Duncan reread the instructions for the blueberry scones with lemon glaze for the third time and looked back at the soupy mess he had in his bowl. There was no reason why he shouldn’t have perfectly pliable dough at this point.
Grabbing the hefty bag of flour, he added more of the powder to the mixture. While combining the extra ingredient, the buzzer to his apartment rang.
He’d been expecting Anthony to come through with some documents that needed signing, but when his friend stepped into his apartment he had nothing with him.
“How are you?” Anthony asked, reducing the volume on the TV before taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter.
Duncan looked up from where he’d dropped the more solid dough onto the counter to roll. “Fine?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Duncan said, as he rummaged through his cupboard for something he could use in place of a rolling pin. “Where’s this document I’m supposed to sign?”
“Forget that. You’ve not been yourself,” Anthony said. “There’s been talk around the gym.”
Duncan paused from where he was washing the outside of a water bottle and frowned at his friend. Was this some sort of intervention? “What are people saying?”
“That you’re acting more like me.”
“How?”
“You haven’t said more than two sentences outside of a class all week,” Anthony said.
Notching his chin upward, Duncan said, “I didn’t know introversion was a crime. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll smile a little more for you if that will make you feel better—”
“See,” Anthony said, pointing at him. “Twins.”
Duncan sighed, returning to the baking task in front of him. He pushed the water bottle over the dough, watching it flatten before his eyes. “I’ll be back to normal once I get through the divorce party.”
“That’s what inspired this?” Anthony asked, gesturing to his flour-stained torso and cluttered counter.
Using the open side of a glass, Duncan cut out the dough. “Yup.”
“What about Retta?”
The bell went off telling him the oven had finished preheating.
“What about her?”
“You haven’t talked about what happened at the wedding,” Anthony said.
“The wedding was called off. But my job was done,” he said, focusing on placing the dough on the tray without ripping it.
Duncan had fully expected to run into Retta while taking out the garbage or arriving at work for the day. He’d even planned how he’d react and what he’d say. But in the weeks since the wedding, he hadn’t seen so much as her apron strings.
“Did you want it to be done?” Anthony asked.
“What kind of question is that? It was a fake relationship.” He tossed the tray into the oven. “Of course I wanted it to be done.”
“So, you’ve started seeing other people?”
Duncan shrugged. “I’ve been talking.” He’d only downloaded the app. “But of course business has been busy, so not a lot of time to go out.”
“Hm. You’re not too busy to bake really bad pastries though,” Anthony said.
“This is therapeutic, believe it or not. You should appreciate that since you’ve suddenly turned into a counselor,” Duncan said, discarding the dirty bowls and tools in the sink.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching a scene from a popular show play out on his TV screen.
