A collective laugh echoes through the studio, and none of us feel the least bit sorry. So, the poor, diabolical grudge holder is in the hot seat. And?
Give up.
“No one is buying the victim routine,” I call out to the screen.
“So, you’re denying it?” Yvette asks.
Cornelia nods. “Wholeheartedly.”
Azalea’s face hardens, her eyes narrowed with that challengingbet, we’ll see how long the lie standslook. Then she turns to the audience.
“Oh,friends…” She grins, practically bursting at the seams. “We’ve got a special treat for you today. Joining us remotely from their Ellswood home, we have Cornelia’s high school crush and nemesis.”
Cornelia face flushes, her eyes wide with panic. “This is ridiculous.”
“Though they’re not here with us in the studio, we’re excited to bring them into your living rooms via the magic of technology. Please give a warm welcome to Theodore and Carlotta Bridges!”
As my parents appear on half the screen, Cornelia presses her fingertips to her lips, utterly blindsided.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this today.” Yvette smirks.
A restless, low murmur stirs through the studio.
Then Mom looks into the camera and says, “The Ellswood name should be protected at all costs.”
“This is a joke!” Cornelia scoffs, fire blazing in her murky brown eyes. “You stole him from me, Carlotta, and you know it!”
The instant the words leave her mouth, Ebony gasps. “You see? Look at Azalea. It’s thatyou heardit here firstlook.”
At least honesty’s got merit.
And still, Cornelia keeps unraveling, accusing me of trying to repeat history, stealing Ebony from her son before she pushes to her feet, and then, in a flurry of fire and fury, she hauls off and slaps Yvette, sending her flying back onto the sofa.
“Oh, shoot!” I press a fist to my mouth.
A collective wave of gasps washes over the world.
“I can’t believe she just did that.” Ebony blinks slowly, obviously as shocked as I am.
“Don’t you dare bring me onto this show, attempting to sully my good name.” Cornelia’s fuming, her eyes darting this way and that, seemingly very aware of the security guards that we’re seeing glimpses of on the sides of the screen, waiting for her. No doubt the host will press charges. “And since she thinks she’s so far beyond the Livingstons when her life—herbusiness—has gone up in flames, ask Ebony Grace, your so-calleddivorcétante, why hasn’t she changed her last name?”
“Oop!”Whitney cringes on Ebony’s behalf.
But, as an ad cuts into the truly frightening close-up of Cornelia Livingston daring either of these women to try her and quickly find out, I give her question real consideration.
It’s been more than a year.
Whyhasn’tEbony changed her name?
Honestly, it could be for any number of reasons. She could’ve kept it for business reasons, bills, or maybe it’s just too much of a hassle. She was still open to dating again—she could’ve been takingextratime to avoid the redundant step of changing it back to her maiden name only to fall in love and have to do it twice. I don’t know. HowwouldI know?
But I can’t ignore it.
Whether it’s some prehistoric, territorial caveman stuff or not, there’s a part of me that hates another man’s name on the woman I love.
Which, truly, is just some chauvinistic bullshit.
The woman has barely decided to entertainmorewith me. Who am I to make demands about her surname because I, selfishly, don’t like it? This isn’t some old-fashioned social norms about labels and claiming ownership. She has agency.
