Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

“No fighting por favor. It makes me feel stressed.”

  Putting her hands on her hips (a sure sign that a lecture is forthcoming), Mamá glowers at Ana and me and says, “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Antagonizing each other when your poor sister is on her sickbed, worrying about the health of her precious child.”

  “Sorry,” Ana and I both mumble a sheepish apology.

  “It’s okay,” Pilar absolves us. “And I’m really not that worried. I’m sure the baby will be fine even if she comes early. I just hate that this placenta problem is taking me out of commission when I have so much to do with work, the house, the kids—”

  “You can palm your patients off on another shrink, can’t you?” I would have done that already if I was her.

  Pilar crinkles her brow. “Yes, but most therapists have full schedules. I’ll have to divide my patients up amongst Ford, Dr. Brooks, who’d already agreed to help out during my maternity leave, and maybe Dr. Cortés. But I want to make sure I match each of my patients up with a doctor they’ll feel comfortable with in my absence.”

  “What do you pay that receptionist of yours for?” Mamá wonders. “Surely she can handle calling these other doctors and rescheduling patients for you.”

  Pilar sighs. “I guess, but it’s a lot to ask of Margo and I really should oversee—”

  “No!” Our mother holds up her hand. “You must learn to delegate and let others do for you. As for the children, you will have to get some back-up for Mrs. Romero, a second nanny to help out on the nights and weekends, one who will clean and cook.”

  “My neighbor’s daughter is taking a lighter courseload at college this semester, and she’s been looking for a part-time job,” Ana tells us. “I could see if she’d be interested since you’ll pay her a lot more than she’d get working retail.”

  Mamá smiles with satisfaction. “Everything’s taken care of then. You can just relax and focus on yourself and mi nieta.”

  Pilar looks anything but relaxed, her shoulders are all bunched up by her ears and now frown lines have joined her forehead furrows for a wrinkle party on her face.

  “I feel like I’m forgetting something important, something I started making a list about the other day, it’s so hard to hang onto a thought with my brain being all fogged up by hormones these days . . .,” Pilar trails off, tapping her chin. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” She sits bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide with panic. “Gabi’s birthday party! It’s two weeks from Saturday, and I’ve done nothing but send out the invitations.”

  Our mother shrugs. “You will have to cancel. You can’t have a house full of screaming children when you’re supposed to be resting.”

  “But it’s her fifth birthday, Mamá. That’s a big milestone for a little girl, and she’s been so excited about having all her friends over.”

  “It would suck if you had to disappoint her,” I concur. “And if you tell her the reason she’s not getting a party is because of the new baby, Gabi will hate the kid before she’s even born.”

  “Oh, gosh, I hadn’t even thought about that, but you’re right, Gabi’s already been acting jealous. The other night Ford and I were working on the nursery, and I found Mullida, that stuffed bunny she loved so much when she was a toddler, tucked away in a box. It’s missing an ear now and is more of a dingy gray than white, but I thought since the toy used to mean so much to Gabi, it would be sweet to pass it on to the baby. She had a fit about it, though. She started screaming, ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ then she grabbed the bunny and ran to the bathroom, where she locked herself in and tried to flush Mullida down the toilet, all because she didn’t want her little sister to have it.”

  “That sounds like something Izzy would have done at that age,” Ana says. “Sharing was a concept she never quite grasped. Taking, on the other hand . . .”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t been so stingy, I wouldn’t have had to steal your stuff.”

  “And maybe if you weren’t a spoiled brat who thought she had a right to everything she set her greedy, little eyes—”

  “Ay, enough! Your endless bickering is giving me a headache.” Mamá presses her red-tipped fingers to her temples. “I’m going to have to lie down with a cold compress.” With that pronouncement, she heads off to Pilar’s bathroom.

  “So, give me a list of parents’ names and phone numbers for the kids you invited to Gabi’s party and I’ll call to let everyone know it’s off,” Ana tells Pilar.

  “Hello, have you been listening?” I ask. “In the interest of peaceful sisterly relations, we can’t cancel the party. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Gabi. She was promised an awesome birthday bash, and that’s what she’s going to get.”

