Make a Scene

by Mimi Grace

  “Yeah.”

  He swung his legs over onto the floor, but he sat there for a while making circles on the palm of her hand with his thumb. How could a simple caress make it hard to draw a breath?

  “Duncan?”

  “Sorry, I’m trying to wake up,” he said as he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward his makeshift bed once he got up and collected his duffle bag.

  She was left standing in the dark, listening to the drone of the bathroom fan and running water. During those minutes she decided to use the soft light of the disappearing moon to retrieve a few blankets and make tea to take along on their trip.

  By the time Duncan emerged from the washroom, she had everything prepared.

  “Let’s get a look at this sunrise then,” he said.

  Duncan was glad Retta had suggested they take his large pick-up truck because he didn’t think her small car would’ve made it through the bumpy road during the last fifteen minutes of the journey. It was the type of rough terrain where he was sure they’d arrive with their teeth in their laps. Mercifully, they got to the top of the mountain with no dental emergencies.

  They parked in a clearing the size of a basketball court, bracketed off by small trees and shrubs. It provided them with the perfect view of the still-sleeping town below.

  “That’s Cedar Lake,” Retta said, pointing to the body of water far in the distance to their left.

  As the gray sky lightened, they created a comfortable cocoon outside in the back of the pick-up with blankets Retta had had the foresight to bring.

  Climbing up the tailgate, he settled on the rear panel of the truck, and when Retta joined him with a thermos and cups, he hauled her against him.

  “I can’t believe you have me out here in the dark waiting for the sun,” he said.

  She handed him his mug filled with tea. “I promise it’s worth it. Especially since we’re indoors all day tomorrow at the wedding.”

  They’d been working toward this event, and as they sat there in the dusk, he wondered how she was handling her ex’s impending marriage. He shouldn’t care, but he did.

  “How are you feeling about tomorrow, anyway?”

  She looked at him. “Good. Why? Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No,” he said, quickly. “Nothing like that. I’m… I was wondering if you’re accomplishing what you set out with this whole plan.”

  “I think so,” she said, laughing. “It’s kinda funny how this is all a self-made problem I could get rid of by not caring.”

  It was beyond Duncan what she saw in her ex. She was going through all of this for a man who was dull, uncharismatic, and entirely too—

  “It’s time,” Retta said, straightening against him.

  The previously gray sky brightened before it burst into magenta and coral as the sun slowly emerged from behind the mountains. It brushed the town below in its glow. And downy clouds tinged purple drifted by with silhouetted birds close behind. The whole scene looked like it had been computer-generated.

  Duncan pulled out his phone to take a photo, but he soon realized it didn’t capture the essence of what he was viewing. “I get it.”

  She sighed. “Right?”

  He looked at her as she watched the scene. The light cast its warm hues on her face, and he had an urge, yet again, to capture beauty with a picture. Instead, he lowered his head and nibbled on the tip of her ear.

  “Look at the fucking view,” she said, squirming under his touch.

  Looking at her, he said, “I am.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Pfft. I know you can do better than that corny ass line.”

  He laughed against her scarf covered head as a feeling he couldn’t really identify settled in his body. The contents of his chest wanted to break free.

  Refusing to interrogate it right then and there, he nuzzled Retta’s neck, taking in the light vanilla scent of her body lotion.

  When she turned to look at him, he thought she might repeat her request for him to watch the sunrise, but she kissed him instead. Her tongue was still warm from the tea.

  With her right arm, she reached up and around and closed her fist around his hair. “Touch me.”

  Her desired destination for him was made clear when she widened her legs.

  “Is this why you invited me?” he asked as he moved his hand to the waistband of her leggings. “Was the sunrise an excuse for me to play with this pretty pussy?”

  She didn't answer as his hand followed the strip of trimmed hair toward her clit. Her breath faltered, and she leaned back into him. Less than a minute into stroking and rubbing her, his fingers were coated with her wetness.

  “You’re trying to kill me,” she said when he stopped his teasing circles around her clit to spread her legs wider.

  He kissed her temple. “Never.”

  “Tell me you have a condom,” she said, fondling the front of his pants.

  Reaching into his wallet, he retrieved the square packet before he lowered his track pants and rolled the latex onto his already hard dick.

  “All yours,” he said as he watched her drop her own pants and straddle him. He wanted to feel her bare body against him, but they were already too far gone.

  She cupped his face in her hands as she lowered onto his dick, and he forced himself to savor it. Take in every detail. They both moaned into each other’s mouths as she settled herself fully on him.

  Her glasses sat precariously on her nose as she stilled and got comfortable with him inside her like this. When she finally started moving, he grabbed her hips and kept her upright. She found a rhythm that was torturously slow, but he was sustained by her little open mouth gasps and the way her eyes rolled back into her head every time she came down to the hilt.

  He wanted to extend this moment.

  Halfway through an upward stroke, she breathlessly said, “Help me go faster.”

  Drawing her forehead to his, he met her next downward movement with a thrust.

  “Duncan,” she yelped, leaning forward to hold onto the vehicle's structure.

