“Great. Z, would you help him hang it from that one palm tree off to the side of the patio that leans over a bit? Make sure it’s tied on there good and tight. ¡Mueve el bote!” I push Nate toward the open doors, then swing around and use my body to block him and the piñata from Gabi’s view as she returns from her trip to the bathroom.
“Party! Party! Party!” she yells, rushing forward to follow her brother, but I catch her in my arms.
“Not yet, mi pequeña. We have to wait for your parents. Sara, will you check and see what the hold-up is?”
“Sure thing.” She pivots on the stiletto heel of her gold cage-style sandals with the zipper up the back. They’re Louboutins that cost well over a grand, and the shoe addict in me is seriously coveting them. “Oh!” Sara exclaims when she collides with Pilar, who’s lumbering into the room with Ford, and bounces right off her baby bump. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I think she’s asking the baby because she’s gingerly patting Pilar’s huge stomach and looking down at it.
“We’re fine,” Pilar assures her friend. Her eyes travel from Sara’s face down her ivory silk tank with origami-inspired folds and matching midi skirt with a slit up the side, then over to me in my multi-colored, open-knit cropped halterneck and black flared pants that are split right up to the thigh on each leg. “This is ridiculous. You both look like supermodels, and I look like an orca.”
I guffaw because it’s true. The maxi wrap maternity dress Pilar’s wearing does have a black and white geometric print that is killer whale-reminiscent, and she is almost as big as one of those sea creatures at the moment. When Ford gives me an admonishing look, I shrug and say, “She’s the one who made the comparison.”
“I don’t think you look like a whale.” Gabi hugs her mother’s side. “More like one of the penguins in Happy Feet.”
“Thank you, mija. Oh . . .,” Pilar’s bottom lip begins to quiver as she’s overcome with emotion and a tear spills down her cheek, “I can’t believe my baby is five already. Seems like just yesterday we brought you home from the hospital and now you’re in elementary school. Before I know it, you’ll be driving and dating, then you’ll go to college and leave me.” Now, she’s doing the ugly cry. Ay yi yi, this is supposed to be a happy occasion!
“Don’t cry, Mamá! I’ll stay four forever, I promise.”
Ford puts a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I think this party might be too much for you right now. Why don’t I take you back upstairs and you can rest for a while?”
“I’m not an invalid and I have no intention of missing my daughter’s birthday party!” she snaps in an uncharacteristically vicious manner.
Uh oh, another hormone-induced mood swing. A person could get whiplash from these!
Pushing a befuddled Ford and a clingy Gabi out of the way, I say, “Pilar’s just a little overwhelmed, so let’s give her some space.” I then lower my voice and mutter in her ear, “¡No seas llorón!” which is the Spanish equivalent of, “Don’t be a crybaby!” with an implied, “Suck it up!”
She nods her head and takes a deep breath then slowly releases it, trying to get her emotions under control.
“Better?” I’m assuming the answer is yes because she no longer looks homicidal and the tears have stopped, although there are still mascara tracks down her face.
“I think so.” Glancing over at Ford, she mouths the word, “Sorry,” and he forgives her with a smile.
Sara races over with a tissue for blotting up the tears and powder to cover the resulting splotchiness.
“The guests will be arriving any minute, so who’s ready to get this party started?”
“Me, me, me!” Gabi raises her hand and starts bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Then, let’s do this.” I motion everyone over to the French doors, where I grab both handles and fling them open, saying, “Welcome to Enchancia!”
CHAPTER 27
There are gasps of delight all around, which is precisely the reaction I was hoping for.
“Oh, Izzy, this is amazing,” Pilar says, in a reverent tone, as her eyes scan the yard that’s been transformed into a magical kingdom. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Well, I did call in a few experts to help.” I gesture at Solana who’s standing by the large table of desserts on the patio, where she’s putting the finishing touches on a huge pull-apart cupcake cake in the shape of Sofia’s purple and white dress. “We have this lovely lady to thank for all the yummy treats.”