  “Well, sorry, but I don’t have the time to plan and execute a child’s birthday party on such short notice when I’m already juggling my own kids and their thousand different activities.”

  “Good thing no one asked you then,” I snap back. “In lieu of her mother, it’s obvious that I should be the one to put on Gabi’s party since I’m her favorite aunt and I’m an expert on fun, girly stuff.”

  “Are you now?” Ana crosses her arms and looks down her nose at me. “So, you think you can handle coming up with a theme for this party, ordering and/or making the refreshments, putting up decorations, providing entertainment, and putting together goody bags for all the kids?”

  Uh oh, that sounds like a lot of work. What have I gotten myself into?

  “Why are you still talking about a party?” Mamá returns, clutching a bottle of aspirin and holding a wet washcloth to her brow. “I thought we’d already decided this. Ford can take Gabi out for ice cream on her birthday; that will be enough of a celebration. She doesn’t need some big extravaganza at her age.”

  “Izzy thinks she does, and she’s volunteered to run the whole show.” Ana’s got such an annoyingly smug expression on her face right now; I just want to smack it off! She’s so sure I’m going to screw this up. I’ll show her!

  “Ay, Isidora, what do you know about children’s birthday parties? You can’t order a keg from Mister Beer Express and ask one of your friends to DJ for a bunch of five-year-olds.”

  A DJ isn’t a half-bad idea. Kids like loud music just as much as adults do, right? Of course, I wouldn’t serve alcohol at a children’s party, but maybe I could fill a keg with Kool-Aid. Just spitballing here . . .

  “I promise, this rager will be age-appropriate, Mamá.”

  With a disgusted snort, Ana says to Pilar, “She just referred to your young, impressionable daughter’s party as a ‘rager.’ Are you sure this is the way you want to go? It’s a disaster-in-the-making if you ask me.”

  “Once again, no one asked you! So, stop being such a Negative Nelly, or you’ll find your name removed from the guest list for this very exclusive party.”

  “Please,” Ana scoffs. “What are you going to do? Have a bouncer at the door?”

  “Good idea! I will need someone to keep out the undesirables.” I give my eldest sister a pointed look.

  “Pilar!”

  “She’s kidding,” Pilar says placatingly. “You are kidding, right?” she whispers as an aside to me.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’ve got this. Just have Ford roll you out to the back yard on Gabi’s big day, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Man, I hope I can pull this off—for Gabi’s sake, and for Pilar’s since she’s the only one in this family who thinks I’m capable and I don’t want to let her down.

  CHAPTER 26

  “I’m here. I’m here,” Topaz says breathlessly as she rushes into Pilar’s kitchen carrying a large brown paper tote bag.

  I glance over at the digital clock on the stove. It’s 1:35, and Gabi’s party is scheduled to start at two. “You’re cutting it pretty close, chica.”

  She winces. “I know. Sorry. I was having so much fun playing around with the bracelets this morning I lost track of time.” Dumping her tote bag on a chair, she sticks her hand
down into it and pulls out a small, royal purple pouch, which she opens and empties into her palm. “What do you think? Super cute, right? I was tempted to make one for myself!”

  I pick up the stretchy bracelet and examine it, running my fingers over the circle of glass pearls that range from dark purple to lilac to blush pink ending in a series of glossy white tiles embossed with letters spelling out the name CHLOE and hanging next to the “e” is a silver charm in the shape of a crown. “This is some stellar work. I can’t believe it only cost a few dollars to make this when it looks so much more expensive. The kids are going to love them!”

  My compliments make Topaz beam. “Thanks. You want me to go ahead and put them in the goody bags?”

  “Yep. They’re over there.” I gesture at the table in the kitchen nook where I’ve got fifteen brightly-colored gift bags lined up in three rows. “The names of the party attendees are on the tags, and the colors of the bags match up with the color of the princess gown each girl will be wearing.”

  “Very clever. These bags are adorable!” Topaz enthuses after getting an up-close look at them. “Did you decorate them yourself?” She refers to the two-tone sparkly crown affixed to the front of each bag and the reverse-colored, crown-imprinted name tags.