  “Is this what your pussy needs?” he asked, meeting her once again with a powerful drive upward. “It’s all fucking yours, Retta. Every inch of it.”

  While their bodies connected and produced crude, raw noises, he realized he’d have to go back to his real life soon. How did he do that when he knew what it felt like to be with her, to hear his name on her lips? He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. All he could do at this point was give her the most of this fucking.

  “God, I’m coming” she whimpered, putting two of her fingers into his mouth before pressing them to her clit. She rubbed herself and continued to bounce up and down on his dick until a scream left her parted lips.

  Her firm tug on his hair spurred him to hold her in place as he drove into her slick pussy in search of his own ecstasy.

  Their gazes locked, and she said, “Come for me.”

  He stilled as a shuddering orgasm hit and had him seeing more vibrant colors than he’d witnessed in the sky.

  After their morning on the mountain, the rest of the day had been spent lounging around the house and in the backyard, but at around six in the afternoon, Retta suggested they prepare a meal. That’s how Duncan found himself arranging vegetables picked from Ms. Edie’s garden onto wooden skewers. Ms. Edie excluded herself from the process and was instead completing a Sudoku puzzle on her tablet at the kitchen counter.

  “Don’t make them too big, Coretta.”

  Duncan laughed at the exasperated look on Retta’s face as she adjusted the size of her zucchini slices. This all felt comfortably domestic.

  “You ready for the wedding? Everything ironed out and pressed? You know how they are,” Ms. Edie said.

  Retta shook her head, catching his questioning look. “She’s under the impression that my dad’s side of the family is snobbish.”

  “They are,” the older woman said. “I’m sorry I don�
��t know the different regions that make wine. And if I have to sprain my tongue to pronounce an alcoholic drink, is it really worth it?”

  “Is that why you’re not coming to the wedding?” Duncan asked, smiling.

  Ms. Edie put down her tablet. “Well, that and the fact the groom is—”

  Retta coughed and banged the counter.

  He looked between the women as they communicated with their eyes.

  “What exactly happens at weddings?” he asked, taking that as a cue to change subjects.

  “You’ve never been to one?” Retta asked.

  “I’ve seen it in movies, and I went to a few as a kid.”

  Retta dumped another heap of vegetables in front of him. “Oh, it’s basically drunk dancing to Top 40 hits till early in the morning.”

  “So, a good time?” he asked.

  “If people could stop pulling out their phones on the dance floor, it could be. Nobody wants to see themselves all over social media mid-twerk, sweaty, and tipsy.”

  He smiled at her. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Yes, and now all I do at weddings are the line dances.”

  “Don’t forget the long-winded speeches,” Ms. Edie said. “Every single one I’ve heard can be shortened. Your Vegas trip isn’t special.”

  Duncan laughed thinking about the brutal process he’d been through trying to formulate a speech these last few weeks. “I’ll have to hire you to look over mine then.”

  “What’s it for? Wedding? Bar mitzvah? Retirement?” Ms. Edie asked, counting off the options on her hand. “I’ll tell you exactly what you need to say.”

  “My parent’s divorce party.”

  Ms. Edie blinked at him for several seconds. “I’m sorry. Did you say divorce party?”

  “Granny,” Retta said. Her tone had a subtle warning.

  He nodded and couldn’t stop smiling as the older woman stood up, grabbed her tablet and coffee mug, and walked out of the room.

  Sighing, Retta went on to finish chopping the vegetables with skillful precision.

  When she moved over to his area to expedite the skewering, she asked, “So your parents are still going through with it? The divorce, I mean.”

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  “And how’s your speech?” Retta asked.

  “A delicate balance between the truth and what people want to hear.”

  “If my grandmother was still in the room, she’d tell you not to mince your words.”

  “There’s no way I'm speaking from the heart at this thing,” he said.

  “Oh, I get it. I mince my words all the time. That’s why I aggressively journal,” she said before snapping her fingers. “Now, there’s an idea. You should write an unfiltered version of your speech that you won’t show anyone. That way you can vent without hurting people’s feelings.”

  It couldn’t be any more painful than coming up with multiple synonyms for the same word.

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was the morning of the wedding, and Retta got ready with a knot in the pit of her stomach like it might be her walking down the aisle. All the breathing and affirming words weren’t helping the anxiety coursing through her body.

  If she were honest, she would admit her nerves were not only about the day ahead. Yesterday, while watching the sunrise with Duncan, she’d been plagued with the feeling of wanting to stop time.

  She gave the dress she’d picked out with Nia’s help a final tug before pushing down her turbulent thoughts and heading downstairs.

  “Now hold it,” Duncan said before Retta entered the room.

  When she rounded the corner, she found her grandmother in a fuchsia tracksuit with short spikey maroon hair, performing a one-legged squat. Duncan stood beside her in his suit, positioned to prevent any mishaps.

  “Oh my God,” Retta said when her grandmother straightened and laughed. That particular sound surfaced as often as a lunar eclipse.