Our aunt really did outdo herself. I told her about Sofia the First and all the characters on the show, plus the color scheme for the party, and she just ran with it, making everything from pink and purple meringue kiss cookies to mini cheesecakes with blueberry topping and coconut-covered truffles called “bunny tails” (an homage to Sofia’s pet rabbit, Clover).
“Here, try one.” I hand a truffle to a wide-eyed Gabi who immediately stuffs the whole thing in her mouth.
“Phooo good,” she mumbles blissfully while chewing.
“Gracias, Solana.” Pilar embraces our aunt who’s blushing happily as she always does when her creations are praised.
“I made the sweets, but this beautiful tablescape is all Izzy.” She smiles approvingly at me.
“Oh, you know, no big deal. It only took me six hours to wrestle all this tulle into submission.” I wave a dismissive hand at the glittery pink and purple netting I used as a skirt for the table. I have to say I am pretty impressed with the finished product, especially how I arranged all the desserts on white platters and stands of various heights lined with a lavender wrapping paper that has white polka dots.
“Zane!” Pilar calls our resident photographer over. “Would you please get some pictures of this gorgeous table before it’s set upon by a horde of ravenous children?”
His lips curve up into a half-smile. “Of course.”
“Hey, Gabs, did you see that Rique brought some bunnies from the pet store for you and your guests to play with?” I point over to the corner of the yard where my cousin is kneeling down on the ground by a large pen that contains a group of gray and white balls of fluff.
“Bunnies!” Gabi shrieks and makes a beeline straight for Rique who looks a bit terrified.
Pilar shakes her head. “You know she’s going to want to keep one of those as a pet, right?”
“That sounds like a you problem, not a me one,” I retort cheekily.
We’re joined by Ford, and I can’t help but be amused by the visual of this highly intelligent doctor, a man who usually exudes gravitas, holding an ice cream cup filled with pink princess sparkle popcorn. “Hey, sweetie,” he greets Pilar, “you’ve been on your feet for a while now. I think you should probably sit down.” He tosses a handful of popcorn in his mouth and crunches down. “Mmmmm, Izzy, is there chocolate in this?”
“Melted almond bark.” I mixed that confection, as well as some colorful sprinkles, in with the popcorn, which is neon pink thanks to food coloring. “Pilar, if you’ll follow me, I have a special seating area for you.” I lead her over to the table positioned in the middle of the yard that’s draped in a royal purple tablecloth with a sheer white overlay (this is where everyone will park it while they eat their cupcakes and Gabi opens her gifts). I have the inflated castle front, complete with turrets and flying banners proclaiming, “Gabi’s 5th Birthday!,” set up behind the table to provide an appropriately regal backdrop.
“Your throne, Your Majesty.” I sweep a hand at the cushioned lounge chair I’ve covered in glittery silver fabric and attached a bundle of purple, pink, and white balloons to. “Take a load off and I’ll fetch you a goblet of Enchancia Elixir.”
When Pilar raises a questioning eyebrow at me, I explain, “That’s pink lemonade, cranberry juice cocktail, and ginger ale. I asked Ford, and he said all of those beverages are okay for pregos.”
“That was really sweet of you to check with him, and thank you for my fancy chair. Looks like I’ll be right in the
middle of all the action here.” Pilar gives my hand a grateful squeeze before holding her arm out to Ford who dutifully lowers her sizable bulk down onto the makeshift throne. I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to get back up again, but at least she’ll be comfortable for the duration of the party.
I’m on my way back to the patio to get Pilar’s drink when Mamá comes bursting through the gate, carrying an armful of presents and complaining in her strident voice, “Ay, Ana, you drive like an old woman. I would have gotten here faster if I’d walked! And you have no sense of direction. You’ve been to this house a thousand times and still you managed to turn into the wrong subdivision—”
“Because you kept screeching, ‘Take a right! Take a right!’”
Mamá glares at her. “I meant the next right, not the immediate one.”
“Regardless, you shouldn’t have been shouting directions at me. I’m not your chauffeur. I don’t know why you couldn’t just drive yourself here today. I had to go totally out of my way to pick you up,” she grouses.
