Miami Event Planner

Anab Events makes magic happen.

In Miami, where the Somali community is tiny, she's created something from nothing—weddings, Eids, graduations. Every celebration bears her touch.

My parents' fortieth anniversary needs perfection.

"Forty years?" She looks impressed. Fifty-three years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of event expertise. Ebony skin glowing even in her air-conditioned office. "That's rare. That's beautiful."

"They deserve the best."

"Then they'll get it." She opens her planner. "Tell me everything about them."

She listens like no one else.

Every detail about my parents—how they met, what they love, their journey from Somalia to Miami. She writes it all down.

"You really care," I observe.

"Events are stories we tell with space and food and music." She looks up. "Your parents' story is beautiful. I want to tell it right."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Fifteen years. Since my divorce." Her pen pauses. "I couldn't plan my own happiness, so I plan everyone else's."

I keep coming back.

To approve menus, review decorations, select music. Each visit, we talk longer.

"You're micromanaging," she says one evening.

"I'm thorough."

"You're nervous." She sets down her samples. "About the party? Or about something else?"

"About everything."

"That's too much to carry." Her eyes are kind. "What's really bothering you?"

"My parents have forty years. I have zero. I'm thirty-five and alone."

"Alone isn't forever."

"Sometimes it feels like it."

"I was married for seven years."

We're finalizing details the night before the event.

"He wanted a traditional wife. I wanted to build something. We wanted different lives." She adjusts a centerpiece. "The divorce was ugly. The loneliness after was worse."

"But you built this."

"I built work. It's not the same as building a life." She looks at me. "I plan everyone's celebrations. I go home to an empty house."

"That's not fair."

"Nothing is fair. We just keep going."

"What if you didn't have to go home alone?"

"The venue is ready."

Everything is perfect—the flowers, the lights, the food. Tomorrow my parents will celebrate.

"You're a genius," I tell her.

"I'm dedicated." She walks through the space. "When you love something, you give it everything."

"Do you love anything besides events?"

She stops walking.

"I used to love my husband. Then I loved my business." She turns to face me. "I don't know what I love anymore."

"Maybe it's time to find out."

I worship the event planner.

In the venue she's made beautiful. Her body is the best decoration—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.

"Ten years—" She gasps as I undress her. "I've planned everyone's happiness—"

"Tonight someone plans yours."

I lay her among the decorations.

Flower petals and soft lighting. Her body is an event I want to attend forever.

I spread her thick thighs.

Celebrate her.

"ILAAHAY!"

She screams—ten years of planning others' joy finally receiving her own. Her hands grip my head.

"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"

I make her celebration spectacular. Three times.

"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—complete the event—"

I strip. She watches with those planner's eyes.

"Subhanallah—"

"The main attraction."

I push inside the event planner.

She cries out.

"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"

I give her the event of her life.

Her massive body shakes among the flowers. She comes twice more.

"Ku shub—" She's begging. "Finish inside me—"

I complete the celebration.

We lie among scattered petals.

"The anniversary is tomorrow," she murmurs.

"And tonight is ours."

"Haa." She smiles. "Tonight is ours."

The Anniversary

My parents cry happy tears.

The event is perfect. Everyone says so.

After the party, I find Anab cleaning up.

"Mahadsnid," I tell her. "For everything."

"Mahadsnid to you too." She kisses me. "For reminding me I deserve celebrations."

"Macaan," I whisper. "My perfect event."

The planner who makes magic.

The woman who became my magic.

Event forever.