Chapter Twenty-Five
On Saturday afternoon, Esosa, Sybil, and I walkinto Davi’s massive backyard. Children—some dressed like princesses, others like princes, and a few like dragons—run around. Colorful balloons and paper lanterns hang from trees and the wooden fence. With a clown, a magician, a face painting station, and a bouncy castle, it’s the perfect playground for any child. There are at least twenty of them dressed to suit the theme of the party. And unfortunately, so am I.
With two hands, I lift the full skirt of the emerald-green gown. Embarrassment aside, it’s a stunning dress with a sweetheart neckline and small puff sleeves. There’s an embroidered corset that makes my waist look smaller than it really is, and somehow, I manage to breathe in it. Last night, Zane styled the gown with a small tiara and lace gloves. A few hours ago, Esosa secured the tiara on my braids as I got dressed at Sybil’s house. I certainly couldn’t leave my house looking like a Victorian-era princess. What would I have said to my mom—that I’m the musical entertainment at my almost boyfriend’s little sister’s birthday party? No. Another lie about studying at a friend’s got Esosa and me out of the house. And Sybil, who takes great pleasure in being an accomplice, welcomed us with open hands and a pitcher of sangria—nonalcoholic, to Esosa’s major disappointment.
Since school started, I’ve crossed out a few rules on my list. But there’s one rule I haven’t broken.
Rule #6: Choose your friends wisely.
Despite my initial reservations, Sybil and Bethany have turned out to be good people and even better friends. I’ve connected with them more than anyone else in the group. Well, except for Davi. I’m comfortable around them, comfortable enough to be myself. To date, neither of them has given me a reason to believe they plan to douse me in pig’s blood.
Rule #6: choose your friends wisely.?
“Oh, my gosh!” The abrupt high-pitched scream overrides the music blasting through the speakers. Natalie pushes past a clown twisting a balloon and races toward me. Her red gown rubs the grass as she moves.
Last Thursday, when she mentioned dressing up like Elena of Avalor, I looked up the character out of curiosity, and I have to admit Natalie’s dress is near identical to Elena’s.
“You came! You really came!” She claps while bouncing and squealing. “Look, everyone! It’s Enore Enchanted! Enore Enchanted is here, and she looks…” Her wide eyes take in my appearance. “Amazing!”
I’m still trying to connect the dots—trying to understand how a simple, last-minute audition for the school musical made me a viral sensation, branded me Enore Enchanted, and led to me being the musical entertainment at an nine-year-old girl’s princess-themed birthday party. It’s moments like these that can make a person question their life decisions, mounting up regrets and trying to figure out what they could have done differently. And I’m really tempted to do that, but the look of absolute glee on Natalie’s little face melts my heart. The gratitude and happiness of a child hits different, so much that I’m okay the dots connected the way they did.
“Will you sing?” she asks.
“Yeah,” the kids gathered around me all say together.
“The song from the video,” a little girl dressed like Princess Tiana screams.
“No, do ‘A Whole New World,’” a Princess Jasmine look-alike says. “It’s my favorite.”
Soon, disagreeing little voices overpower each other.
“Damn,” Sybil whispers to me. “You’ve got fans.”
“Cute, little ones,” Esosa adds. “But they’re kind of terrifying too.”
When a voice calls for everyone’s attention, my head snaps up. Davi is on the small stage, beneath a balloon arch. He’s holding a microphone and dressed as if he just stepped out of a fairy tale. His dark hair is slicked back, no wavy lock dangling in front of his face as usual. His coat and pants are white, while the sash across his chest and his tassel shoulder pads are gold. He looks like a legit Prince Charming, and I’m caught between gasping, laughing, and just gawking at him.
“Well, damn. He looks hot.” Esosa takes the words right out of my mouth.
Right now, I could really use one of those hand fans to cool my heating cheeks. Zane definitely should have included it as an accessory.
“I know there are a lot of opinions about what we should hear first,” Davi says to the crowd. “But why don’t we let the birthday girl decide?” He looks at his little sister. “Nat?”
Without much thought, she says, “‘Into the Unknown.’”
“All right.” Davi looks at me and smiles, the kind of smile that signals my heart to thump fast. “Everyone, let’s welcome Enore Enchanted.”
The crowd of kids and supervising parents clap.
I lift my dress and walk to Davi. “Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” He glances at my outfit, then moves the microphone from his mouth. “You look incredible. Gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” At this point, after Davi and I have shared many kisses and held hands multiple times, my heart shouldn’t go offbeat whenever he’s around, but it still does—every single time. “You look gorgeous, too. Um… I mean… handsome. You didn’t tell me you were wearing that.”
“I know asking you to dress like a princess was a big ask. I couldn’t possibly let you go through the embarrassment alone.” He laughs. “We can both look ridiculous together.”
