintentional, like a gesture of dominance. She straightened in her chair and squared her shoulders.

  “The last thing we want to do is start a rivalry here,” Duncan beg
an.

  Retta nodded. “Agreed.”

  “We get that there’s a parking system in place, but…”

  Why “but”? No “but”.

  “The fair thing to do, in our opinion, would be sharing the spaces,” Duncan said.

  Was it irrational and immature that her instinct in that moment was to perch on the table and screech, “mine”?

  “Okay,” Retta said, after taking several long breaths. She could be an adult about this. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We could—”

  “Excuse me,” the social media influencer said as she bumped into the back of Duncan’s seat trying to get up.

  Tables and chairs shuffled as they made room for the woman to leave her seat.

  Before exiting the bakery, the young woman shook her photographer slash pretend boyfriend’s hand, and Retta found amusement in it all over again.

  “Where were we?” Duncan asked.

  Turning back to him to answer, Retta opened her mouth. However, nothing came out because she was struck silent by the halo surrounding Duncan’s head, courtesy of the perfectly positioned sun behind him, and with it, the answer to her problems. It was as if a deity herself had whispered the solution to her.

  Wait. No. She couldn't… Could she?

  The pounding of her heart prevented her from scripting the conversation in her head. She gave up trying and said, “I have something really random to ask you. And if you hate it or think it’s weird, we never have to bring it up again—”

  “I’m good at forgetting, remember?” he said, taking a drink of water.

  She took a breath. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Duncan jerked forward, almost spewing water all over himself.

  “I mean are you dating anyone right now? Retta asked.

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “I understood your question the first time.” He closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. “Are you asking me out?”

  Retta looked around. “No. Kind of. My cousin’s getting married.”

  “Okay?” Duncan said. “Congrats to her.”

  “Yes. Well, I need a date for the wedding…”

  She hoped he’d fill in the blanks, understand the implications, and save her from spelling out this bizarre request.

  Folding his arms, he frowned and said, “I’m confused. Are you suggesting I date you for parking spots?”

  “W-we wouldn’t actually be a couple. I need to show up at this wedding with someone.”

  “So, you want me to be your fake boyfriend?”

  Hearing the request out loud was strange and humbling. She nodded.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?” Her ego wouldn’t handle her exposing the reason why she was attending this wedding. She was already internally wilting from what she’d shared.

  “Yeah, it matters. I don’t make it a habit to blatantly lie to people.”

  Retta straightened her glasses. His words felt like an indictment against her, but she internally scrambled for a way to explain herself.

  “You know when you’re haunted by an embarrassing moment from years ago or an ugly yearbook photo, and all you want is a reset? To assure yourself and others that person isn’t you? This wedding is my reset,” she said.

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed, most likely because he was trying to decipher what the hell she was saying. “What happened to—what’s his name—Steve?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen him since our first date.”

  “After you asked him to be your fake boyfriend?”

  Oh, this was a mistake. “You know what? Never mind,” Retta said, moving to stand up.

  Duncan stopped her by saying, “I’ll do it for all three parking spots.”

  Shaking her head, Retta settled back in her seat. She had to think about her staff. “The best I can do is offer you one spot free and clear.”

  “Two,” he countered.

  “One and we can alternate the remaining two monthly,” she said.

  He was silent for such a long time before saying, “Add the recipe for the blueberry scones and it’s a deal.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Anthony said, holding up hitting pads for Duncan to punch. “You go over there to negotiate parking spaces and you come back with a girlfriend?”

  “Fake girlfriend,” Duncan said, increasing the speed and power of his punches. “I also got us reasonable parking and a scone recipe.”

  Despite pressure from his business partner to negotiate for a first-come, first-serve policy, Duncan thought it was a wrong strategy. He knew the parking was important to Retta as well, so he hadn’t wanted to push too hard and wreck a business relationship.

  After several minutes, Duncan backed away and caught his breath, leaning over the top rope of the ring.

  “So, you’re supposed to attend a wedding and an engagement party and pretend like she’s your girl?” Anthony asked.

  “Why is this so hard for you to wrap your head around.”

  “Because Duncan Gilmore voluntarily entered a relationship.”

