Reckless Kiss

“Of course.”

He nods, and with that, he leaves me standing in the kitchen, with all of my arguments still in my mouth… I wasn’t finished! And I never told him about Deacon.

All my arguments and anger are lost once the party crew arrives. I spend the afternoon flying, directing cater-waiters, movers, florists, bakers… Beto’s shiny new mansion really is far superior to the Knights of Columbus community center for Lo’s party. Japanese magnolias and Bradford pear trees line the path down to the pristine lake, and the weather is pleasant, despite being almost June in Texas.

In addition to our small family, all of Lola’s friends will be here, along with their families. I leave space between the tables for the traditional dances and rituals. It’s odd to think at fifteen our culture says Lo is no longer a girl. She’s only a sophomore in high school. Still, it’s a beautiful tradition I’m only a little sad I missed out on celebrating.

Shaking that memory away, I return to directing the florist on where to put Lo’s oversized bouquet, and how to arrange all the smaller bunches on each table.

An enormous five-tiered birthday cake, decorated in burgundy roses to match Lo’s dress is in the center of a large table in the back, and a specialty boutique organized the pillow and the last doll. My cousin already has her tiara.

My phone is blowing up with texts from Deacon, starting with his usual, million-year-old, lame-assed jokes, which he completely used to steal my heart the first day we met. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a funny, sexy guy.

A skeleton walks into a bar, he sends me around four.

I’m in the middle of arranging candles under chafing dishes on the long tables lining the dining room walls, but I can’t resist. I type back quickly, Orders a beer and a mop.

I want to see you now.

My tummy squeezes when I picture the wicked light in his eyes, his crooked grin, his full lips. Then I look down at my cutoffs and dirty tee, my wild hair piled on my head in a messy bun.

You really don’t want to see me. I’m a hot mess.

You’re always hot. I’m coming early.

FIVE THIRTY!!! I reply, shouty caps and exclamation points intentional.

So grumpy for a party day.

Can’t talk, setting up.

It’s the last text we exchange before my cousin twirls in an hour later just ahead of her family. She looks like a lady in her ball gown, which fits her perfectly. I’m so proud of her. My eyes heat, and I dab a tear from the corner of my eye. I arrived when Lo was only seven, and now she’s a young woman in a beautiful dress I made for her.

“It’s a dream come true!” Lo clasps her gloved hands beneath her chin. “I imagined how my party would be, but it’s so much more. Thank you, Uncle Beto!”

Her eyes are shining, and even if she’s being a little extra, I go to her, pulling her into a hug. Every girl deserves to feel special at least once in her life.

Her friends file in behind her, giggling like the teenage girls they are and eating the party mix and nuts, doing their best to keep their white gloves clean. They’re all wearing matching champagne-colored silk dresses with their hair styled in matching updos.

“Are there any special boys in your chambelanes?” I give Lo an elbow to the ribs.

One part of her special day is an entourage of fifteen-year-old boys dressed in suits who will lead her and her court through traditional dances.

“No!” Her eyes widen, and she answers a little too fast.

My eyebrow arches in suspicion, and Sofia taps me on the waist, holding up her arms. I lean down to hop my youngest cousin onto my hip.

“Steve.” She whispers in my ear like a good little informant. “She’s got a crush on Steve Peterson.”

My eyebrows rise, and I look over to where Lo is promenading with her friends. “Is he a nice boy?” I ask my cousin, who’s also wearing a champagne silk dress, but hers is short with a flouncy skirt—more appropriate for a four-year-old.

She thinks a minute, then pokes out her bottom lip and nods. “I think so.”

Her pretend-adult behavior is too cute, and I give her a squeeze. “You know, Lo’s giving you her last doll tonight.”

It’s a tradition where the Quince gets a beautiful doll symbolizing the end of her childhood, which she passes on to a younger family member.

“I know!” Sofia’s eyes light up, and she bounces on my hip. “It’s Elena of Avalor. She’s even got the ruby dress!”