  “More or less. I got the idea off Pinterest.” I’d been haunting that site for the last two weeks, along with Etsy and a buttload of mommy blogs, looking for inspiration for Gabi’s Sofia the First/princess-themed party. “I picked up some basic bags at Party City, then had Nate download a template and print out the crowns and name tags on card stock for me. I decided they didn’t look bling-y enough, so I glued on the rhinestones.”

  “Check you out, getting all crafty,” Topaz teases.

  “I won’t be making a habit out of it. I was ready to slit my wrists by the time I was done. You don’t want to know how many crowns I ruined with globs of Mod Podge, then I got several rhinestones stuck to Pilar’s coffee table.” I put my finger to my lips so that she’ll know to keep that info on the down-low. I still need to Google how to get glue off wood without damaging it.

  “So, what else have you got in here?” Topaz queries when she starts dropping bracelet pouches in bags.

  “The princess wands that you can see sticking out . . .” I ordered the crown-topped wands online and they’re totally fabulous with streaming ribbons and lots of glitter (they came in my party colors of pink, purple, and silver too, which worked out well). “A ring pop, a Sofia the First coloring book along with some unicorn-shaped crayons, Pretty Princess raspberry-flavored lip balm, a pink glitter bounce ball, flower eraser pencil toppers, and a little stuffed frog because every princess needs to kiss a bunch of those before she can find her prince,” I punctuate the sentence with a smirk.

  “That is quite a haul for these little ladies. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

  “Dah ditty DAH ditty DAH.” Topaz and I turn to see Sara, Pilar’s bestie since college, standing in the kitchen’s entryway, pretending to blow a trumpet. “Announcing the arrival of the birthday girl. Give it up for Princess Gabriela of the House of Fordham and her loyal courtier, Lady Ashlyn.”

  With an intro like that, you’d expect a very proper and dignified entrance from my niece, but she comes tearing into the room, dragging her doll behind her, shrieking excitedly, “Look, tía, my dress is just like Sofia’s!” She twirls around so that the full skirt billows out.

  “I can see that.” The purple gown with the white underskirt is an exact replica of the one worn by Gabi’s beloved cartoon princess. Sara even got all of the pearl detailing around the neckline and waist, as well as the purple ribbon above the hem of the underskirt, right. “If you ever get tired of designing swimwear, you could rake in some good dough doing designer dress knock-offs,” I tell Sara.

  “I think I prefer working with less fabric,” she retorts.

  “Just like I prefer wearing less fabric,” I volley back.

  Sara and I both owe our careers to bikinis. In fact, she was the one who gave me my start as a swimsuit model when she begged me to walk the runway at one of Serafina Swimwear’s first big shows here in Miami. (A couple of her models hadn’t bothered to show up that day, and she was in a bind. So, I helped her out—for a price—and two stars were born. Hers has shined a lot brighter than mine in recent years as she’s become a big deal in the fashion world. Her collections are unveiled on the catwalks of Paris and New York during Fashion Week, and I see celebrities wearing her colorful and creative designs in magazines all the time.) She now splits her time between Miami, which she visits for inspiration a few times a year, and New York, where she has a fabulous penthouse in Midtown.

  Placing my hands on Gabi’s slight shoulders, I ask, “Did you tell Sara how much you appreciate her creating this beautiful dress for you along with making princess gowns for all the friends who are coming to your party?”

  “Gracias, Sara.” She runs over to the willowy blonde and hugs her knees.

  Sara gives Gabi an affectionate squeeze back. “I was happy to do what I could to help, although it was my very talented team of seamstresses who did most of the work.”

  “But they were following your vision and instructions, so that makes you this party’s official fairy godmother.” Without Sara, I would have had to buy ill-fitting, polyester dresses off the Internet for the girls. Now they’ll all have a gorgeous, well-tailored keepsake from this event.

  “I think you might be missing something, Gabi.” Topaz exchanges a conspiratorial look with me.

  Raising her skirt a few inches, the child looks down. “I remembered to put on my shoes, and they match! See.” She points the toe of one purple ballet flat, then the other.

