“Retta,” someone called out.
Irene’s mother smiled and made quick work toward her.
“Hi, Auntie,” Retta said to the older woman after bracing herself for the interaction.
“Come in, please,” her Aunt Wendy said. She led Retta farther into the luxury condo and kept looking behind as if to make sure she was still following.
When they arrived in the kitchen, Retta carefully placed the creation on the counter next to the other desserts.
“This is beautiful,” her aunt said as she pulled out her phone to take a picture.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Retta took her aunt’s momentary distraction to look around. Two tables that could easily fit fifty guests, were set in the middle of the room she stood in. The enormous windows to her left provided a beautiful view of the city and brought in the setting sun’s golden light. Beyond the immediate space before her, she spotted a living room that had been turned into a dance floor for the occasion.
“All right, my dear, I have to take care of some things, but I’ll find you tonight so we can catch up a little more,” Aunt Wendy said as she offered a hug.
After picking up a cocktail from the bar, Retta slinked closer to where the other guests were congregating. She couldn’t have felt more out of place if she were playing maracas and doing an Irish jig.
More people arrived, and she smiled at those she’d met when she was with Chris. None of them maintained eye contact with her. She didn’t hold it against them, however, because Retta knew her own friends wouldn’t be quick to make conversation with one of her exes. Consequently, she was left to study the artwork on the walls as she waited for at least one of her many cousins or Duncan to show up.
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 madeherlilac 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?
