If You Only Knew
Page 63
Holy shit.
Kimber swallows hard. Her eyes are shiny with tears.
“I’m sure no one would think that, Mrs. Brewster,” I say, earning an icy glare. “Kimber, this is your day. What do you think?”
She looks at Mrs. Brewster. “Um...I guess more, um, opaque? Because I get what Mrs. Brewster’s saying. It’s kind of a formal day. So maybe no lace. What else could we do? I mean, I love the shape. It’ll be beautiful in anything. Right?”
“It’s hardly modest,” Mrs. Brewster says. “Her...rump is far too obvious. What about a higher waist? A ball gown would be more appropriate for a church wedding.”
Kimber’s one request was anything but a ball gown. Which Mrs. Brewster, she and I had discussed in our first and second appointments.
“I could try a ball gown,” Kimber says meekly.
“Good. Jennifer—”
“It’s Jenny, actually. I was never Jennifer.”
“Can you whip up a ball gown?”
I force a smile. “Yes, I can make a ball gown in time for the wedding. If that’s what Kimber wants.”
“Then let’s pick out some fabric. Do you have any satin?” She stands up, breezes past Kimber and goes to the wall of sample fabrics.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Brewster has chosen an antique satin—a heavy, lustrous fabric. Under her critical eye, I sketch out a classic, Cinderella ball gown. High-necked, long-sleeved, high-backed.
“This is going to be very warm, especially if you have a hot day,” I say to the bride, who’s biting her fingernail, standing behind Mrs. Brewster.
“Sew in some sweat shields,” Mrs. Brewster says.
“Kimber? Anything you’d like to add, honey?”
She inches over and looks at the picture. “Um...maybe some bling? Just a little?”
“Sure. We can add some beading here, and maybe here, too—”
“No,” Mrs. Brewster says. “That’s so tacky.”
“I have everything from Swarovski crystal to seed pearls to—”
“It should be modest. Unadorned. Simple, as mine was.”
“Okay,” Kimber agrees. “I like it plain, too.”
“I did not say plain,” Mrs. Brewster says through her teeth. It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to Kimber this entire appointment, and I can feel the hate coming off her in waves. “I said unadorned. There’s a standard of class you need to embrace, Kimber, if you’re going to be seen socially with my son.”
Kind of hard to picture Kimber and Mrs. Brewster friends, no matter what the poor kid hopes.
I glance between them. Mrs. Brewster doesn’t deign to look at me. “Let me double-check some measurements, then,” I say, grabbing my tape measure. “Kimber, if you wouldn’t mind coming back into the dressing room.” When I get her there, I whisper, “Kimber, don’t let her railroad you. This is your wedding.”
“I...I just want her to approve,” she whispers. “Once we’re married, I’m sure she’ll chill out a little. I don’t want to get started off on the wrong foot. It’s just a dress.”
“You’re right. But it’s an important dress. You shouldn’t hate it, either.”
“I...I don’t. I won’t. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, Jenny.”
Yep. A rock ’n’ roll angel, a cherub with those wide blue eyes and perfect rosebud mouth. I give her a hug. “You and Jared are going to make beautiful babies,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says, blushing. “I can’t wait. I love kids. Your sister’s triplets? O-M-G, I love them!”
She gets dressed in her own clothes again, and Mrs. Brewster once again tells me her next available slot...not the other way around. But again, a referral from her in this town will mean a lot. If she blacklists me, that’ll hurt. “Kimber, I haven’t even asked,” I say. “What do you do for work? Or are you a professional singer?”
Mrs. Brewster snorts.
“I’m a nutritionist? Well, not really. Not yet? But I’m working for my associate’s degree. I work at the middle school, making lunches. Trying to get the kids to like veggies, right?” She beams.
“That’s nice. It must be great to work in a school.”
“It is,” she says. “I always wanted to—”
“Thank you for your time, Jenny,” Mrs. Brewster interrupts. “Kimber, let’s go. We have to talk to the caterer.”
I sigh as they leave, then get busy closing up the shop. Poor Kimber. I wonder if Jared knows how his mother is bossing her around. Maybe I’ll ask Rachel to say something to him. Then again, Rach has her own problems. I’ll ask Kimber out, that’s what I’ll do. Rachel and she and I can have a girls’ night out. I bet Rachel could use one, too.
I get home—no music from down below today—and am just about to pour myself a glass of wine when someone bangs on my door.
“Jenny! Shit, Jenny, are you home?”
I run to the door. “Leo! What— Oh, no.”
