“Hey, this is Kym. Please consider leaving a text rather than a message after the beep.”
“They’re getting married,” Retta said to the robot recording her. “I’m not bothered they’re doing it. I’m annoyed I didn’t see it coming.” She hiccupped and picked at her chipping nail polish. “I don’t know. I thought they’d eventually break up, and I wouldn’t have to see his face at every family event. Also, who announces their engagement at someone else’s—”
The click on the other end of the line told her she’d exceeded her recording limit, and before she could leave another message, a knock sounded at the door.
“One second,” Retta said as she pressed her phone between her chin and chest while she washed her hands.
She exited the bathroom, and the reintroduction to the racket in the house made her stop short of the living room area. A dish of potpourri lay upturned on the floor from someone pushing the sofa into the side table, no doubt in an attempt to get closer to the golden couple.
Screw it.
Retta had carpooled with a family member, but she decided she’d grab her purse, say her goodbyes, and get an Uber home.
But during the second step of her escape plan, a shrill whistle drew everyone’s attention back to the center of the living room.
Irene’s father, a big man with broad shoulders and dark skin, whose voice and appearance were similar to Retta’s own father, joined the couple to say a few words.
Seeing no other option, Retta turned to listen.
“It took you two a while to get together, but your souls were meant for each other. Look”—he gestured between the three of them and the variations of blue they wore—“you’re already dressing like part of the family.”
A smattering of laughter followed.
Retta tempered down the impulse to roll her eyes at the concept of “soul mates.” Irene and Chris had probably met at a function like this one, talking around a punch bowl about the music playing or maybe laughing at a joke the other said.
She’d once read most people end up with a partner who lives in walking or driving distance from them. That information made relationships less ethereal and more about proximity and convenience.
As the speech progressed, Retta felt the subtle looks people in the room gave her. She knew what they might be searching for: a slight twitch in her face, a stiff smile, or maybe pure, unmitigated misery.
Would this be how the wedding would unfold for Retta if she had a lapse in judgment and decided to attend? Everyone waiting for her to uncharacteristically collapse across a church pew or brood in shadowy corners of the reception hall like some soap opera villainess?
After the speech ended and a round of cheers was lifted, Retta made her move toward the front door. She found her nephew, niece, and two of her cousin’s children playing with a balloon in the entryway.
Walking to the coat closet she asked, “What game are we playing?”
They all shrugged and continued to play, but her six-year-old niece, her brother’s daughter, rushed up to her and wrapped her arms around Retta. “Do you think I can be a flower girl?”
“I don’t know, mama. You’ll have to ask Auntie Irene,” Retta said as she tucked a few braids with beads on the end of them behind the child’s ear.
“Are you going to the wedding?” her nephew asked as he stretched his body out to catch the falling balloon.
Retta hesitated. She didn’t really need to be grilled by an eight-year-old on why she wouldn’t be attending this particular celebration, so she said, “I like weddings. There’s cake, dancing—”
“Mommy says you won’t come,” her niece said.
“Hm?”
“Yeah, she says you’d be too sad because you like Auntie Irene’s boyfriend,” her nephew added as he punted the balloon.
Retta tightly pressed her lips together. Obviously, the family news cycle had been slow, because she thought she’d stopped being the topic of gossip months ago. Maybe she could convince her cousin to get another face tattoo.
Poor Retta. Such a shame what happened.
The sentiment haunted her.
“I thought you were leaving?” her nephew asked as she chucked her coat back into the closet.
“Nope,” Retta said. “I’ve changed my mind. The party just started.”
