Page 4 of Make a Scene

Kym studied her. “Okay, say that again, but this time make me believe it.”

“I was caught off guard.”

“But other than that, you’re fine?”

“Yeah.” Retta ran her fingers over the swirls that made up the white marble table. “Their e-invitation arrived in my inbox this morning—”

Kym snapped her fingers. “Uh-uh. No. No. Don’t do that. Delete the e-invite and mute them on social media for the year. The wedding and honeymoon will come and go, and you won’t have to see a picture or hear a conversation about it.”

“Well…”

Her friend froze with a croissant halfway to her mouth. “You’re not going to the wedding, right?”

She scrunched her round nose.

“Retta.”

“She’s family.”

“Retta!”

“I have to.”

Her friend made a sound between a sigh and a groan. “Youhaveto eat. Youhaveto drink water. Youhaveto compliment me on my outfit every time you see me but”—she leaned in as much as her belly would allow and lowered her voice—“you don’t have to go to your cousin’s wedding. Especially when she’s marrying your ex-boyfriend.”

When she spelled out her situation, the right choice seemed obvious.

“The thing is, I don’t want to seem bothered,” Retta said.

“You left me a two-minute voice mail,” her friend repeated.

“As I said, I was in shock.”

“Okay, fine. But listen, the way he dumped you and moved on so quickly? No one would blame you for not showing up. You can’t tell me attending that wedding will be the best use of your time.”

Retta leaned back in her seat. “You want the truth?”

“Always,” her friend replied.

“This wedding is my chance to finally show my family, show him, I’m not wilting or defeated.”

With a breakup and career setback happening around the same time, Retta couldn’t be around her family, even a year later, without receiving a concerned hand on her shoulder or generic encouragement.

And it wasn’t for a lack of trying to appear jovial. She’d muted her feelings from the start. The last thing she’d wanted to do was give everyone access to her hurt, her vulnerability. Only a few people in her life knew how shaken she’d been by the back-to-back disappointments. And she intended to keep it that way.

Her friend studied her. “So, you’re going to the wedding?”

“I’m going to the wedding.”

“Fine,” Kym said, with a loud clap. “I’ll book time off.”

“It’s out of town, and the timing won’t work,” Retta said, looking at her friend’s stomach.

“Yeah, I guess slipping on my own amniotic fluid wouldn’t look great in pictures. Solo then?”

“Absolutely not. I need a date.”

It was a conclusion Retta had come to before passing out for the night. Showing up to her ex’s wedding alone seemed like it would be as enjoyable as stubbing her toe on the corner of her bed. And what said, “I’m not pressed; I’ve moved on” like a new boyfriend? It didn’t matter if she had because perception wasn’t held back by the truth.