Party Tardy - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 298

So much more festive.
We had hired a caterer for the party (complete with waiters, or servers as we were in-
structed to call them, and a bartender). So there wasn't a great deal for me to do, except
worry extravagantly and run a dust cloth over the bookshelves. Actually, even the dusting
part was moot, since Lydia had come in the day before and scrubbed the house from stem
to stern.
So that just left worrying.
I was up for the challenge.
And yet at some point around three o'clock, as the skies opened up wider than ever and
the rains came tumbling down, I stopped fretting.
Our great room could easily hold thirty or forty, and the wrap-around balcony could
absorb the rest. I'd always heard that cramped quarters make for good parties. This was a
great chance to test that particular theory.
And of course the instant I made my peace with Mother Nature, she backed off.
The rain stopped as if someone had turned off a tap—a familiar-enough phenomenon in
Vieques.
The sun popped out from behind a bank of clouds and bombarded everything below
with ultraviolet glee, clearly intent on making up for lost time.
Ahhh.
The caterer was due in an hour. At around four-thirty I showered and dressed (Michael
was in town running last-minute errands) and went for a quick wander around the house
before the masses descended. My mood trembled on the edge of nostalgia—we had, after
all, been through a lot, including the trauma of Steve's death—and yet as I moved from
room to room I felt more celebratory than somber.
It was party time.