by Mimi Grace
During her turn around the room, a coldness settled over her as she noticed one specific detail. The archway made of balloons, the floral centerpieces on the tables, and the elaborate signage near the dance floor were all purple.
Not just any purple either. This particular shade was one Retta knew intimately because she’d spent weeks picking it for her bakery’s walls. They’d made her lilac their wedding color. Or it was a big coincidence, and she was gnawing on the bamboo cocktail pick for nothing.
She needed another drink. Before she could reach the bar, a man who wore glasses and looked sort of like the direct-to-video version of Michael Ealy approached and said, “Hey, I’m Gordon. I’m filming guests’ messages to the happy couple.”
Retta looked at the man and the smartphone he wielded. “What sort of message?”
“Well wishes mostly. But if you have embarrassing stories, that’ll do too,” Gordon said, chuckling at his own suggestion. “The video will be played during the reception on the wedding day.”
Retta was on edge, but a clip like that would definitely help emphasize to everyone she’d moved on. “Sure.”
“Great. Let’s do it on the balcony and get some of that natural light.”
She hobbled outside and stood there with her empty cocktail glass waiting for further instructions.
“All right,” he said, holding up the phone’s camera to her face. “Action.”
Retta looked at the tiny lens and wished she still had a drink to throw back. “Hey, congratulations. Wishing you two nothing but the best.”
Gordon nodded and gave a thumbs up. “Okay, good. Could you give me a bit more?”
“More?” Retta asked.
“Yeah, you know… More.”
Retta nodded and reset her smile. “Hey, Irene and Christopher! I’m so excited for you to take this huge step. All the best in the future.”
“Better,” Gordon said, looking down at the footage he’d captured. “Other people have been throwing in a quick story about the couple as well.”
Did this man not understand she was playing a delicate game? She took a moment to find a story and proceeded to ramble on for two minutes about a silly childhood memory of Irene.
“Again, congratulations,” Retta said at the end of the spiel, raising her empty glass.
“Do you have anything to say to the groom?” the man asked.
This was starting to feel like an interrogation. Who’d sent this Gordon dude, anyway?
Retta nonchalantly shook her head.
“What about—”
“Hey, man. I think you got enough footage from her.”
Both Gordon and Retta jumped as they looked over to find Duncan standing there watching them. A knot in her stomach untangled seeing him.
“You’re right. You’re right,” Gordon said, bowing over clasped hands. “Thanks for your time.”
Duncan drew nearer. He’d gotten a shape up and the dark suit he wore fit him perfectly.
“Hi,” he said as he leaned in to hug her. “Sorry, I’m late.”
It was for show, obviously, but she couldn’t deny the goosebumps that appeared across her arms as his hand made contact with her bare back and he planted a kiss on her cheek.
“It’s fine,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound breathless.
“I was trying to find parking, believe it or not,” he said, before looking her up and down. “You look beautiful.”
Again, with the goosebumps. “Anything looks good when it’s not covered in flour,” she said, laughing through the sudden nerves.
He smiled from one side of his mouth.
“Actually,” Retta said, digging for her phone in her small purse. “Could you take a photo of me real quick? I need to send it to my friend who’s the reason I even bought this.”
Nia wanted to see the full ensemble, and Retta knew she’d not look as put together by the end of the evening when she in all likelihood spilled something on herself. Duncan took her phone and stood a distance away from her as she leaned up against the railing.
He didn’t give her a countdown or anything, so she awkwardly stood there, smiling. However, her smile dropped when her cousin, Monica, from out of nowhere, stepped in front of her and said, “Oh my God. You came.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Monica asked, swatting her arm. “We could’ve carpooled.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been a little busy,” Retta said, sending Duncan a glance.
“Does that mean you’re coming to the wedding too?” her younger cousin asked, taking a sip of her drink.
“Yup, I’ll be there.”
“Very mature of you,” she whispered.
Monica’s sister, Natalie, appeared as suddenly with a martini glass in hand and humongous sunglasses on top of her ‘fro. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Retta replied, wondering how many variations of that sentence she’d have to say this evening.
“Of course not,” Monica said, surveying the dress Retta wore. “This is different for you. Is it new?”
Retta looked down at the formfitting black dress, ignoring the price tag digging into her armpit. “Relatively.”
“Cute,” Monica replied, brushing the fabric with the back of her hand.
“All right, enough chit chat. Let’s get down to business,” Natalie said, pulling out her phone. “I found out two of the five groomsmen are single. Also, the best man has a brother who, based on my intel, won't be here tonight but will be at the wedding.”
There was a group chat that Retta had unceremoniously been added to after getting dumped by Chris. She’d quickly discovered it was a place her cousins and a bunch of their single friends ranted about the dating scene. They also periodically acted as each other’s wingwoman at events and parties.
“So we don’t step on each other’s toes, who are you most drawn to?” Natalie asked.