  “Coretta,” her grandmother said. “You see this?” She proceeded to repeat the move without hesitation.

  “Incredible,” Retta responded, shaking her head.

  Directing her gaze toward Duncan, she found him already looking at her. Her stomach did a somersault, and she swallowed hard.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. There were several feet separating them, but he might as well have whispered the words right into her ear.

  Her grandmother walked over to her, examining the material and holding her at arm’s-length. “I agree. Come, Duncan. I’ll take a picture before you two go.”

  “Let me quickly tie my tie,” he said, moving to the bathroom.

  “He’s a nice boy,” her grandmother said after he’d left the room.

  Retta nodded, sipping the tea she’d poured. She’d opted out of being smug about the change of opinion.

  “Now I can see why you love him.”

  Hot liquid sloshed over the edge of Retta’s mug. “Crap.” She moved toward the sink to run her hand under cold water.

  “Am I wrong?” her grandmother asked, handing Retta a rag to dry with.

  “Yes, it’s very early.”

  Among other things.

  The older woman made a contemplative sound as she grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. Thankfully, the conversation was dropped when Duncan exited the bathroom.

  It was showtime.

  Retta drove them over to the church. Duncan didn’t try to fill the silence, sensing she might need time to mentally prepare. Once they arrived, he assumed his role as boyfriend and took her hand in his.

  “You ready?” he whispered, kissing the back of her hand.

  She nodded and smiled at him as they entered the church. The foyer was bustling with perfectly dressed children who ran around and adults in vibrant colored outfits.

  “Coretta! Look at you, my darling,” a woman with a pink dress and a matching hat said from across the foyer. She came over to hug Retta.

  “Auntie, this is Duncan. Baby, this is my Aunt Cynthia.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Duncan said, giving the woman his biggest, brightest smile.

  “Oh, Retta,” the woman said, looking between the two of them. She drew close to her niece and whispered something in her ear.

  Retta laughed, monotone and airy. Nothing like her natural squeaky cackle.

  When the older woman departed Retta leaned in toward him and said, “She thinks you’re handsome, but my dress is too short apparently.”

  Duncan looked at her green outfit that popped against her brown skin. Her long legs extended forever past the hem. “I disagree.”

  She squeezed his hand in response.

  “But I will say,” he lowered his voice, “I’ve already pictured you bent over in this dress.”

  Retta didn’t even look at him. She simply dropped her head and brought a finger to her ear like she had a Bluetooth earpiece on. “Mhmm. Beelzebub? Yeah, I have a twenty-nine-year-old male for you.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. She was definitely more relaxed than she had been at the engagement party.

  As they continued to walk around the foyer, they stopped once in a while for Retta to introduce him to more of her family.

  “The man approaching us in the red tie is my Uncle Seth,” she whispered and turned her head so her mouth wasn’t visible. “He refuses to remember what anyone in the family under the age of forty does for a living. He assumes we’re all still in school.”

  “Hi, Uncle,” Retta said, turning back around and smiling at the stocky man with thin glasses.

  “Oh, Coretta, I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s school going?”

  Duncan smiled.

  Retta shrugged and steered him into a brief conversation about some sporting game before they exited that conversation as well.

  Mrs. Majors appeared from somewhere in the crowd and advanced toward them. “When did you get here?”

  “A few minutes ago,” Retta said
to her mother.

  Mrs. Majors looked at him. “It’s nice to see you again, Duncan. You’ll need to come to dinner soon so we can actually have a proper conversation.”

  “I’ll have to look at my schedule,” he said, feeling a bit bad about the fact that he already knew there wouldn’t be a dinner.

  Satisfied with his response, Mrs. Majors squeezed both their arms and left to talk to others.

  Meanwhile, the two of them headed to the auditorium to grab their seats.

  “Left is for the bride, the right side is for the groom,” an usher said as he handed them programs in the shape of fans and two vials of what Retta told him was bubble solution.

  “For after the ceremony when they walk out of the church,” she elaborated.

  Immediately inside the sanctuary, there was a large framed photo of Irene and Chris that Retta stopped to study.

  Duncan wished he was a mind reader. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, immediately abandoning the photograph to move deeper into the church.

  As they settled into a pew, Retta’s knee started bouncing with no evidence of slowing down.

  He playfully squeezed her thigh and eyed her shoe with the aggressive heel. “You’re going to make a hole in the floorboards.”

  She smiled and crossed her legs, trapping his hand. But even the little flirting couldn’t distract him from how long everything was taking. He kept looking at his phone; they were twenty minutes behind schedule. Sweat was starting to build around his torso, and he now knew why the programs were fashioned into fans. The church had no central air conditioning. He waved the fan back and forth, making sure he got Retta as well.

  “What time are these things supposed to start?” he asked not too quietly.

  “Baby, this is a Black wedding. We’re early,” the woman sitting beside them said.

  After several minutes, Retta’s mother snuck toward them from the front of the church, waving at people but definitely on a mission.

  “Sweetheart, could you run this to Irene,” her mother asked, holding out a pair of earrings. “I can ask someone else if—”