I saw Mina dart glances at Yocheved. What was this all about?

Yelena

F

or the sake of a few dumb babochki, I was not going to sew the sleeves of Fulop’s gown before the bodice. I was not.

“I’m sorry, Anuradha, your butterflies are beautiful, but this is like, you know, building the second floor of a house before the first. Psikh.”

Anuradha wagged her finger. “Listen to me. I need a titalee on the shoulder, I have to see how big.” She held up a beaded babochka to my nose. “Every titalee takes time.”

“You don’t fit a gown around a babochka! A… a titaleelee.”

Yocheved trailed over to us. “What’s going on, ladies?”

“My titaliyon,” Anuradha said drily. “She will ruin them.”

Shto?! “Yocheved, she wants me to sew the sleeves before the bodice! Because of her butterflies!”

“And you can’t do that?” Yocheved asked.

I gaped. This woman owned a bridal boutique.

“No,” I snapped.

Yocheved was quiet. “Can you try?”

“No! Not if you want this gown to fit right.”

She raised her brows.

“Anuradha, do you think you can figure it out on the muslin, maybe?” she asked.

The Indian flapped her shawls, swinging her braid over her shoulder. “I am not putting my titaliyon on brown garbage,” she huffed.

Yocheved took a deep breath. “Well, then, maybe we should—”

She stopped short as she noticed Mina approach, a mother and bride in tow. I racked my head, trying to remember who they were.

“Hey,” Yocheved called, producing a huge smile. “The Bluzensteins! It’s the big day, folks, huh?”

The woman and girl beamed. Bluzenstein, right. Olga’s kallah. Pickup day.

“Should I go call Olga?” I offered.

“Yes, thanks,” Mina said.

I threw a sneer at Anuradha’s back and headed to the sewing room.

“Come see the gown,” Olga said as she stood up. “It’s… it came out nice.”

I smiled. I still couldn’t get over the change in Olga. Her perpetual scowl was gone, and in its place, her face was soft and relaxed. It had become… pleasant to be in her company.

“Da, of course I want to see,” I told her.

The gown was very pretty. It was one of Yocheved’s more “standard” gowns, if any Lewin gown could be considered standard. But that didn’t diminish from its beauty. Personally, I preferred “standard” over butterfly gowns.

The girl tried it on. Mina dangled her camera in the air. We all stood back as she snapped a few pictures. The kallah was smiling from ear to ear.

Olga went to help the girl out of the gown, and I was about to return to the sewing room when I noticed the girl’s mother inch over to Mina.

I paused, straining to hear.

“My friend Chana Grunbaum told me you started a line of consignments?”

Consignments?

I missed Mina’s response, but Mrs. Bluzenstein continued loudly. “I was just thinking, where will I store this gown after the wedding? And, you know, it’s not cheap…”

Again Mina spoke, but she was keeping her voice cautiously low so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I saw her dart glances at Yocheved. What was this all about?

Curiosity gnawed. But I couldn’t stand around and eavesdrop. Reluctantly, I turned to go back to the sewing room — and halted.

Standing three feet away, still clutching her precious titalee-lee-lee, was my dear friend Anuradha.

Listening closely to every word.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 673)