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.

“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!”