“He got all excited when I told him about you. He had this wild brainstorm, to chronicle your journey, as a kallah getting her gown sewn at our boutique”

Yelena

“Stand straight,” I ordered Mina’s daughter for the third time.

“Whoops, sorry.” Shevy grinned contritely.

She flipped her phone shut and straightened to her full height. I stretched my tape measure down her back.

Mina stood up. “I’ll leave now, I need to take Tzvi to the dentist. Call me if you have any questions, or ask Yocheved.” She turned to me. “She’s in skilled hands, Yelena, isn’t she?”

As soon as she left, Yocheved breezed into the sewing room. “How’s it going?”

I scribbled numbers on my notepad. “Good.”

“Good isn’t good enough. It has to be great. Mina’s daughter’s gown is not just another gown. Right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grunted.

“Right, Shevy?” she pressed.

Shevy chuckled.

Yocheved sat down. She had something up her sleeve. I sensed it from the way she crossed her legs and started drawing a pattern with pins on a pincushion.

I was right. Amused, I watched the scene play out.

“I’m serious, Shevy,” Yocheved intoned. “Besides being prejudiced, because I’m your aunt and I want you to look beautiful at your wedding, this gown means so much to me.”

She removed another pin and pierced it along her curlicue pattern. “This is the first time I get to experience the gown process on a personal level. I mean, we get familiar faces around here all the time, but I’ve never done a gown for immediate family.”

I rubbed the tape measure between my fingers. Where was she heading with this pretty little speech?

Shevy’s phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. “Tee-hee, Gavriel’s sister says Gavriel is going for a hat fitting.”

Yocheved stared down at her pin art. “I mentioned this to Brachfeld. He’s our marketing guy, you know, from AB Marketing?” She glanced up from her pins carefully.

Shevy made a vague sound, eyes on her phone screen as she typed.

“Anyway,” Yocheved continued. “He got all excited when I told him about you. He had this wild brainstorm, to chronicle your journey, as a kallah getting her gown sewn at our boutique.”

“What?” Shevy asked blankly. She put her phone down on the table.

“He’d ghostwrite it, obviously, but it would be your thoughts, your story.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your gown. Your story.”

“My story?”

“Yes! Your experience at our boutique. How you felt the first time you came in. What it was like seeing your gown taking shape, first on paper, then in actuality. Your relationship with the staff. The ambiance of this place. Your excitement. An insider’s glimpse at kallah-hood. Everything.”

Shevy’s phone buzzed again.

“Go ahead, take it,” I told her, gesturing with my thumb.

Shevy read, smiled, and started typing quickly.

“Ha,” she said to Yocheved. “Gavriel’s sister wants my opinion on her gown, because my mother is in gowns. She’s cute.”

“Yeah, sounds cute,” Yocheved said. “So what do you think about my idea? I mean, Mr. Brachfeld’s.”

Shevy frowned. “Not sure I get it. What exactly would I need to do? And you won’t write my name, right?”

“If you’re not comfortable with it, I guess not. It would be like an advertorial style thing. You know, those columns that say communicated?”

“Anyone ever reads those?”

“If Brachfeld does them, you bet. It’ll go alongside our ads. He’s building a whole series for our campaign.”

“Ah.”