S

hevy took two yogurts out of the fridge. “Tzirel has an appointment at the boutique today. Did she finalize on her gown?”

I kept my eyes on the cantaloupe I was cubing. “I don’t know. She’s Yocheved’s kallah.”

I had an unofficial policy at work to leave familiar faces for Yocheved to serve. There were so many underlying emotions when kallahs chose their gowns, they needed space. It was healthier this way, for both parties. Thankfully, Yocheved understood and honored my wishes. And now with the Dratlers on the scene, I was glad this was the case.

“She described the gown to me,” Shevy went on. “It sounds stunning. Different, but still classy.”

“I’m sure,” I mumbled. I wanted to tell her, Sweetie pie, it can sound as stunning as it wishes. Without a deposit, “sound” it would remain.

But of course, Tzirel wouldn’t have described that detail to Shevy.

I was in the sewing room helping Freya with Levinson’s bodice when they showed up — Mrs. Dratler, Tzirel, and Tzirel’s younger sister, Lieba. Yocheved popped her head in to summon Yelena. Through the open door, I caught a glimpse of Tzirel. She was a beautiful girl. Tall, slim. She reminded me of the Levinson girl, whose gown parts I was holding. What was her name again? Sarah. Same figure.

Tzirel would look beautiful in Levinson’s gown.

It hit me like a thunderbolt. I closed my eyes, trying to banish the thought, but the idea niggled in my brain, relentless. It had occurred to me as soon as Shlomo had asked me for an idea. This was how gowns should be done —the way Yocheved had done gowns in the first place, in Ma’s low-ceilinged basement. She would design a new gown occasionally, but mainly, kallahs rented from the stock gowns. Those days were history. Today, Yocheved Lewin was a name. Exclusive, not a thing you rented for one night.

What did brides do with their gowns anyway? Wore it once and then displayed it in some glass showcase to preserve for eternity? A $10,000 keepsake? Who could afford such extravagance? Not the Levinsons. Not with that knockoff bag the woman carried around. And certainly not the Dratlers.

It was a brilliant idea. I hated it for being such a good idea.

When I returned to the showroom, Yocheved was busy at the reception desk.

“Where’s Yelena?” I asked.

“She was doing the Dratler sketch and left for her lunch break right after. Why?”

“Nothing, I want her to help Freya with Levinson’s gown. The girl’s great but doesn’t trust herself.”

“She’s new,” Yocheved said. “Give her time.”

“Of course. But if we could help her along, why not?” I paused. “Did the Dratlers give a deposit?”

Yocheved shook her head.