Page 98 of Dropping the Ball

“No problem,” she says, letting us into the garage.

“Oh my gosh, this is adorable.” They’ve turned it into a tailoring shop complete with a changing screen for clients, a three-way mirror, and a seating area with two armchairs, an accent table, and a minifridge with bottled water. Everything is decorated in a muted turquoise.

The work area is neatly stocked with all the tools a dressmaker could need, and two sparkling quinceañera dresses hang on a rack near the worktable.

A short woman in her fifties with graying hair, thick glasses, and a measuring tape around her neck smiles at us.

“You are Micah’s friend?” she asks with a light Spanish accent.

“I am. I’m Kaitlyn and this is Aleina, who I’m going to make sit down and have some water right this second.”

Aleina has politely declined to let me carry the garment bag both times I’ve offered, but something about the shop has set her at ease, and she hands it to Isa.

“Aleina, do you know the expression MVP? Most valuable player?” I ask as she settles into an armchair.

“Of course. Mirajul Islam is our MVP in our Premiere League.”

“You’re our MVP for coming here straight from the airport.”

Aleina smiles. “No one tell Mirajul Islam.”

“Soccer?” Mrs. Perez asks, her expression brightening.

“Yes.”

“Then we have much to talk about,” she says, grinning, which makes Aleina laugh. “Isa, get out the dress and see what we’re working with.”

“The red one, please,” Aleina tells her.

As Isa opens the garment bag, I explain the situation with Maheen and how we’ve ended up here with Aleina and three dresses.

“I’m going to be very honest with you, Mrs. Perez,” I say.

“Lidia is fine.”

I nod. “Miss Lidia, Micah spoke highly of you, but Micah isn’t in the garment industry. We are. We desperately need this work done, but it has to be done right. I’m hoping you’re as good as the woman who usually does our couture alterations. Aleina is here to protect Maheen’s vision. There will be Facetime calls and too many cooks in the kitchen. This is an audition. I’m sorry to make you prove yourself, but . . .”

Miss Lidia looks at her daughter. “What do you think, Isa? Can we do this?”

Isa winks.

Miss Lidia turns back to us. “I could tell you not to worry, but I’ll show you instead.”

I spot a flash of crimson, and then Isa turns, holding my gown against her. Everyone’s eyes are on me as I study it for several seconds. There is no beading, no lace work, no frills. The color is the shade of the silk marigolds we’re decorating with.

I turn to Aleina, who watches me without expression.

“It’s breathtaking,” I say.

She smiles. “Maheen said you would see what most can’t when looking at it on a hanger.”

“Change and let’s see what we’re working with,” Miss Lidia says.

I take it behind the screen and slip into it quickly. I wore a strapless bra, and as I step into the dress and slide it up, I already know Maheen has made a dress to die for from the way it feels on my body. I step back into my heels and emerge from behind the screen.

Isa gasps and Miss Lidia smiles.

Aleina only says, “Yes.”

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