by Mimi Grace
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the surprisingly heavy plush animal and cleared her mind of the oddly specific visuals of him as a leading man.
They agreed to scope out the thrill rides visible in the distance. Along the way, they paused to watch different machines spin, sway, and plunge.
“You need help?” Duncan asked after she’d shifted the bird from one arm to the other a dozen times.
“Please,” she said, heaving the toy toward him.
He looked the part of a boyfriend holding her stuffed animal. If she reached for his hand, it would complete the picture. Was this how he was like? He caught her studying him and raised his brows.
She hesitated for a moment then said, “I was wondering what your dating life looks like. When you’re not fake dating someone, of course.”
He smiled. “It’s regular. Fun. I’m not big on anything too serious.”
She made a contemplative sound, refusing to ask what the “fun” he spoke of entailed. Oh, she could easily guess, but hearing it from his mouth might be her undoing.
“And you? How’s your love life when you're not fake dating someone?” he asked. “Of course.”
Awkwardness clawed up Retta’s back. Though she’d literally started this line of questioning, she felt the same way when certain family members discussed her singledom like she was a subject in a research study.
“Well, I’m the one who solicited you to be my fake boyfriend, so I’d say not good.”
Before he could comment on her statement, she pointed up. “Let’s try this one.”
She and Duncan stopped in front of a thrill ride where the screams of the people on it were the loudest. Roller coasters were not her favorite thing, but they always left her exhilarated.
“I’m down,” he said.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, they were escorted to adjacent seats. She jostled the over-the-shoulder restraints a few times to make sure it was secure and let out a long breath.
Turning to Duncan, she expected to find him pumped and excited, but he looked almost gray.
“You okay?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Yeah, just nervous.”
Though Retta knew fear wasn’t limited to certain kinds of people, seeing Duncan anxious heightened her nerves. “We can get off.” She was already looking around for help.
He shook his head. “I’m good. But you never know with these things.”
“Why would you say that now?” she asked, tightening her grip around the handles on the seat.
The robotic voice reciting the rules of the ride now sounded ominous as their carriers began a slow ascent. Her heartbeat right along with it.
The moment their chairs pitched forward, Duncan and Retta’s hands instinctively found each other’s. Without her glasses, she couldn’t clearly see the parking lot below or the buildings in the distance, and it inspired her to chant a prayer.
Duncan laughed nervously a moment before their chairs went absolutely still.
“God, are we stuck?” she squealed.
Her words turned into a scream when their rotating chairs of death plummeted toward the earth. If that wasn’t stomach turning enough, they were flipped and twirled through the air, and by the time all of it had ended Retta was grateful they hadn’t eaten more than they had.
Once they returned to solid ground, they sat there until their seatbelts were released with a loud whoosh. They looked at each other, grinning. This feeling made the turbulence worth it.
Their hands remained intertwined as they got up, and all of Retta’s senses and attention migrated there. It took stepping off the podium, collecting their belongings, and returning to the fairgrounds for them to separate.
“Do you want to try another one or do something else?” Duncan asked.
“I kinda want to know what’s happening over there,” she said as she pointed to an area where people gathered around a slightly raised stage.
A sign said a show would start in five minutes.
“Very informative,” Duncan said of the cryptic message.
While they waited amongst the audience for their curiosity to be satisfied, Retta’s initial anxieties about being at the fair were realized when someone said, “Oh, my God, Retta?”
She turned and quickly put a foot between her and Duncan. “Claire!”
Retta’s unease at seeing her fellow baker and friend had nothing to do with the woman herself but rather how unprepared she was to debut Duncan as her boyfriend. She and Claire were two Black women in the same industry, and they’d always been friendly and supportive of each other's careers. To the extent that Claire had been one of the handful of people who’d reached out when Retta dealt with her professional setback.
“Hold on, I need to give you a hug,” her friend said as she got closer. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know. I thought you were out east,” Retta said.
“We moved back late last year. Louis,” she pointed to her husband whom Retta had met a few times before, “got a job here.”
Her husband was preoccupied with talking to a small group of people.
“That’s great. We’ll have to grab coffee soon and catch up,” Retta said.
“Yes, of course,” Claire said, eyeing Duncan who still stood near her.
Well, now she had no other choice but to make introductions. “Duncan, this is my friend, Claire. Claire, this is Duncan. My…”
The word “boyfriend” lodged in Retta’s throat. She pressed her lips together to make the sound of the first consonant, but all that came out was a pathetic whistle.
Thankfully, Duncan stepped forward and said, “Hey, nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Claire said.
They all stood there nodding and looking at one another, and Retta made no effort to foster a conversation between the two because that would undoubtedly lead to questions.
“By the way, your t-shirt’s dope,” Duncan said.
Claire’s eyes widened. “You’re a fan?”
“Since day one.”
“Really? Oh, my God. My husband and I host viewing parties. If you’re ever interested let me know. Retta, you have my email, right?”