“Well, excuse me for being such a burden to you. But with your father being out of town and my shoulder screaming in pain from that estúpida Aqua Zumba class I let Judith talk me into taking with her, I had no choice but to have someone else bring me to the party. Would you have rather I called Goober for a ride and put my life in the hands of a complete stranger?”
Figuring now is as good a time as any to interrupt this argument, I tell Mamá, “It’s Uber, not Goober,” then give her a two-cheek kiss.
Once she’s pulled back and gotten a good look at me, she says, “You look nice, mija.”
“I should. This is from Balmain’s Resort Collection.” And what an afternoon I had shopping for designer wear at all the ritzy boutiques in Bal Harbour. I felt like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada when she got to raid the Vogue closet.
Ana huffs with irritation. “You do realize this is a kid’s birthday party, not the French Riviera, right?”
Before I can tell her that no matter what the occasion, a true fashionista never dresses down, she narrows her eyes at something over my shoulder, frowns, then starts to glance around. “Did you hire someone to do all this?” She twirls her index finger in a circle, indicating all the party decorations, food, etc.
“Nope. This was my brainchild from inception to execution, and I think we can all agree that I nailed it! No five-year-old could ask for more.”
“You did a wonderful job, mija. I can see you put a lot of work into this and I’m proud of you for coming to your sister’s aid in her time of need.”
“Thank you, Mamá. Ana?” I prompt my eldest sister.
“What?” she snaps.
“I hope you’re hungry because it’s time for you to eat a big, old, gristly piece of crow. Go on, admit it. This party is the bomb and you couldn’t have done a better job putting it together yourself.”
She shrugs, seemingly unimpressed. “You didn’t half-ass it like I expected you to, so that’s something, I suppose, but don’t pat yourself on the back just yet. The party hasn’t even started; there are still plenty of things that can go wrong. Here, Mamá, give me your gifts for Gabi and I’ll go put them on the presents table.” Rather than waiting for our mother to hand the festively-wrapped packages over, Ana snatches them out of her arms and stomps off.
Turning to my mother, I ask, “Did you eat a lot of lemons when you were pregnant with her? Because that might explain why she’s so damn sour all the time.”
“No, no lemons, but I couldn’t get enough harina con cangrejos when I was carrying Ana,” she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Harina con cangrejos is a cornmeal stew with crab.
“And she came into the world crabby! Ha! You’re funny, Mamá. Oh!” I catch sight of a little blond princess in a cerulean blue gown à la Cinderella coming through the gate with her mother. “It looks like the party guests are starting to arrive. Would you mind greeting people and letting them know where to put their presents? I need to get Pilar something to drink and round up Gabi, then I’ll join you.”
Mamá starts fluffing her hair in anticipation of playing hostess. “No problema. Take your time.”
The guest of honor and I assume our positions in the receiving line next to Mamá a few minutes later, then it’s a long string of moms who want to regale me with all the gory details of their childrens’ allergies (peanut butter and bee stings . . . fortunately, I’m prepared for those. The sun? What the—? Maybe that kid needs to move to Alaska), phobias (thank goodness I didn’t book a clown for this shindig or there would have been mass hysteria!), and lack of bladder control (don’t they make Depends for children—if not, someone needs to get on that!). There are so many Emmas, Madisons, and Olivias that they start to become interchangeable as do the names of their parental units. How does Pilar keep all this stuff straight? My brain is on overload!
“Your sister mentioned you got engaged recently. Mazel tov!” one of the moms says.
She’s suddenly flanked by two other ladies cooing, “Ooooo, let’s see the ring.” They all crowd in around me, eager to lay eyes on (and make a judgement about the cut and clarity of) my diamond.
I show them, and they all concur that the ring is exquisite and I’m lucky to have such a generous fiancé.
“Is he here?” Although it’s the only mom who hasn’t flat-ironed her hair into a state of rigor mortis who asks, all three of them start craning their necks, trying to locate my husband-to-be.
