Make a Scene

by Mimi Grace

  “I got you,” Duncan whispered, reaching between their bodies for her clit and kissing her chin. “Let go.”

  And like her body had been waiting for his permission, an orgasm ripped through her that couldn’t help but be expressed in a scream. Her body seized, and she held onto Duncan’s firm torso as she let ecstasy run its course.

  He was still fucking her when he scooped her up closer to his chest. She kissed his shoulder and held on tight until he came on loud grunts and a shout.

  And for a long time, all that was heard was their heavy breathing.

  There’d been a brief moment after Retta had fallen asleep where Duncan’s instinct to flee had surfaced. Don’t get him wrong, fucking Retta had been amazing. So much so, they’d done it two more times before finally settling down to sleep.

  But this quiet moment where he held her long after their bodies had recovered from orgasms wasn’t what he was used to. It was too intimate, something reserved for people who made five-year plans with their partners. However, as he now lost feeling in his arm from being the big spoon, he could admit he didn’t want to spend the early hours of Sunday any other way.

  What helped with this unusual calm and acceptance of such intimacy was the knowledge that this wasn’t a real relationship and Retta was still hung up on her ex-boyfriend. There’d be no attachments on either side at the end of this. Or at least that’s what he told himself as he drifted off to sleep, breathing in the lingering perfume on her skin.

  In the morning, Duncan woke up to Retta’s warm body pressing up against his and her long limbs entangled in the sheets. He ran kisses down her exposed arm, loving the way she leaned into his touch, even in sleep. Dragging himself out of bed, he took a shower and got ready for the day. When he returned to his room, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through her phone with the sheet around her torso and her hair in disarray.

  “You don’t mind if I borrow some clothes, do you?” she asked, nodding to her rumpled dress in the corner.

  He grinned. “Pick whatever you want.”

  “How magnanimous,” she said as she stood up, pulling the bedding with her.

  God, it had only been a few hours, but seeing Retta draped in white fabric like some Grecian goddess had him wanting to drag her back to bed.

  “If you like that,” he said, advancing toward her. “You’ll be pleased to know I’m making breakfast, and there’s an unused toothbrush in the left drawer in the bathroom.”

  She took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

  Forget what they’d done all night, that gesture left him feeling light and peppy. Once she disappeared into the bathroom, he moved to the kitchen to start a simple breakfast.

  “I think you win the Who Wore It Better contest,” Retta said after she reemerged thirty minutes later, showered and in his t-shirt and shorts.

  “Not even close.”

  They probably would’ve stood there staring at each other for a while if the toast hadn’t sprung from the toaster, pulling them out their weird trance.

  Retta relieved him of a plate of scrambled eggs and found a spot on the high stools at his counter. “What would you be doing today if—”

  “If I wasn’t catering to you?” he asked, bringing along the toast and condiments.

  “Please,” she said, reaching for the hot sauce.

  Chuckling, he said, “I probably would’ve gone for a run, taken a shower, then headed to the gym to do some work.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like what I expected.”

  “I see you waking up early as you usually do and painting,” Duncan said, taking a large bite from the toast he’d smashed avocado on.

  She stilled. “How do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “You told me that you wanted to pursue painting when you were younger. I assume you still enjoy it.”

  “I do,” she said, smiling.

  They ate in silence for a little before she said, “Oh, did you get my email about the wedding weekend?”

  “I saw it,” he said. “We’re staying at your grandmother’s place, right?”

  “Yes, and I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to call her Ms. Edie or ma’am. She hates when people who aren’t her actual grandchildren call her Granny or Grandma.”

  “Don’t worry, older women love me.”

  Retta shook her head so hard that he thought her glasses would fall off her face. “My grandmother isn’t the press-you-to-her-bosom type of lady. She’s sometimes cranky, doesn't know a cookie recipe, and she’ll tell you what she feels without provocation.”

  She sounded like Anthony.

  “Got it,” he said.

  After they’d finished and cleared their breakfast, Duncan got his wallet and keys. “I need to drop something off at my dad’s place. It’s on the way. It’ll take seconds.”

  “That’s okay,” Retta said.

  The drive was quick, and when they arrived at the quaint townhouse his father now lived in, Duncan retrieved the box of power tools from the back of his truck. His dad had been bugging him to return them since he was starting projects around his home. Jogging up the stairs to the front porch, Duncan took note of the fresh paint on the door trim before knocking.

  His father almost immediately answered as if he’d been expecting him, but asked, “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

  “Dropping these off,” he replied, raising the box.

  Only after narrowing how open the door was, did his father reach for his belongings. “Thanks. You have a good day now, son.”

  “You, too,” he said, slowly.

  As he was about to turn and head back to his vehicle, someone from inside the house said, “Malcolm, don’t forget to tip.”

  Duncan froze, recognizing the voice immediately. His mother opened the door, emerging from inside the townhouse swathed in a large fuzzy robe.