I giggle. “That was very sweet of you. Thanks.”
Totally captivated by my Prince Charming come to life, I forget about everyone else. I lean forward, fully prepared to kiss him. But then a loud voice, my sister’s in fact, brings me back to my senses.
“Let’s get on with the show!” she says with her hands cupped around her mouth. “The real show!”
“Right.” Davi hands me the microphone, gently brushing my fingers as he does. “Good luck.”
I sing three songs, starting with Natalie’s request. The kids sit on the grass and watch attentively as if I descended from heaven with wings and a halo. Esosa, my PR person by force, holds a phone toward me the entire time, getting footage for social media. My session ends with a round of applause from the audience.
“That was… was amazing!” Natalie says once I’m done posing for pictures with her and her friends. She hugs my legs, or at least the layers of fabric covering my legs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Restricted by my corset and unable to reach down to hug her back, I extend my hand and tap her head.
“Your payment of carrot cake cupcakes is available at the dessert table. You can have as many as you like. You’ve earned it.” She pulls away from me and trots off to her friends.
“She’s right. You earned it.”
When I turn around to face the person talking to me, I see a man who looks familiar. I’ve seen him before, on the FOR SALE sign in front of Davi’s summerhouse. But even without that connection, it would be easy to identify the man as Davi’s father. They look alike—the same dark wavy hair, the same complexion, and the same smile.
“Hi.” He extends his hand. “I’m Marc. Davi’s dad.”
I knew coming to Davi’s house would mean meeting his parents. This week at school, he told me he planned on introducing me to his dad during Natalie’s party. I wanted to place a hand on his forehead and ask if he was sick. Really, I was concerned. In Nigeria, people don’t introduce their parents to their romantic interest. Usually, people bring a potential husband or wife home. Unless a relationship will end in a marriage, it doesn’t warrant the attention of parents. Because Davi and I are a long way from a lifelong commitment—in fact, we aren’t even officially a couple yet—I thought the idea of meeting his parents was ridiculous. But then I remembered that in America, things are a lot different.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Santiago.” I shake his hand.
“Likewise. Davi actually wanted to introduce us himself, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere, and I couldn’t wait another minute. You were incredible. My God. That voice. Those pipes.”
Again, I could really use that hand fan to hide my embarrassment.
“Thank you so much for doing this for Natalie. Trust me, it means the world to her.”
“It was no problem. Really.” Well, at first it was. But I got into it later.
“Dad.” Davi steps out of the house and runs toward his father. “You’re here.” He presses his lips into a tight smile. “Talking to Enore. Alone.”
“Just couldn’t wait. Plus, I didn’t know where you were.”
“Was in the kitchen, helping Grams.”
“Ah. Well, no worries. Enore and I have gotten acquainted. I was just telling her how amazing she sounded.”
“Yeah.” The tension holding his lips in a strained smile disappears. “She’s pretty amazing.”
“Mm-hmm.” With the way Davi is looking at me, it’s likely his dad is a little uncomfortable. He takes a small step away from us. “I think I’m gonna help Grandma in the kitchen—see if she needs anything. Enore, it was a pleasure meeting you, and thanks again.” He turns away from us and walks into the house.
“Your dad is nice. Where’s your mom? I’d like to meet her too.”
Davi frowns and looks at me like I’ve said something wrong—a word that has the power to disrupt a moment and ruin a mood. I study his demeanor that changed from happy to guarded so quickly. I don’t understand it, but it’s happened before. Last week, at his family’s summerhouse, he had the same reaction when I asked about his mom. There was a split second when he wasn’t himself, when he didn’t meet my stare. This time, the split second where he isn’t himself drags on. I shift my weight from one leg to another while his eyes wander around the yard.
“Um… she isn’t… here,” he finally answers.
“Oh.” His response does nothing for my curiosity or concern. “Then where is she?”
He looks at me; his mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. He shuts it and sighs. “I think it’s time for Natalie to cut her cake,” he says. “I need to go set that up. I’ll find you after, okay?” He marches off before I can say a word.
I’m not a presumptuous person—jumping to conclusions before facts are presented. Usually, I prefer to see all the evidence laid out. But this time, I’ll make an exception. I don’t have the facts. I only have one simple observation—Davi is uncomfortable every time I mention his mom. He avoids answering my questions about her. This observation leads me to one conclusion: Davi is keeping something from me.
Why? Maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing some aspects of his life with me yet. I understand that, but it hurts regardless. I’ve been so vulnerable with Davi. I’ve told him about my father, about my rules, about my fears. I’ve even cried in front of him. I wish he felt as comfortable with me as I do with him, enough to let his guard down.