EVERYTHING HAD been going smoothly—too smoothly. Alicia, always one to be nervous and worried, was waiting for the inevitable moment when things would go wrong. And with less than a week till Valeria’s quinceañera, they did. True, certain things were all set. The catering was being handled by the Fat Turkey Chocolate Company, and Jamie was almost done with the decorations. Alicia had all the seating plans arranged and had even managed to figure out how to give the tías the best seats in the house without upsetting anyone else.

But Carmen was in trouble. Unless she could find some really talented elves, Valeria’s junior damas would have either no dresses or, at best, ill-fitting ones on the big day. There was just no way that she alone could buy and do the alterations on seven more dresses in less than a week. Her fingers were already raw from working on Valeria’s dresses, which, while hip and amazing, were not made from the easiest fabrics to cut.

And while Valeria’s church had signed off on the late-night quince, the amigas were pretty sure that presenting Valeria’s junior court in their birthday suits would not be appreciated.

That morning at breakfast, Carmen finally gave in. No matter how much she wanted to do everything, she was just one girl. One girl with very painful fingers and eyes that had been squinting for so long she was pretty sure they would never open again.

“I’m going to need some help, chicas,” she announced. “Valeria’s entrance dress is done, but I’ve only got five days to finish up her traditional dress, I still have to get final measurements from the damas—who I’m hoping won’t lie to me about their sizes—and then make those alterations. And with the addition of the junior damas to dress, it’s impossible.”

“I feel your pain,” Valeria said, sipping a cup of Aztec chocolate. “Well, not exactly, because I don’t sew. But I’ve seen how much sewing you’ve been doing, and I know this is a phenomenal amount of work. Mom and I were talking about it last night, and we had a thought. What if we tried to hire some additional seamstresses from the Austin community to help you with everything? I know it would be a bit extra, but Mom says we have the budget.”

Carmen considered the idea, but looked worried. “I like it in theory. But we’d need miracle seamstresses who can stitch like the wind.”

Valeria handed Carmen a business card. “Miranda’s is the best fabric shop in town,” she said. “Would you mind just taking a ride over there to see if there’s anyone they recommend? If you can’t find anybody, we’ll figure out another solution—like me and Mom learning how to sew overnight.”

A few hours later, Alicia and Jamie were in the Castillos’ great room, discussing the china and linen rentals. The family was used to throwing big parties. But once the guest list climbed past one hundred, it was always easier and cheaper to rent plates, glasses, silverware, and tablecloths. They were in the middle of a heated debate over ivory versus cream when Carmen rushed into the room, looking as if she were ready to burst.

“That was probably the coolest experience ever!” she announced.

“What did you buy?” Alicia asked, gesturing toward the large bags in Carmen’s hands.

Carmen threw the bags on the floor and plopped down on a couch. “I bought lots of fabric,” she said. “Mexican stuff that I’ve never seen in Miami. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is who I met. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. But suffice it to say that the great dama dress dilemma has been solved.”

The next morning, the girls—including Valeria—were enjoying a late breakfast as they tried to relax before the rush started. But it was impossible. Every time the doorbell rang, or someone walked by, or they heard a knock on the door, Carmen leapt up. Finally, right when Alicia was about to staple her feet to the floor, the doorbell rang again, and Carmen’s surprise visitors arrived. She got up again and gestured for Jamie and Alicia to join her in the entrance foyer.

Three older women stood outside the front door. They each had pincushion bracelets on their wrists and bags full of needles, thread, and other sewing materials dangling from each elbow.

“Amigas Inc., meet Abuelas Inc.,” Carmen said, grinning.

“You’re kidding about the name, right?” Alicia said.

The apparent manager of the group smiled and replied, “Why would we kid? It’s a very good name. And I think the Abuelas have been in business for a few more years than the Amigas!” She handed Alicia a business card.

ABUELAS INC.

SEAMSTRESSES FOR HIRE

WE SPECIALIZE IN WEDDINGS AND QUINCES.

“I’m Mia,” she said, reaching out to shake hands with Alicia and Jamie. “I’m in charge of all our subcontractors and business affairs.”

