“Also, if my memory serves me correctly, you were against this at the beginning. Why do you care?” Duncan asked.
“I know I’m probably the last person you should take relationship advice from, considering I’m hung up on…” Anthony straightened and cleared his throat.
Frowning, Duncan studied his friend. For the years they’d known each other, Anthony hadn’t been in any standout relationships.
“You’re interested in someone?” Duncan asked.
“No, n-never mind that,” Anthony said. “My point is there’s only room for one grumpy person, so maybe you should reevaluate this breakup with Retta.”
To what end? He liked her, but it wasn’t as if he was in love with her. Plus, they’d already exceeded the length of time he usually spent in a real relationship.
The oven timer went off, and Duncan pulled out the scones. He looked at the flat, misshapen product and laughed. “I view relationships like this. You can start with the best intentions—I woke up today wanting to make blueberry scones. I followed all the rules from the expert,” Duncan shook the paper the recipe was written on, “and it still ended up like this.”
He pointed at the tray of unsalvageable mess.
“Maybe she’s worth the attempt,” Anthony said, standing up and heading to the door. “And the reason your scones are fucked is because you used rice flour.”
Duncan picked up the bag and read the label then swore under his breath.
Before Anthony closed the door behind himself, he said, “The good thing is, next time you’ll know better.”
When Retta returned home from the wedding weekend from hell, she wasn’t surprised to see the world had continued to turn despite the fact she was simultaneously restless and numb.
That being said, she refused to continue to wallow. This was a “breakup” with a guy she’d grown fond of during the span of a few months, not a boyfriend of many years. That’s why she’d wasted no time in setting up another date with Steve.
“I can’t believe we finally got around to having a second one of these,” Steve said, pushing his auburn hair from his face to look at her.
It was a little before noon on a Sunday, and they strolled through a park near her apartment. Joggers and cyclists passed them, while families set up for picnics on the grass on either side of the path they walked on.
“Me neither,” Retta replied, making an effort to smile and look him in the eye every chance she got. She was determined to give him her full attention. No random thoughts about Duncan would prevail today.
“We’ve been having great weather so far this summer,” Steve said as he turned his face upward, presumably to get the full effect of the sun.
“Yeah, but I think they’re worried about wild fires up north because of the heat and the lack of rain.”
“Oh, yeah. I think I heard something about that.”
Struggling for a direction for their conversation, Retta tried to remember details from their first date they could discuss. What had drawn her to him? Why had she been hurt when he hadn’t texted back? She remembered what he was wearing, but that was because he’d been in something similar to Duncan. And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him.
The silence had gone on for too long, so Retta regrettably asked Steve about work. “Been to any more conferences lately?” The last thing she wanted to hear about was accounting.
“No, not since the last one you saw me at,” he said, placing his hands into the pockets of his khakis.
She nodded but a follow-up question didn’t come to mind.
“Pretty flowers,” Steve said, pointing to the well-kept banks.
“I love the daisies.”
Steve pretended as if he was writing down that statement in an invisible notebook. She laughed but immediately felt weird imagining him delivering her a bouquet.
Before her mind could insert a specific man she’d like to receive daisies from, she nodded toward an ice cream cart ahead. “Do you want to grab something?”
“Funny,” Steve replied.
Retta frowned, slowing her pace. “Why?”
“Lactose intolerant,” he said.
