Happy Thoughts

Charlotte checked the caller ID and rolled her eyes as she answered the phone. "Did you forget something?"

"Um, can you help me?"

"Why are you whispering?"

Charlotte knew that Allie was Tinker Bell today. The most teeny-petit of their princess performers, Allie often played Alice in Wonderland or Cindy Lou Who or Joy from Inside Out, which was pretty much Tinker Bell in a different wig. Because she was so very little, it chilled Charlotte's blood to hear her urgent whisper, "There's just dads here."

"Just dads?" Charlotte echoed. "Leave."

"Well, it might be okay," Allie said quickly. "No one's asked me to do anything weird, and I definitely need the money. But there's no moms. All the adults are men."

Charlotte grabbed her car keys. "Okay," she said to her tiniest performer in her skimpiest dress. "Text me the address; I will be there. If I get a bad vibe, I'm pulling the plug."

"Oh my god, thanks!"

The Party Princesses (not to be confused with the Partying Princesses or the Princess Party (or the Partying Princess Party)) were in that niche of event entertainment that largely schlepped their accoutrements from hooptie to battered hooptie. Half a dozen sequin-spattered ballgowns and a piano-sized make-up station were occupying most of Charlotte's back seat, but she had just enough space to pull the sexy fox part out of the Robin Hood costume and cobble together a passable Peter Pan. No one was likely to appreciate her Sandy Duncan impression, but it was Tinker Bell and Peter Pan, not Tinker Bell and a slightly hung-over party planner who was definitely using a wig in place of a shower.

Kicking a few mostly-empty cans out of the footwell, Charlotte held up the sagging gasket as she shut the slightly unhinged door. She double-checked Allie's text. The house in question had no balloons, no pinwheels, not even a hastily-scribbled sign directing party goers. Straightening her tights, Peter Pan marched up the front steps, and knocked.

A bearded man answered the door, a few stains stippling his shirt. "Um," he said. "Hi? Uh, we only booked the fairy."

"Well, we're a package deal," Charlotte said, hands on green tunic hips. "Got a problem with that?"

The man frowned. He stepped over the threshold, holding the door mostly closed behind him as he lowered his voice. "Look, we're having a party--"

"Oh, good! That's my specialty." Charlotte ducked around the man's arm and pushed in through the door.

The curtains were drawn, dimming and stifling the bright sunlight. All the furniture had been pushed against the walls of the drab living room, a hodgepodge of mismatched chairs arranged in a circle on the colorless carpet. There were no streamers, no decorations, just a single pink bedsheet draped over a table, where half a dozen grown men stood hovering around chips and dip.

"Really?" Charlotte scoffed. "This is your set up? Pathetic."

The bearded man scratched at his neck. "What do you mean?"

"If this was an actual party for an actual kid," Charlotte said. "I would slit my fucking wrists."

One of the other men spat out generic, bulk-brand onion dip. "Jesus! Can she say that?"

"Rest assured," Charlotte said. "I ain't no fucking princess. So I'm not gonna fairy dust over whatever this is. I'm gonna tell you it's shady as shit. And honestly just depressing. I'm taking my fairy, and I'm going home."

"Wait! Wait." The bearded man held up his hands. "Look, I know it looks bad--"

"Uh-uh!" said another man, waving a chicken wing in their direction. "Don't let her bully you, Tony! You doin' your best!" The other men nodded and grumbled their support.

"Odd time for solidarity," Charlotte noted. "I bet a lawyer would clear that right up."

The bearded face paled. "A lawyer? Are you kidding me? For a kid's party?"

Charlotte flung out empty hands. "Where are the kids?"

A man with a red solo cup pointed toward the back door.

Through the dust-streaked window, Tinker Bell was beaming. The sweet-faced fairy was transforming the overgrown lawn into dandelion daisy chains, to the enthralled adoration of nine enchanting little girls. "She asked to go outside," the bearded man muttered.

"That's cause she's smarter than she looks." Charlotte turned back to the dim indoors. "And what the hell's wrong with you? Not one mom could help out?"