  His dad’s head dropped, and his mom’s eyes widened as she started talking quickly.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Duncan, honey—”

  “I swear to God if you two are getting back together…”

  They didn’t say anything, and Duncan laughed humorlessly before turning around and striding back to his car.

  Retta seemed to sense something was up because she didn't say a word. He barely took the time to fasten his seatbelt before driving off.

  All he could do was focus on the road and the feeling of the steering wheel under his hands.

  “You took the wrong turn,” Retta said after several minutes.

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  Quickly, he found his way back onto the correct road, and as they neared the intersection across from the condo, Retta said, “None of my business, but I’m compelled as your fake girlfriend to ask if you’re okay.”

  He was about to brush off her inquiry, but as he pulled up behind her parked car on the side of the road, she didn’t look like she was asking out of obligation. Her eyebrows were drawn together, and her body was almost fully turned toward him.

  “My parents are the last people who should reconcile,” he said. “They’ve given marriage a shot and proved time and time again it doesn’t work between them.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Nah, it’s fine. I think I’m just pissed about how they have my sister and me writing speeches for their divorce party. It’s—”

  “Oh, crap, I’m about to get a ticket,” Retta said, removing her seatbelt and pointing to the parking enforcement officer advancing toward her car.

  She looked at him. “Call me and we can finish this conversation, okay?”

  But even as she made the sincere offer, he knew they both knew he wouldn’t be doing that. And maybe that’s why she leaned over and kissed him before exiting his truck.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After spending several hours in a birthing class, Kym and Retta found a spot outside of a chic Italian cafe where they could eat their gelato. The sound of street
performers and bicycle bells accompanied the breeze Retta was happy to feel on this warm day.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” Kym said.

  Len had been unable to make the class because of work, and Retta had stepped in to take notes and be there for her friend. However, she hadn’t anticipated the amount of information that would be thrown at her and how overwhelming it all was.

  Several times throughout the class, she had to conceal her panicked responses. She wasn’t the one about to give birth, after all.

  “No, problem,” Retta said. “It was…”

  “A lot?” Kym asked, smiling.

  “Yeah. Jesus. So much.”

  Her friend laughed, spooning some gelato into her mouth. “How was the engagement party?”

  Oh, yes. The engagement party.

  “It was great,” Retta said. There was no controlling the inflection on the last word.

  “Good. That’s good,” Kym said. “Your family bought it?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “So, it’s all going according to plan?”

  Retta stabbed her frozen dessert with the spoon and took a breath. “Nope, I like him. Like really like him.”

  Kym removed her sunglasses and looked at her. “Shit.”

  “Yup.”

  She realized it after she’d arrived home from spending the night with him. While folding laundry and cleaning her apartment, she caught herself smiling and unable to focus on the podcast playing.

  “If you’re feeling it, he’s probably too. Maybe you guys can actually start dating.”

  Retta shook her head. “He doesn’t want that.”

  “He told you?”

  Looking out into the distance, Retta said, “Yeah, he likes short and casual relationships.”

  And it was understandable, given the drama he witnessed between his parents.

  “But people change their minds. Circumstances change them,” Kym said, scraping the bottom of her cup. “Look at me. I’ve purchased tutus for the baby. Do you hear me? I bought my baby tutus in four different colors, Ret. Pre-pregnancy Kymberlé wouldn’t dream of purchasing something so impractical.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a personal shift. I can’t expect that from him.”

  Her friend studied her for a moment. “So, that’s it? You’re going to end it after the wedding without even having a conversation?”

  Shrugging, Retta said, “Yeah, I’m not opening up simply to get rejected.” She could imagine Duncan being so sweet about it too. “It’s not like I’m in love with him. I’ll enjoy the sex—”

  “The sex?” Kym practically shouted.

  A few people sitting around them turned, including a dog at his owner’s feet.

  Retta awkwardly smiled at the strangers. “I don’t think you said that loud enough.”

  “Sorry,” Kym responded, lowering her voice. “I thought you two were doing this Hallmark Movie style. You know, chaste kiss here. Hand on waist there.”

  “Yeah, it started that way.”

  Now they were doing other things the FCC wouldn’t care for.

  “But I’m going after emotionally available men when this is through,” Retta said.

  “Fair.”

  “Like Steve. He’s—”

  “Steve? When did Steve come back into the picture?”

  “Oh, did I forget to tell you he didn’t actually ghost me?”

  “Ah, yeah,” Kym replied, frowning as she leaned forward.

  “I didn’t enter his number correctly in my phone,” Retta said.

  “And?”

  “And he asked me out again when I bumped into him, and I might take him up on his offer later.”

  “But if you’re open to something with Steve, and he’s interested in you, why not take him to the wedding instead?” Kym asked.

  “B-because I’ve already committed to Duncan.”

  Kym wiped her hands on the napkin. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

  As Duncan pulled up to his mother’s house, a different sort of anxiety settled over him than usual. They were supposed to move his father’s belongings to his new home, but after what he saw days before, he wondered if this wasn’t actually a gathering where his parents would announce they’d decided to remain married.