“I’m good,” Retta said, sending Duncan another glance. He stood patiently a few paces away, watching them. She hoped he wasn’t catching any of this conversation.
The two sisters looked at each other then back to Retta.
“That’s okay,” Monica said, rubbing Retta’s bare arm. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, we didn’t mean to rush you. We thought since you showed up, you were over Ch—”
Retta coughed. “It’s not that. I’d actually like you to meet someone.”
Her cousins turned in the direction she pointed.
Duncan walked up and showcased his dimpled smile before saying, “Duncan Gilmore. Retta’s boyfriend.”
She held her breath waiting for her cousins to object, laugh, or call her a liar. But both of their eyes widened as they looked between her and her supposed man. There was a general greeting made, but Retta could sense they were formulating no less than fifteen questions.
“Is that any good?” Duncan asked, looking at Natalie’s drink.
Her cousin nodded with her mouth agape, presenting her glass as if offering him a sip.
“Cool, I think I’ll go get one,” he said, smiling again. “It was nice meeting you both.”
For a moment Retta thought he was going to leave her there, but he took her hand in his and moved them toward the bar inside the condo. More guests had arrived while she’d been on the balcony, and every corner of the interior was lively. She avoided eye contact by taking a keen interest in the wooden floors.
“You okay?” Duncan asked as they joined the line in front of the bar.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’ve not looked up once, your hand is clammy, and your grip is cutting off circulation.”
She removed her hand from his and wiped it down the front of her dress. “I’m fine.”
But after they’d gotten their drinks, she could admit she was a little skittish. The reality of what they were trying to pull off was hitting her. Plus, she was noticing more lilac decorations.
The
y moved to an unoccupied corner of the home, and she peered over her glass, trying to see if she caught anyone staring.
“I feel like people can tell we’re frauds,” she whispered.
“No one can tell,” Duncan said before moving his body to block her view of the party. “Look at me.” His voice dropped, and she was compelled to meet his gaze. “Nobody can tell. Breathe.”
She nodded.
“No, I mean breathe right now. Inhale for three-seconds then exhale,” he said.
He encouraged her to keep going. However, the deep breathing in addition to their proximity made her feel like she was being hypnotized. They were standing so close she could see the nick on his chin he most likely got from shaving.
“Hey, if making out would help you relax, I’m down,” he said as she realized it looked like she’d been studying his mouth.
She rolled her eyes despite not hating the idea at all. By the end of the short practice, she felt better but slightly embarrassed that he had to calm her down in the first place. She’s the one who brought him here. This was her scheme.
“Thanks,” she said.
A screechy voice, amplified by a microphone, cut through the noise of the party and drew their attention.
“Hello!” Chris’s mom, Mrs. Washington, said from under the balloon archway near the dance floor.
The woman had a sunny disposition and an affinity for broaches. The last time Retta had seen her ex’s mother was Christmas two years ago. She’d always gotten the sense the older woman didn’t totally like her. It was all the vaguely insulting comments she used to make about Retta’s clothes.
“Welcome, everybody,” Mrs. Washington said as the room quieted down. “Dinner will start as soon as the bride and groom arrive, so please grab a seat… And maybe pace yourself, Anita.”
A woman, presumably Anita, gave a thumbs-up as she continued to chug the contents of her wine glass.
“Where do you want to sit?” Duncan asked.
She looked at the two long tables and pointed at seats closest to the bar. As they neared, however, it became clear the spots were reserved.
“Let’s try over there,” Duncan said as they walked toward the middle.
At this point, all she wanted to do was relieve her aching feet.
“Are these taken?” Retta asked a woman with light brown skin in her sixties who sat nearby. She wore a mesh shawl and silver earrings too heavy for her earlobes.
“No, all yours,” the woman said.
As Retta settled into the chair, she relaxed a bit. She disappeared sitting at the expansive table. Duncan’s arm was casually draped over the back of her seat, and the cologne he wore, a scent she could only describe as fresh, wafted toward her every time he shifted.
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” Duncan said, picking up the monogrammed napkin from the plate in front of him. “This isn’t even the wedding.”
“The groom’s parents are pretty showy.”
Duncan huffed.
“You look familiar,” the woman with the heavy earrings said to Retta.
She didn’t recognize her at all, but she supposed it was possible. “I’m Irene’s cousin, Retta.”
“Oh, yes. I can see the resemblance.” The older woman offered her hand. “It’s around the eyes. I’m Margaret, Christopher’s godmother.”
Retta smiled while Duncan introduced himself. She was glad she’d lucked out and was seated next to someone who didn’t seem aware of her history with Chris.
“I was skeptical about them pulling off this wedding in two months, but—” Margaret looked around the condo— “It looks incredible. Sometimes you’re so in love waiting doesn’t make sense.”
Retta was about to reply with one of her canned responses when Duncan said, “But it’s probably best not to rush into things, right? Who’s to say you wouldn’t later discover you’re incompatible?”
