Page 99 of Dropping the Ball

I move to the three-way mirror and take my own deep breath. Maheen is a genius. The dress drapes from my left shoulder, leaving that arm bare, to curve around my waist and flow to the floor as it wraps behind me to my left hip. It creates almost an overdress effect, with the top draping piece opening all the way to my hip to show the column of red gown beneath it. It is both highly structured and incredibly fluid, sewn from fine crepe, the draping so effortless that only a master could do it.

Lidia attaches a pin cushion to her wrist and looks at Aleina, pointing to a spot under my bust and near my right hip.

Aleina smiles, her first truly relaxed smile since we’ve met. “Yes, that’s right.”

After an hour of gentle nudges and pinning by Isa and Miss Lidia, I hold my arms out and examine the results. “Should we call Maheen?”

Aleina shakes her head. “No, she will be happy. But I will send her a picture.”

I pose so she can snap it, then Miss Lidia holds out a hand to help me down from the stool.

“Thank you,” I say. “Your eye is impeccable. Until we know how Maheen’s travel status resolves, it would mean the world if we could keep you on retainer. I’ll pay you for this fitting, then bring in my mother and sister to meet you on Friday. I’ll model my dress for them, and with Aleina and Maheen’s approval, they’ll be very relieved to know that you can handle their fittings too.”

Isa and her mom exchange glances. “We’re charging you a premium for working this in,” Isa says.

“That’s just good business.” I smile and look around the shop. “You’re incredibly talented. Have you ever wanted to open in a commercial space, maybe hire additional seamstresses?”

“Commercial leases are too expensive,” Miss Lidia says. “I like working out of my home.”

“And you?” I ask Isa. “You’re very talented too. Are you considering fashion school?”

She blushes. “No, it’s too expensive. I’m taking classes at the community college right now, but I learn everything from my mom or watching YouTube tutorials.”

Miss Lidia pats her daughter’s back. “She designed her own formals.”

“Mom . . .”

Aleina stifles a yawn, and I hand Miss Lidia a credit card. “Thank you again for working us in. I need to get Aleina to her Airbnb so she can rest.”

“Do you have Thanksgiving plans tomorrow?” Miss Lidia asks Aleina.

Aleina shakes her head. “This is a big holiday here, correct?”

I would have invited her to join our Thanksgiving, but while they have improved over the last few years, they’re not what I would call “fun.” We’d planned to give Maheen and Aleina a cellphone and an unlimited Lyft budget, plus a list of places they might like to go, using the long weekend to rest or explore before diving into work on Monday.

“It is,” Miss Lidia says. “Come join ours. There is so much food, so much loud family—”

“—and kids. Way too many kids.Primos.Cousins,” Isa explains. “Five hundred, it feels like. But also tamales. My mom’s are the best. Please come.”

Aleina laughs. “This sounds like Eid-ul-Fitr. If it’s no trouble . . .”

“You must come,” Miss Lidia says with such finality that I find myself nodding too.

“I’ll get it all arranged for you,” I tell Aleina. “But for now, I promise we’ll get you some sleep after I make one more quick stop.”

Aleina has no objection to leaving the dresses with Lidia, which is the surest sign I could ask for that we’ve placed them in the right hands.

I drive two streets over, and when I spot Micah’s truck in his driveway, I breathe out a sigh of relief. After everything going wrong, maybe the tide of bad luck is turning. Aleina assures me she is content to wait in the car, away from the unfriendly nip in the late November air.

I knock, once again needing to dry my sweaty palms on my slacks.

Micah’s mom answers the door and frowns, but I think it’s surprise, not displeasure. I hope.

“Hi, Ms. Croft.”

“Tori,” she says. “You here for Micah?”

“Both of you, actually.” This is a risk. Maybe I should have checked with Micah to see if this would be okay, but I hope he takes this as a sign that I’m fine with his mom. Fine enough to subject her to mine.

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