  Entering the house, he could hear his sister and father downstairs. A good sign. They were probably working through his father’s extensive library.

  Moving through the kitchen to get to the basement, he found his mother still in her bonnet sitting at the kitchen island with an open book in front of her.

  His dad happened to emerge from the basement at that moment carrying a basin full of papers. All three of them looked at one another for a moment before simultaneously opening their mouths to speak. But nothing came out.

  “What’s going on?” Gwen said, following behind their dad up the stairs with a garbage bag slung over her shoulder. “Why is everyone being weird?”

  “I was about to ask them whether or not the divorce is still happening,” Duncan said.

  Gwen’s eyes widened as she looked between them. “Wait, what? Why wouldn’t—”

  “I found Mom at Dad’s place.”

  The bag his sister held dropped to the tiled floor with a soft thud. “Are you serious?”

  His mother closed her book and got up from her seat. “Yes, of course the divorce is still happening.”

  “Yeah?” Duncan asked skeptically, folding his arms.

  “No, for real. I don’t want to be here in three weeks bringing back your stuff, Dad,” Gwen said.

  His father released a robust laugh. “The divorce papers are drawn. Things are being settled. Trust us.”

  Their mother nodded. “And I know you might interpret some things as signs that we won’t go through with it, but you have to understand your dad and I have known each other for so long that it’s sometimes easier to sleep with—”

  “Nope,” Gwen said.

  “We can end it right there,” Duncan said, squeezing past his father to get to the basement.

  The conversation at least temporarily assuaged his fears of a divorce cancelation, and he settled in for the long chore of sorting and packing his father’s belongings.

  An hour in, Duncan held up a decorative silver tray and said, “Dad.”

  His father studied the item for a long time, and Duncan was about to put it in the “I don’t know” pile when he said, “It’s your Mom’s.”

  “Look what I found,” Gwen said from the other corner of the basement. She was seated cross-legged on the ground with a photo album in her lap.

  Both he and his father approached and stood behind her.

  Gwen laughed as she pointed to an increasingly degenerating photo of their father with a huge afro and an aggressively popped collar.

  As his sister kept flipping the pages, Duncan enjoyed seeing pictures he’d never known existed.

  There was one where his dad was definitely smoking a blunt and another one where he lay on the hood of a car. Some of the pictures featured their mother. In one she was eating ice cream and sporting a ‘fro similar to his father's in the previous image.

  “This is when we went to Niagara in seventy-nine,” his dad said, pointing at the picture of them in front of the waterfalls. “We’d recently started working at a school together.”

  Another photo showed them on a veranda somewhere drinking cola in glass bottles.

  “You guys look so happy,” Gwen said, running her fingers over the photos trapped under the thin plastic.

  His father huffed, but it was true. They did look happy.

  The next page held a photograph that had been carelessly sealed under the film. It was a family portrait they’d taken back when Duncan was a preteen.

  “God, I remember this day,” Gwen said.

  He did too. They’d gone to the large Walmart on the other side of town to take them. The trip unfolded as usual with his parents arguing over something.

  Duncan shook his head.
“Felt bad for that photographer.”

  However, none of the drama of that day was evident in the glossy final product. It looked like a stock image you’d find on a brochure in a doctor's office.

  Seeing these photos was a good reminder not to get fooled by the veneer of relationships. He needed that dose of cynicism especially since he’d been creating a fantasy with Retta that he found increasingly alluring.

  The sound of descending footsteps pulled Duncan out of his thoughts, and the three of them turned toward the staircase.

  “I didn’t realize how much stuff we’d accumulated,” his mother said, laughing lightly.

  There wasn’t a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered with stuff.

  “We’ll have to pick this up next weekend,” Gwen said.

  “I actually won’t be able to help out next weekend,” Duncan said, avoiding eye contact by flipping through a decade-old magazine.

  “Oh?” his mom asked.

  “I’m out of town,” he replied vaguely.

  “For what?” his father asked as he added a desk lamp to the “keep” stack.

  “A wedding.”

  Everyone turned to him.

  “A wedding?” his mother asked. “Whose wedding?”

  “A friend’s cousin’s wedding.”

  He’d let them draw their own conclusions.

  “Is the friend that woman I met a few weeks ago? What’s her name?” his sister said, pausing for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Retta.”

  Dammit.

  “Yeah, it’s her cousin’s wedding.”

  “Retta?” his dad asked.

  His mom walked further into the basement. “Is she a trainer at your gym?”

  “No, she owns the bakery next door to Spotlight,” Gwen said before he could.

  Duncan sensed the forthcoming questions so he said, “And yes, she’s strictly a friend.”

  (If a friend was someone you made come and pretended to date.)

  His statement eliminated any interest his parents had in discussing Retta. A good thing too considering this was most likely the last time he’d ever bring her up.

  Chapter Sixteen