She nodded, but they didn’t seem to notice her response because the two of them were already engaging in a rapid conversation about some sci-fi TV show. They didn’t let up for several minutes.
“Wow, it was really nice meeting you,” Claire said to Duncan, smiling.
“Yeah, and I’ll definitely check out that podcast.”
Claire and Retta hugged once again before she left to rejoin Louis.
“I think we did pretty well for our first time,” Duncan said.
“You did great. I, on the other hand—”
Retta froze as she felt the undeniable wetness of a raindrop on her face. She looked up at the sky as dark, bloated clouds rolled in. “It’s going to rain.” She immediately placed her purse over her head and looked around for cover.
Duncan took her hand and quickly led her to a small space between two carnival game stations somewhat covered by a decorative canopy. It was a good thing too, because the moment they settled into the tight space, it started to pour. It was like the rain had a point to make and sidewalks to clean.
They watched as people similarly ran for cover or left the fairgrounds all together. Claire and her husband made a beeline for the exit.
“The busses are gonna be packed,” Duncan said, his rich voice coiling around her.
Whether it was because of the sudden chill in the air or Duncan’s closeness, Retta nipples stiffened. Closing her arms around herself, she willed them to go down.
“You’re cold,” he said, his eyebrows stitched close together.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him drawing her flush to his chest and locking her in his embrace. It definitely wouldn’t help her situation.
“No, it’s fine,” she said, giving him a small smile.
Must. Not. Lean. In.
> “I saw a restaurant across the street,” she said. “We can wait out the rain there, and the busses won’t be so congested either.”
“Let’s do it,” he said. While holding the bird plushie, he removed his jacket and handed it to her. “For your hair.”
She placed the garment over her head, feeling his body heat emanating from it. “Thank you.”
“You ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.
She nodded, placing her hand into his before they started running.
Chapter Eight
They arrived at the Western-themed restaurant drenched and out of breath.
“I can’t believe we did that,” Retta said between airy laughter.
Duncan turned toward her to make a comment but was winded all over again. Her once flowy blouse clung to her body, molding around her small breasts and revealing her obviously hard nipples.
“Fuck.”
He didn’t realize he’d said the expletive out loud until Retta looked up from where she’d been trying to clear the fog from her glasses.
Duncan quickly held up the poor parrot plushie, traumatized from their journey.
She laughed, returning her glasses to her face. “Nothing a good blow dryer can’t fix.”
A young waiter named Graham approached and didn’t seem concerned with their physical state when he asked, “Together?”
The two of them looked at each other. “Yes.”
It was a benign inquiry, but with their answer, they’d stepped further into the ruse of their relationship.
The waiter led them past oversized booths and a stack of hay bales to the back of the mostly empty restaurant. Once seated, Duncan used napkins on the table to wipe the rain from his skin. Retta’s pressed hair had somewhat survived and she’d taken to hypnotically flapping the neckline of her blouse in a futile attempt to dry it.
“Did he look convinced when we said we were together?” Retta asked after a moment.
“I don’t think he cares enough,” Duncan replied before taking a long drink from the glass of water their server had left for them. “Why? You worried?”
“I couldn’t even call you my boyfriend in front of a friend I’ve only known for a few years. That’s a problem because my family, my meddling, eagle-eyed family? Will notice.”
Duncan spotted Graham walking back to their table. “Okay, let’s practice.”
“What—”
“Are you ready to order?” Graham asked, poised with a pen and a notepad.
Duncan sat up straight and said, “Yes, I’ll get any tea that’s decaf, and my girlfriend here will get…”
Retta’s eyes widened, and she looked between their waiter and him before saying, “I’ll get the same as my boyfriend.”
Graham’s gaze flicked upward. “Coming right up.”
“See, not bad,” Duncan said when they were alone.
“Except it sounds like we’re reading from a teleprompter.”
“We’re practicing,” he said, spinning the massive menus on the table around and around. “What about terms of endearment? Which ones do you like?”
“Any but the ones that are food related. Suga, pumpkin, muffin. You’d be surprised how many people randomly started using those when I became a baker.”
Their waiter returned with their tea before Duncan could reassure her that those weren’t his style.
“Here, you go,” Graham said, sliding the cups and teapot in front of them. “Careful. The water is hot.”
“Baby, do you want any sugar?” Duncan asked, taking hold of Retta’s hand on a whim.
She pressed her lips together before saying, “No, babe, I’m good.”
“Uh-ah. Right,” Graham said after a long pause. “Just so you know, you’ll have to order actual food if you’re going to stay.”
The waiter left them to decide, and Duncan opened the large menu. There were too many dissonant choices. At first, he thought the restaurant served Italian food, but Japanese dishes were included halfway down the second page and Mediterranean items on the next.
“This menu is exhausting,” Retta said, slapping the book shut. “Do you want to share an order of fries or something?”
