Beck:
Back in LA. Coming by. Get pretty!
After shooting off a quick message to Erica, I flip back over to Beck and my lips curve into a soft smile. Beck might be one of the best things I got out of the whole experience. I’ve been trying to think of how to break the news to her that I’m not interested in my own season, and if she’s coming by today, I’ll be happy to get it over with before I leave town.
All dolled up over here, I respond, with an upside-down smiley face.
After another hour of pool time, I herd the triplets inside and send them to get changed while I whip up some goodbye grilled cheeses. I asked Erica to give Jana the day off so I could spend one perfect day with the kids, which was much needed after the reaction I got when I told them I was leaving again. (Gus cried. Mary called me a traitor. And Jack asked if I was leaving again because he’d wet his bed. In terms of guilting, they’re all three very gifted.)
I toss one sandwich in the pan while I turn around to prep the other three, and the doorbell rings.
“Great,” I say, looking down at my ensemble. Still in my damp swimsuit and a Dora the Explorer towel that doesn’t actually wrap around my whole body. “Coming!” I call. “At least it’s only Beck,” I mutter as I swing the front door open. “You want a grilled chee—”
“Good afternoon, Cindy,” says Chad Winkle in his signature tux with an entire camera crew at his back.
Beside me, a man dressed as a herald blows into a trumpet with a flag embroidered with theBefore Midnightlogo.
“I told you to look pretty,” Beck barks from behind him. “Let’s reset,” she calls. “Keep rolling in case we get anything. Hair, makeup, give her that no-makeup-just-out-of-the-pool look. Can we get her a real towel? Irina?”
“I don’t think towels constitute wardrobe,” I hear Irina’s voice say from somewhere.
“This is a real towel” is all I manage to say. “And I sent you an upside-down smiley face. Wait. What are you doing here? What are you all doing here?”
“What does an upside-down smiley face even mean?” asks Beck. “That’s just a smiley face, but upside down.”
“It’s like the eye roll of smiley faces,” I tell her as I cross my arms over my chest.
Beside her, Mallory sighs. “Do you only answer doors in a towel?”
“A lot of people answer the door while they’re wearing a towel,” I say defensively.
Bruce’s car pulls into the half-circle driveway, and Erica is stepping out before he can put the thing in park. “Did they tell you?” she asks, and then turns to Beck. “Did you tell her?” She looks back to me. “I thought you told her to look pretty.”
I throw my arms up and my towel falls down, revealing my mismatched bikini. Roses on top and stripes on the bottoms. “Why do I need to look pretty? What does that even mean?”
Beck turns to me. “If someone in television tells you to look pretty, it means you’re going to be on camera.”
“Just say I’m going to be on camera,” I say, the frustration raising my voice an octave.
“That ruins the surprise,” Beck says.
“Being on camera should never be a surprise!”
Chad checks his watch. “Uh, Beck, I’ve got a thing across town that I need to—”
“Just give it to her,” she blurts. “Forget hair and makeup,” she calls over her shoulder, and Mallory runs off to relay the message.
Chad stretches his mouth in that way very serious actors do and clears his throat before plastering a sparkling smile across his face. “Cindy,” he says in a debonair voice, “it is with great pleasure that, on behalf of Henry Mackenzie, I invite you to the final ball. Please join us at the château tomorrow morning, where we will be filming the live finale later that night with a live audience. You’ve made a lasting impression on our suitor, but will it be enough to win his heart?”
My jaw drops as he holds a scroll out for me.
When I don’t move, he reaches for my wrist at my side and awkwardly places the scroll in my hand.
“Does it smell like burnt grilled cheese?” the herald asks.
I blink over and over again, waiting for someone to tell me this is a joke.
Behind Beck, Erica nods. This isn’t a joke. This is very, very real.
