“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.”
ChapterEighteen
It wasthe 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 was being 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. 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.