“I’m Celia. I’m the head seamstress, and I do most of the design work,” said the tall, elegant woman next to her, who looked so much like Carmen that she could have been her grandmother.

“Mucho gusto, I’m Adelita,” said the sassy abuela. Carmen and Alicia exchanged glances. They both thought that Adelita was a back-to-the-future version of Jamie.

“So, Carmen says you can help her?” Alicia asked once the introductions were over.

Mia nodded. “It will be a piece of cake. We’ll take care of as much as we can—or, should I say, Celia will—and then we’ll delegate the rest to several seamstresses in the area,” she explained. “Today’s Monday; we can deliver the dresses by Thursday at noon. It’s cutting it close, but it still leaves us a little time to fix any catastrophes—like damas who may have fudged on their sizes.”

Alicia was in awe. “Thursday afternoon would be perfect. I can’t believe you can work so fast.”

Carmen leaned over. “We needed miracle seamstresses with Wonder Woman–fast sewing machines, and I found them.”

Just then, Alicia’s cell phone rang, and she excused herself. Five minutes later, she walked back into the great room, her face a mask of fury.

“Carmen, Jamie, may I see you in the kitchen?” she said through clenched teeth.

The minute they were out of earshot of the abuelas, Alicia screamed, “That was Omarion! He’s at the tuxedo rental shop with the other chambelanes—and no Gaz! Gaz has the cashier’s check for the tuxedo deposit! The tailors won’t even measure the chambelanes without it.” She began pacing back and forth, her breath uneven and her face red. “Would it be okay if I threw something?” she asked, clenching her fists. “I really want to throw something.”

A panicked Jamie looked around the room for something unbreakable. She grabbed two pot covers from where they were drying on the rack. “Here, bang these together.”

Alicia banged the pots together, then put them down. “That didn’t help at all. I just feel like a five-year-old.”

Jamie shrugged. “Well, chica, I tried…”

Carmen tried to remain calm. “I know you’re upset, Alicia, but I’m sure he has a good reason.”

Alicia had a nasty retort right on the tip of her tongue when Valeria entered the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I thought I heard banging.”

Jamie handed her the two pot covers. “Guaranteed to relieve the quince-planning stress.”

Alicia’s cell phone rang again. She looked at the number and saw it was Gaz’s. Sitting down on the kitchen floor, she leaned against the door of the fridge and flipped open the phone.

“Gaz, where are you?” she asked, not bothering to sound nice. She listened, a scowl on her face. “I don’t care if your panel ran overtime. You’ve got the cashier’s check for the tuxes. All of those guys were waiting for you. You’ve been spending all of your time with Saniyah and have done pretty close to nothing for this quince, which was why Valeria’s parents paid to fly you here in the first place.”

She listened in silence. “Okay, okay, fine,” she said after a moment. Then she hung up.

The other girls looked at her expectantly.

“It’s really not that easy to eavesdrop on only one side of the conversation,” Jamie said. “I hate to ask, but, what did he say?”

Alicia threw up her hands and shrugged. Her voice was quiet, resigned, a little sad. “He’s really sorry—bla, bla, bla. He’s got this new artist showcase on Wednesday—bla, bla, bla. After that, he’ll give us his undivided attention—bla, bla, bla.”

“I think Saniyah is a bad influence,” Carmen said.

“Let’s not bring her up,” Jamie suggested.

“I’m just saying…” Carmen continued. “The real problem is that Gaz is losing Alicia’s trust.”

“I think he’s telling me what I want to hear,” Alicia said. “I think he cannot fathom that quinces are as important to me as his music is to him. But what am I going to do? I love him—bla, bla, bla.”

She turned away so that her friends wouldn’t see just how close she was to tears.

No one said anything until finally, softly, she added, “He knew he was coming here to work on Valeria’s quince. Amigas Inc. is a serious business and something we’re actually making money from doing. How important can this conference or this gig really be to Gaz? I don’t buy that it’s all about the music. Honestly, do you think he would have been this irresponsible if he hadn’t met Saniyah?”