  “Fake relationship,” Duncan said, taking a drink of water. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

  Anthony screwed his face. “Your longest relationship—if you want to call it that—lasted what? Three months?”

  “It’s called acting. None of it’ll be real.”

  “Acting? You need to let go of that high school Midsummer Night’s Dream rejection, brother,” Anthony said.

  “Man, fuck you,” Duncan said, laughing.

  “You also know nothing about her. How are you going to play a convincing boyfriend?”

  “We have a date,” Duncan said, placing heavy air quotes around the word date. “That should be enough for us to get to know each other and make us seem like a real couple in front of her family.”

  His friend shook his head, exasperated. “Do you hear yourself? I’ll let this parking thing go and release you from this ridiculous plan.” Anthony touched each of Duncan’s shoulders like he was knighting him.

  “I gave her my word, and besides it works out for both of us.”

  He wasn’t completely sure of the reasons Retta wanted him to pose as her boyfriend at her cousin’s wedding. But if he had to guess, he would say she wanted to ward off questions about her relationship status.

  His sister often complained about the questions and comments she’d receive from different family members about getting married. He got them too, but they were never laced with judgment or condescension.

  “Wait, do you want to sleep with her or something? Is this some long game to endear yourself to her?” Anthony asked, clapping his padded hands together before positioning them for Duncan to hit.

  He dropped his head backward for a moment. “No, because there’re less complicated ways to get laid.”

  In fact, he’d be looking into those ways as soon as this arrangement with Retta was over.

  “She’s beautiful, but this is strictly business,” Duncan said before throwing a punch.

  Chapter Six

  What struck Duncan when he entered the bowling alley, the site of his “date” with Retta, was how few people were in there. The only other patrons were a group of forty-somethings who were singing along to the muffled 2000s pop music playing from the speakers above. He chose to ignore the feet and onion ring smell that also drifted through the building.

  After getting his shoes and assigned a lane, he waited only a few minutes before Retta arrived as well.

  “You look great,” Duncan said, taking in her breezy countenance.

  “Oh!” She looked down at her jeans and a flowy blouse. “It’s old. I stole it from my friend’s closet.”

  He wanted to say more about it. Flirt a little bit, but he didn’t know if that was allowed. There wasn’t exactly a guidebook on how to fake date.

  “This is for you,” Duncan said, handing her a wrapped square package.

  Her eyes widened as she took a ho
ld of it. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “It’s honestly nothing,” he said. This was a weird situation, and he felt like maybe this might ease the awkwardness. But now he was second-guessing the logic.

  She unwrapped the small gift to reveal colorful Post-it notes. The same ones she’d been leaving on his and the team’s cars for the past weeks.

  Retta cracked a smile, and he relaxed a bit.

  “I thought you might’ve been running low,” he said.

  She smiled even wider and shook her head. “Thank you.” After placing the bundle in her purse, she said, “I was thinking we could start with some ice breakers.”

  Smart. It would make them comfortable talking to each other. “Hit me,” he said, stepping up onto the raised platform closer to her.

  Adjusting her glasses with the tips of her fingers, she looked down at her phone. “Last name?”

  “Gilmore.”

  “Majors,” she offered.

  She then asked his age.

  “Twenty-nine,” he said after the noise from the rowdy group bowling beside them died down.

  “Twenty-eight.”

  He nodded, trying not to betray how amusing he found having questions launched at him as if he were at a job interview.

  “What did you want to be when you were younger?” Retta read from her screen.

  “A school teacher. My whole family are teachers. That’s how my parents met actually.”

  She opened her mouth like she might have a follow-up question, but instead she said, “I wanted to be an artist.”

  Before he could find out more, she queried about something else.

  He realized after another three questions, she’d be content to do this for their entire date and that certainly wouldn’t happen on his watch. He wasn’t going to spend his one day off answering prompts that, at best, would help unlock his dormant Facebook account.

  “If you could be an animal—”

  “Hey, hey,” he gently said. She looked up at him over the brim of her glasses and for the briefest of moments, something in his stomach caught.

  “What?” she asked.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “We should maybe get in a little bowling seeing that we’re here.”