I invited Teresa, a nurse Carla had once asked whether she planned to change after arriving directly from a hospital shift.
Then Norma, my closest friend.
Armando’s old friend Henry.
And relatives Hugo and Carla had gradually stopped inviting because someone worked a trade, talked too loudly, was divorced, dressed casually, or seemed too old-fashioned.
By evening, I had thirty-five names.
Unlike Carla, I asked every one.
Then I called designer Iris Bennett and chef Felipe Morales.
“I need Christmas Eve dinner for thirty-five.”
Felipe whistled.
“In six days?”
“I’ll pay rush fees.”
“That was not the problem.”
“Can you do it?”
He laughed.
“For you? Yes.”
The villa was already furnished.
Over the next few days, Iris’s team added terrace lights, simple poinsettias, and candles protected from the ocean breeze.
One long table went beneath the covered terrace.
No head table.
No separate sections.
