I stared at my mother, surprised. “Who is Kleinfeld’s?”

“Kleinfeld’s! The designer company with the gorgeous gowns!” My mother was enthusiastic. “Usually, they go for tens of thousands of dollars. But once a year, they host this trunk show in Manhattan, where sample size attire is much less. Imagine we find something perfect. And if Menucha and I split the bill, we could really save money!”

I decided to be a sport and go along. Maybe I would find something beyond my dream gown, or maybe even something similar.

At the trunk show, we were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of gowns in various styles. My mother sifted through the racks like a seasoned pro while I sat on the side. I was eager to try on a beautiful gown, but I had no patience for the selection process. After an eternity, my mother triumphantly exclaimed, “Girls, you must see this magnificent piece. Look at this detail! Do you see this breathtaking train?”

I looked at the gown with growing disappointment. It bore no resemblance to my dream gown.  It was silk organza, a fabric I didn’t like, with old-fashioned pearls instead of the shimmery rhinestones I preferred. My mother saw my reluctance and turned to Menucha’s daughter. “Leah, why don’t you try it on first?”

Leah emerged from the dressing room, all smiles. “Look how stunning it is! Ma, I’m ready to take it!” She did look great. But I wasn’t sure I liked the gown.

“Malky, let’s go, it’s your turn!” my mother urged me.

Reluctantly, I unzipped Leah and tried on the gown.

The picture in the mirror was all wrong.

I was torn. The gown did look ravishing. It had ruffled wings that stood by the shoulders, giving me a regal look. But the silk organza turned me off. And those pearls! They adorned the whole bodice! When my mother saw my hesitation, she asked me what was bothering me.

“I don’t know about this…” I mumbled. I was a seventh child. My father’s company had recently downsized, so he was earning less. I was too embarrassed to demand to go to Cynthia’s, where gowns started at $3,000, when we could get a Kleinfeld’s for just $1,000.

I also knew that my mother wouldn’t force me to wear a gown I didn’t like. Was I being spoiled and narrow-minded? “Truthfully, I always wanted a gown with rhinestones and these pearls are throwing me off—”

“Malky, that’s a minor issue!” my mother, an expert seamstress, interjected, relieved. “I can easily sew rhinestones along the pattern.” But still, the gown looked wrong to me.

I went back into the dressing room. “Look, if you don’t like it, we won’t take it,” my mother assured me.

I was in a quandary. I didn’t have the gall to ask to go to Cynthia’s. Even if we paid for alterations, this gown was a bargain. But I couldn’t let go of my dream gown. I thought about the money my mother had already spent on outfits, kitchenware, furniture, and the endless array of necessities. About how much went into life after the wedding instead of that single night.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I really did look stunning.  Was it the gown of my dreams? No. Did I suddenly like silk organza? No. But I would give it a shot.

Two weeks later, my gown was ready. I tried it on and beheld a beautiful kallah. It didn’t resemble the picture in my mind, but I did look exquisite. As I stood there, I recalled the words of my kallah teacher: Flexibility is one of the foundations of a Yiddishe marriage. I davened to Hashem that this decision would be a lasting zechus for me.

And on my wedding night, my thoughts absorbed in my future, those old dreams of Cynthia’s gowns didn’t cross my mind at all.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 912)