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 an 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 raked 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.