Another man coughed into his solo cup. "Um, no. We're all in a support group for widowed fathers."

Thick silence fell on Charlotte's stoney poker face. The men shifted, picking at the snacks, looking around at the empty chairs, the blank walls. The bearded man, Tony, scratched his neck. "I know, it looks bad."

"Well, it doesn't have to!" Charlotte insisted. "Turn on some fucking lamps! Go grab your daughter's stuffed animals; soften up the furniture! One of you has an iPhone; put on a Disney playlist! And what the fuck with these snacks? Buffalo sauce with princess dresses? Think dainty, think delicate. Finger sandwiches, tea cakes, profiteroles!"

"I don't have any profiteroles."

"If you have pancake mix and vanilla yogurt, you're about to!" Charlotte clapped her hands. "Well, come on! It's a party, people!"

By the time the little girls were herded inside with their flower crowns, the room was bright, and full of soft things, with familiar songs drifting over the scent of fresh-baked sweetness. Peering past the slightly shell-shocked dads, Tinker Bell grinned at her Peter Pan flying through the kitchen.

"Oh, good," Charlotte said, leaving the solo cup dad in charge of carefully cutting french toast into heart shapes. "I got the emergency glitter from my car, so you can do pretty princess makeovers."

"Oh my god, thank you!" the fairy breathed. "Can you stay?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I have to. Went to go get balloons and picked up a flat, so I gotta take a tow truck back. Which eats up our whole commission on this thing, so we're not even breaking even."

Tony, who had recently discovered a talent for origami daffodils, ventured, "You don't have to do that. You're surrounded by dads. Any one of us could change a flat."

Raising an eyebrow that combative parents had learned to fear, Charlotte asked him, "Are you sure? Because it's more like three flats."

"Let me check with the boss." Tony dropped to one knee to negotiate with the spinning, sparkling birthday girl. "Are you having a good time, sweetheart?"

Grabbing his neck and planting a cream cheesy kiss against his bristles, the girl in the pink plastic crown said, "It's my birthday!"

"Oh, happy birthday!" Tony folded his daughter in a wing-crushing hug. "Daddy's going right outside, okay?" His child ignored him, already rushing off to dance with Tinker Bell, who was only slightly encumbered by a princess clinging to each leg.

Following the trail of sequins back to Charlotte's crumbling car, Tony crossed his arms to assess the damage. "Well, it's gonna take more than fairy dust."

"Bit of a squashed pumpkin."

Tony stepped over to the driveway and retrieved a jack from the back of his truck. "Listen, about today--"

"My fault," Charlotte said. "My total bad. I did not get the situation."

"It's...I get it." The beard winced. "You were protecting your friend, and I'm sorry you guys need that kind of protection. Not your fault my daughter's birthday looked like a low-budget OnlyFans."

"Not that you or I would even recognize that."

"But you fixed it." The first bolt rusted away in Tony's hands. "In a way that I really just couldn't. Look, I can always hire a princess. Sometimes I just need a mom. A take-charge, no bullshit, makes magic out of pancake mix mom." The second bolt was so tight that if the world ended, it would still be there. "Anyone you know offer that kind of service?"

Charlotte shrugged as another sticky-backed can tumbled through her rusted wheel well. "I have no idea what the pay scale would be."

"I'm guessing it's never enough." Tony stood up, his jeans marked with the clunker's grease. "Listen, I fix up cars for a hobby. What if, like a couple hours a month, we Frankenstein this thing back together, and you teach me how to sew buttons and braid hair?"

"Girl stuff."

"Stuff I don't know how to do, and you're obviously an expert at it." He waved a hand at the dresses and wigs blushing coquettishly in the back seat. "You clearly don't know squat about cars, and I'm your cheapest bet for a mechanic. Fair deal?"

Charlotte took off her Peter Pan cap, twisting it between her hands. "When did you lose her?"

It was a long time before Tony said, "April."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's my little girl's birthday."

Setting the hat back on its jaunty slant, Charlotte said, "I lost my dad when I was nine." She put her hands back on her hips, where they belonged. "So, show me how to change a tire."