“I’m cool with that,” he said as he continued to scan the humorously confused menu. He didn’t think it could get better until he read the promotional blurb for a contest the restaurant held on a rolling basis.
He looked up at Retta. “Would you do a cake eating challenge?”
“What?” she asked.
He turned the menu and pointed to the section.
She frowned. “You want to do that right now?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I don’t know. Nausea, bloating, drowsiness—”
“But think about the glory.”
Retta rolled her eyes, but when their waiter returned for their orders, she asked, “Could you tell us more about the cake eating competition?”
“If you can finish the whole cake in twenty-five minutes between the two of you, you won’t have to pay for it. You’ll also get tickets to our annual seafood event, a hundred dollars in cash, and we match that amount to the local children’s hospital.”
Duncan looked at Retta. “See, a good cause.”
“How many people have won?” Retta asked.
Graham pointed to a wall at the corner of the restaurant with mounted picture frames. “A couple dozen. We’ve been doing this since 2012.”
Retta shook her head before saying to Duncan, “You’re carrying me out of here if I pass out from a sugar rush.”
“I got you,” Duncan said before clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Bring it on, Graham.”
Within ten minutes, their server returned with the cake. He settled it between them, and Retta studied the monstrous dessert covered with white buttercream and confetti sprinkles.
The whole date had been a sequence of odd events, but this was something she would never typically think of doing with someone she didn’t even consider a friend. However, Duncan’s exuberance was contagious.
“Why am I nervous?” Retta asked, presenting her shaking hands for Duncan to see. “I feel like we’re about to go on another roller coaster.”
Also, her ego was now somehow tied to how fast she could eat cake.
“We got this,” he said, raising his hand for a high five that she responded to.
With his thumb poised on the stopwatch, Graham asked, “Are you folks ready?”
They nodded.
“You can begin eating now.”
Retta grabbed the knife and server they’d been provided and cut herself a slice.
Meanwhile, Duncan went straight into the cake with his fork. “We don’t have time to be refined here.”
She placed a forkful of cake in her mouth, and the corners of her lips turned down as she chewed. Leaning forward, she whispered, “It’s dry.”
“This isn’t about that. You get it down,” Duncan said. His shoulders were hunched, and his movements mechanical.
In an attempt to match his pace and vigor, Retta forked an even bigger piece into her mouth but almost choked. The cake went down as smoothly as sawdust. Mercifully, they’d also been given tall glasses of milk. For several minutes, they took graceless bites and washed it down with their drinks. If her mother could see her now.
“I think I like this buttercream though. It’s not too sweet,” Retta said, as she paused to study it on her fork. Concentrating on the details and technique put into the construction of the cake, helped her forget her suffering.
Duncan snapped his fingers and pointed at their sugary burden. “Focus.”
“You have thirteen minutes left,” Graham said. He’d settled onto a stool and split his time between his phone and watching them eat.
Retta and Duncan looked at the amount of cake left and then to each other. Without breaking eye contact, they plunged their fists into the tiered structure and shoved a chunk of it into their mouths. Hey, they had tickets to an annual seafood event
to win.
Why had he even thought this was a good idea?
After many minutes, Duncan slowed down, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”
“One minute,” Graham said.
Their waiter’s pronouncement gave Duncan a second wind. He started tapping the table to the rhythm of his chewing and mentally blocking out any discomfort.
Graham raised his arm and held out his fingers as he said, “Ten, Nine.”
One lopsided slice left.
“Eight, seven.”
His mouth was full, and he thought he might hurl.
“Six, five.”
Retta suddenly stood up and stomped her feet like she was trying to force the food down.
“Four, three.”
He’d never eat cake again. Fuck cake. It was the worst thing in this world. Too sweet. Overrated.
“Two, One.”
Both him and Retta turned to Graham and stuck their tongues out and shouted, “Ah!”
Had they eaten enough? There were still crumbs and icing left over. Would that disqualify them? They couldn’t have gotten this far only to pay ninety bucks for such a torturous experience.
“You can put your tongues away,” Graham said, moving closer to the table. He studied the cake stand for several seconds before looking back at his clipboard. He stroked his chin, mumbled a few things, then looked up at them. “Congratulations, you won.”
Duncan turned to Retta with wide eyes and threw his hands in the air. They laughed and embraced only to immediately recoil when they hit each other’s stomachs. After he was sure he wouldn’t throw up all over the floor, he straightened from where he’d been leaning on a table. He found Retta laying across an empty booth with her eyes closed and cake smudged on her glasses.
Graham returned with more napkins and a pitcher of water. “So, whenever you’re ready, we’ll take a photo and collect your information.”
Duncan cleaned himself up before walking over to a depleted Retta and nudging her foot with his. “You still with me?”
She stretched out her hand. “Help me.”
He pulled her until she was seated upright.
“We’re a hundred dollars richer,” she said.