The older woman shrugged. “Well, that’s what divorce is for.”
Duncan opened his mouth like he might say something else, but he simply smiled.
“Are you a part of the wedding party, love?” Margaret asked.
“Me? God, no,” Retta said too quickly, before clearing her throat. “I mean, it’s not my thing.”
Margaret nodded, seriously. “Oh, I understand. The first half of the 80s, all my girlfriends got married. It takes a certain personality to handle that much tulle… I’m afraid I didn’t handle it very well.”
Before Retta could ask any follow-up questions, loud applause swept the room.
“Speaking of lovebirds,” the older woman said, pointing toward the entrance of the condo.
Irene and Chris stood in the spacious entryway in matching white outfits, smiling and greeting their guests. Barbie and Ken wished they were so polished. When Retta had been with Chris, she'd often joke about being the dust bunny on his coattails.
She turned away from the scene, trying to look like she’d received the most riveting text message. Opening up to her photos, she studied the ones Duncan had taken of her on the balcony. One was a full body shot and the other one was a close up of her face.
“I think I might have a second career in photography,” Duncan said, peering down at her phone.
She smiled, zooming into the amateur pictures to reveal how unfocused the images actually were.
“Picky, picky,” he said, and another wave of calmness flowed through her.
Duncan was here. She wasn’t doing this evening alone. But even if she was, how many times had she been in the same room as her ex and her cousin? She was here to be seen and prove a point. That didn’t include having an involved conversation with either of them.
“Oh, don’t you two look beautiful,” Margaret said.
Retta looked up to find Irene and Chris pulling out the seats across from her and Duncan.
Of course.
The pressure of their ruse was obviously getting to Retta. Her posture was stiff, her smile too wide, and she’d taken to bouncing her knee. But Duncan hoped these details were only noticeable to him because he sat so close.
Introductions were made, and his first impression of Retta’s cousin was that she seemed sweet. She was the type who giggled at the end of every other sentence. Her fiancé, on the other hand, had an arrogant tilt to his chin and off-putting way of swirling the ice in his glass.
“How’s wedding planning going?” Margaret asked.
“Good, I think,” Irene said as she laughed and gently racked her hand through her straightened hair. “But I won’t lie. I’ve thought of calling off the whole thing and going to the courthouse.”
“You wanted big. We’re going big,” Christopher said as they turned to each other and rubbed their noses together.
“Good man. Spoil her early and often,” Margaret said.
But the pair were so engaged with their public display of affection, they didn’t hear a thing. It got uncomfortable.
“Are we doing this couple thing wrong?” Duncan whispered, leaning in as if he was about to press his nose to Retta’s.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, her tense smile still in place.
“How’s the bakery doing?” Irene asked after she physically separated from her husband-to-be.
Margaret turned to Retta. “You own a bakery?”
“I do.”
“She’s amazing,” Duncan said, leaning forward to look at the older woman.
Irene nodded enthusiastically. “Babe, you really like those”—she waved her hand around her head as if to conjure up the word—“I can’t remember what they’re called.”
“Financiers,” Retta and Christopher said at the same time.
Her bouncing knee stilled, and there was a sustained silence as she and the groom looked at each other. Duncan squinted. What was going on?
They moved on from the strange moment when someone with a high pitched voice let everyone know dinner was served.
While standing in line, they were approached several times. You’d
think Retta had appeared through wizardry the way people reacted to her presence.
“Holy shit. You came,” a woman with a pixie cut and large hoop earrings said as she passed them on her way to the back of the queue.
While they were picking their dinner rolls, an older man interrupted and said, “I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I spotted you earlier.”
After the third interaction like that, Duncan made a mental note to ask Retta about it later.
Back at their table, they found the bride and groom’s parents sitting next to their respective child.
“This might be the nicest thing I’ve ever seen you wear, Retta,” Mrs. Washington said as she settled a napkin across her lap.
Retta responded with a stilted laugh.
Irene’s mother, Wendy, gestured between the two of them. “How long has this been going on?”
They’d never discussed the nitty-gritty details of their “relationship”, and Duncan would’ve let Retta take the lead if she’d actually said anything.
“A few months, right, baby?” Duncan said.
She looked up long enough to smile and nod.
“Months?” the mother-of-the-bride asked. “You sneaky girl. When I was at the bakery the last time, you were acting so coy. I even told Clifton”—she patted the man next to her—“I didn’t think you had a plus one.”
“We were trying to take things slow,” Duncan said after Retta only managed to stutter. He placed his hand over her knee, stilling its movement. “We work next door to each other and didn’t want to make things weird if it didn’t work out.”
“Oh?” Irene asked, stopping with her fork halfway to her mouth. “You work at the spa?”
“Those were the previous owners. I own a boxing gym with my business partner.”
“Explains the muscles,” Margaret said with a wink.
The conversation briefly diverged from what Duncan did for work but returned when someone several seats down asked the engaged couple where they were going on their honeymoon.