“I didn’t exactly invite him, but I did tell him where I’d be when he asked.”

“Why?”

“Why would I lie?”

Chet got out of the driver’s seat and Top Gun followed, walking around to the rear of the car, where he proceeded to wrestle something out of the trunk. I could see various family members alert to his arrival, as well as their guests. At that moment, the yard was filled with groups of well-dressed adults finishing up their lunches, awaiting the next diversion. This, I could tell, was Chet, who walked up to us with his usual swagger. Top Gun struggled behind him carrying, as I saw when he drew closer, a Hello Kitty car with a big red bow taped to the hood. The thing must have weighed 150 pounds. Chet, looking at the miniature car, then at my knitted eyebrows, seemed very pleased with himself.

“Where’s the birthday girl?” he asked.

She was on her way over followed by a number of children, many of whom still had napkins tucked into their collars. Miggie had no idea who Chet was, but she did understand the gift, and her eyes were round with desire.

“Happy Birthday, Maggie,” he said.

“It’s Miggie,” I dryly corrected.

Chet was unfazed. “I’m your tito Chet.”

Top Gun set the car down and Miggie looked at it, then at me, then at Carmi, who had made her way over accompanied by her own group, which included Tita Rosa, who leaned heavily on Beng’s arm.

“Chet!” said Carmi. “What a beautiful gift.” She looked over at Miggie.

“Thank you, Tito Chet,” Miggie said. “I love it.”

She got into the car and turned the wheel. She made a car noise.

“You have to charge it first,” said Chet. “But then you can drive it all over the place.”

“With yaya watching,” added Carmi.

“This is too extravagant a gift,” I said. Miggie looked over at me, momentarily alarmed.

“Nonsense,” said Chet. “The girl needs wheels. Look at her. She’s the sporty type.”

Incredulous, I mouthed “sporty type” at Inchoy.

“How’s your father?” asked Carmi. “We were in Punta Fuego together last summer and he absolutely killed me at mahjong.”

“Well, he’s in good health and still ruthless,” said Chet.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Have you eaten?” asked Tita Rosa. “The chicken lollipops are very good. And we have lasagna. If you prefer something sweet, we have Brazo de Mercedes.”

“Sure. I just ate, but that sounds wonderful, Tita.”

Tita Rosa transferred her leaning from Beng to Chet and together they began to make their way to the food.

I watched them journey through the tables and balloons, past the clown, who put out his cigarette and resumed juggling. “This is a disaster,” I said to Inchoy. “People will talk.”

“People are already talking,” said Inchoy. “It’s your fault.”