  “Topaz isn’t talking about your feet, mi niña. She’s talking about your head.” I tap the top of mine with my index finger.

  “That’s right. You can’t be a princess without a tiara, can you?” Topaz extracts the one she made for Gabi from her bag.

  “I get my own tiara?” Gabi squeals and starts jumping up and down, clapping her hands with untempered glee.

  “You’d better put it on her.” Topaz, who’s not used to dealing with hyperactive kindergarteners, hands me the lovely, little crown that’s dotted with purple jewels and topped with a heart.

  “Okay, now hold still so that I don’t stab you with these combs,” I command and am shocked when my niece immediately complies. I situate the tiara on top of her head and do my best to smooth down her wavy hair, then step back to assess the final results “Very pretty, but I think your neck looks really bare now.”

  “A necklace would solve that problem,” Sara decrees.

  “It’s a good thing I brought one then.” Topaz reaches into her shopping bag once again and when her hand comes back out, it’s clutching a silver chain with a large, teardrop-shaped, pink stone.

  “The Amulet of Avalor,” Gabi says in an awestruck whisper.

  “Of course, this one is just a copy,” I tell her as I fasten the chain around her neck, “so it won’t give you the power to talk to animals or shrink you down to sprite size.”

  She chuckles. “Oh, tía, you’re so silly. I know what happens on TV is just make-believe.”

  “And when did you get so smart?” I wonder.

  “I’m five now,” she holds up that many fingers, “which means I’m not a baby anymore and I know lots of ‘portant stuff.” Her sassy ‘tude, which is eerily reminiscent of mine, makes me laugh while also bumming me out a little bit. I can’t believe how fast she’s growing up!

  “What’s so funny?” Nacho queries as he and Zane walk in through the French doors that lead out to the back yard.

  “Oh, Gabi was just informing us that she’s mature and wise in the ways of the world now that she’s hit the big oh-five.”

  Z furrows his brow. “So, I guess she doesn’t want this princess party we’ve got set up outside then because cupcakes and games and presents are for babies, aren’t they?”

  “Parties are for
big girls, too!” Gabi asserts.

  “That’s right. A girl never gets too old for a party, especially one that’s being held in her honor.” I glance over to the stove to do a quick time check and say, “And your fiesta de cumpleaños will be starting shortly, so why don’t you go potty? That way you won’t have to take any breaks from the fun later.” I give her a little shove in the direction of the downstairs guest bathroom. “Sara,” I nod at her, “will you please help Princess Gabi? Make sure she doesn’t drop her tiara in the toilet,” I whisper behind my hand.

  Turning back to my party assistants, I query, “Are all systems go outside?”

  “Balloons and streamers are up, castle is inflated, horse and carriage are assembled for photo ops, and Rique is setting up the play area with the bunnies,” Zane confirms.

  “And the face painting station, which will be manned by Miami’s most fabulous makeup artist, yours truly, looks amazing, but Miss Tardy here,” Nacho jerks a thumb at Topaz, “needs to get all the sparkly bits and crafty stuff out at her station so that the girls can decorate their princess hats. Right now, there’s just a sad, little stack of naked cardboard cones.”

  Grabbing her bag, Topaz declares, “I’m on it!” and heads for the French doors.

  With both hands, I make a shooing gesture at Nacho so that he’ll go after her and do what he does best—make things look bling-tastic and eye-catching. He was a big help to me earlier with putting out the flowers (various arrangements of white Gerber daises mixed with purple orchids and pansies) and tying big bows with gauzy, lavender fabric around the back of each white chair at the banquet table.

  “Take some goody bags with you!” I shout after both of them, and they veer off to the nook to grab a few.

  “Okay, this piñata is loaded with candy and every Sofia the First party favor on the planet,” Nate announces as he strides into the kitchen, his arms wrapped around a pink number five that’s almost as big as he is. It was really sweet that he offered to assist with the last-minute prep for his sister’s party, and he took his assignment very seriously, leaving all of his electronic devices in his room while working on that piñata for the last half-hour.