“I mean…walked right into the trap. About to be sitting on camera, alongside KTLENews Now’s own Nora Whitfield.” Ebony taps her fingers to her head and explodes them. “The way I feel like this is about to be a real theater buyout to watch a feature film.”
“Might as well be,” I say, scanning the yard.
It’s a little after six now. For the last hour, Ebony and I have unloaded the truck, set up the old-fashioned popcorn machine, and gathered extra loungers, blankets, and even my beanbags. They’re all facing my patio, where there’s a half wall housing a motorized TV lift with a 132-inch television for cinematic occasions of this magnitude.
It’s definitely an occasion.
We’ve got a fully stocked bar and concession stand, and the grill is smoking up a skewered feast.
All day, everyone—the crew, us, my guys, Ebony’s divas—has stayed off social media and vowed not to watch the show to avoid any spoilers. So I know the anticipation is at peak levels. And they’ll all be piling in here any minute now.
Or thirty minutes late, judging by the currently ringing doorbell.
“Ooh, I’ll get it.” Ebony jumps up from the beanbag where we’ve been lazily taking advantage of the extra alone time. Then she halts, mid-stride. “Wait, do you mind? I mean, this is your house, and—”
“Not at all. I love sharing this space with you.”
“Aw, baby…” She walks slowly back to me, face contorted into a mushy, swoony look of love as she drops to her knees in front of me. “I’m going to need you to say that to me again tonight when everyone goes home,” she says, suggestively, pressing soft kisses on my lips.
Then the doorbell rings again, and she jolts to her feet, rushing to greet our guests.
A minute later, the noise level goes up about ten decibels.
“Look at your old, sorry,tiredass,” Josiah says, at the same time he steps out onto the patio.
I make a big production of craning my neck to look past him. “No Jade?”
“Oh, you got jokes?” He chuckles, his thick, dark eyebrows raised to his hairline. “I could say something about you finally coming up for air now that you’re with your girl, but…”
“He’s inlove,” he and Dom sing, teasingly.
I bark out a laugh. “How long have y’all been waiting to say that? Tell the truth.”
Neither says a word, though, because Ebony walks out, double-fisting bottles of champagne, her divatantes—Whitney and Priscilla—plus, Manny, Vincent, and the entire crew following behind her.
“Damn right,we’reinlove.” She flits pointed stares between Dom and Siah. “But is that why you came here tonight? Or are you ready for prime-time television at its finest?”
Collective cheers fall over the group, and they start pumping their fists and chanting, “Bridges! Bridges!”
“Now…” She pauses to meet each of their stares. “Tonight, we’re not just watchers. Yes, my baby and I are going to feed and liquor you up in celebration. But we’re also participating.”
A few dozen looks of confusion land on me before Ebony explains with precise detail. As soon as everyone makes their plates, grabs a beverage of choice, and finds a seat on a chair, lounger, beanbag, or even a blanket on the grass, they’ll receive a game card.
Yes, my baby made a Fantasy Foolishness Bingo Sheet.
For anyone looking to join in on a bit of friendly competition, there’s a chance to profit off their predictions for how this appearance will unfold. Among some of my favorite options: Cornelia insulting Linc and/or Ebony; Azalea and Yvette gaslighting Nora with “old” or “OG”Luxe Ladiesreferences; a fight breaking out; Cornelia announcing on air that Julian and Nora are getting married (and it’s the first Nora’s hearing about it); fainting; a dramatic walk-off; and, of course, for the truly, unthinkably outlandish, there’s a wild-’n’-free space.
“The rules are the same as regular bingo,” Ebony continues. “The first person to get a confirmed bingo with five in a row—diagonally, vertically, or horizontally—wins some seriously coveted prizes. Trust me, you’ll want to win.”
With that, everyone scatters, hurriedly piling their plates with skewered surf ’n’ turf and vibrant, colorful veggies. It’s pure chaos. Some grab beers and wine, while some stock up on popcorn and candy. And yes, someone might’ve slipped two bags of watermelon Sour Patch Kids in Ebony’s pockets.
I come up behind Ebony and lean in close, whispering in her ear, “Guilty.”
She bursts into a fit of giggles. “What? They’re my favorite.”
“I know,” I say, pressing a kiss along the soft curve of her neck. “That’s why I bought extra. Because I love you.”
“Okay, get a room!” Whitney calls out from her cushy beanbag, snuggled underneath a thin blanket, smiling from ear to ear. “Are you all seeing this mushy, syrupy sweetness? Cute but gross.”