“No.” Mamá hears this and tosses me a sideways glance that radiates disapproval, so I feel the need to explain. “Eduardo’s working on an important deal, so he had to go into the office for a while. But he’ll be here . . . later. He wouldn’t miss his future niece’s birthday party.” Or he’d better not anyway . . .
* * *
Ninety minutes later, I’m walking around the banquet table with Wet-Naps, wiping chocolate off all the little girls’ hands while they watch Gabi open her gifts.
“A Shopkins ice cream truck! Look, Mamá! Look, tía!”
“How fun!” I enthuse, although I don’t understand what the thrill is with these Shopkins toys. They’re just itty bitty pieces of plastic shaped like inanimate objects. So, what if they have faces on them? Apples and purses shouldn’t have eyeballs. It’s creepy!
“Someone could make a horror movie out of those things,” Zane murmurs in my ear after he walks up next to me and snaps a few more shots of the birthday girl.
“I know, right? Why are they so popular?” I wonder in a hushed tone. “This is like the third Shopkins gift Gabi’s gotten today and she already has a whole big carrying case full of the crap up in her room.”
Zane shrugs. “Every generation of kids latches onto something that defies explanation. Remember Pogs? My friends and I were totally obsessed with collecting and playing with them back in the day.”
I nod. “They were all the rage at Sunset Elementary, too. I remember giving my Bart Simpson Pog to Joey Bledsoe in exchange for him writing a book report on Peter Pan for me.”
“Doesn’t sound like a very good deal for Joey since Peter Pan is several hundred pages long,” Zane whispers back.
“Joey definitely got bamboozled and he didn’t even realize it because he was crushing so hard on me he couldn’t see straight.” My mouth twitches up on one side at the memory. “Speaking of crushes, I believe you have some admirers.” I incline my head to the left to indicate two princesses (one with a sparkly butterfly painted on her cheek, the other with a colorful floral design trailing across her brow), who are sitting on the other side of the table with their heads propped up on their hands, gazing adoringly at Z.
“Aw, that’s Coralynne and Madison W.” He directs his camera at the two of them and starts snapping shots, and his attention makes both girls beam. “They’re real sweethearts,” Zane says after lowering his camera a few seconds later. “After I took her picture on the carriage, Coralynne said she needed a prince and asked if I’d marry her.”
<
br /> “She’ll have to get in line because Gabi called dibs on you earlier. She told me that you are the nicest, handsomest boy she’s ever met and when she’s old enough, she’s going to marry you and the two of you can live happily ever after in a house made out of chocolate.”
“That’s one of the better offers I’ve ever received from a woman,” Z replies, his amber eyes dancing with amusement. “So, if I marry Gabi, that will make me your nephew-in-law, won’t it? Should I start calling you ‘tía’ now so that you can get used to it?” he teases.
I roll my eyes at him just as my phone alerts me to an incoming text. Since almost everybody I know and care about is here, it’s not a stretch to assume that the message is from Eduardo. I should be mad at him for not bothering to show up after he promised he would, but what’s the point? This is par for the course with him. He always puts his job first, and I guess it was delusional of me to think he might want to see how the party I’ve been planning and talking about for the last two weeks turned out. My friends are here, and they’ve done everything they could to help me make this event a success. Too bad my fiancé can’t be relied upon to show me the same level of commitment and support.
‘Just got out of meeting. Had no idea it was so late. By the time I drive out to Pilar’s, the party will be over, won’t it?’
If he thinks he’s getting off the hook that easily, he is sorely mistaken. I stalk away from the table full of kiddies before texting back, ‘You can still come and help with the clean-up.’
‘Why don’t I send over a cleaning crew to take care of that?’
Under normal circumstances, I’d jump at the chance to have someone else do the grunt work for me, but I feel like I have to draw a line in the sand here. Despite knowing how important this party was to me, Eduardo bailed on it and in doing so he put me in the very awkward position of having to explain his absence to my friends and family. He can’t just throw money at this problem and expect me to say all is forgiven.
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