Leo is holding Loki in his arms. The dog is shaking. “He’s having a seizure. Can you drive me to the vet?”
“You bet.” I grab my keys and run down the steps, open the back door for Leo, who gets in. “Which way?”
“The emergency clinic. It’s in Poughkeepsie. Can you hurry?”
Kimber swallows hard. Her eyes are shiny with tears.
“I’m sure no one would think that, Mrs. Brewster,” I say, earning an icy glare. “Kimber, this is your day. What do you think?”
She looks at Mrs. Brewster. “Um...I guess more, um, opaque? Because I get what Mrs. Brewster’s saying. It’s kind of a formal day. So maybe no lace. What else could we do? I mean, I love the shape. It’ll be beautiful in anything. Right?”
“It’s hardly modest,” Mrs. Brewster says. “Her...rump is far too obvious. What about a higher waist? A ball gown would be more appropriate for a church wedding.”
Kimber’s one request was anything but a ball gown. Which Mrs. Brewster, she and I had discussed in our first and second appointments.
“I could try a ball gown,” Kimber says meekly.
“Good. Jennifer—”
“It’s Jenny, actually. I was never Jennifer.”
“Can you whip up a ball gown?”
I force a smile. “Yes, I can make a ball gown in time for the wedding. If that’s what Kimber wants.”
“Then let’s pick out some fabric. Do you have any satin?” She stands up, breezes past Kimber and goes to the wall of sample fabrics.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Brewster has chosen an antique satin—a heavy, lustrous fabric. Under her critical eye, I sketch out a classic, Cinderella ball gown. High-necked, long-sleeved, high-backed.
“This is going to be very warm, especially if you have a hot day,” I say to the bride, who’s biting her fingernail, standing behind Mrs. Brewster.
“Sew in some sweat shields,” Mrs. Brewster says.
“Kimber? Anything you’d like to add, honey?”
She inches over and looks at the picture. “Um...maybe some bling? Just a little?”
“Sure. We can add some beading here, and maybe here, too—”
“No,” Mrs. Brewster says. “That’s so tacky.”
“I have everything from Swarovski crystal to seed pearls to—”
“It should be modest. Unadorned. Simple, as mine was.”
“Okay,” Kimber agrees. “I like it plain, too.”
“I did not say plain,” Mrs. Brewster says through her teeth. It’s the first time she’s spoken directly to Kimber this entire appointment, and I can feel the hate coming off her in waves. “I said unadorned. There’s a standard of class you need to embrace, Kimber, if you’re going to be seen socially with my son.”
Kind of hard to picture Kimber and Mrs. Brewster friends, no matter what the poor kid hopes.
I glance between them. Mrs. Brewster doesn’t deign to look at me. “Let me double-check some measurements, then,” I say, grabbing my tape measure. “Kimber, if you wouldn’t mind coming back into the dressing room.” When I get her there, I whisper, “Kimber, don’t let her railroad you. This is your wedding.”
“I...I just want her to approve,” she whispers. “Once we’re married, I’m sure she’ll chill out a little. I don’t want to get started off on the wrong foot. It’s just a dress.”
“You’re right. But it’s an important dress. You shouldn’t hate it, either.”
“I...I don’t. I won’t. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful, Jenny.”
Yep. A rock ’n’ roll angel, a cherub with those wide blue eyes and perfect rosebud mouth. I give her a hug. “You and Jared are going to make beautiful babies,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says, blushing. “I can’t wait. I love kids. Your sister’s triplets? O-M-G, I love them!”
She gets dressed in her own clothes again, and Mrs. Brewster once again tells me her next available slot...not the other way around. But again, a referral from her in this town will mean a lot. If she blacklists me, that’ll hurt. “Kimber, I haven’t even asked,” I say. “What do you do for work? Or are you a professional singer?”
Mrs. Brewster snorts.
“I’m a nutritionist? Well, not really. Not yet? But I’m working for my associate’s degree. I work at the middle school, making lunches. Trying to get the kids to like veggies, right?” She beams.
“That’s nice. It must be great to work in a school.”
“It is,” she says. “I always wanted to—”
“Thank you for your time, Jenny,” Mrs. Brewster interrupts. “Kimber, let’s go. We have to talk to the caterer.”
I sigh as they leave, then get busy closing up the shop. Poor Kimber. I wonder if Jared knows how his mother is bossing her around. Maybe I’ll ask Rachel to say something to him. Then again, Rach has her own problems. I’ll ask Kimber out, that’s what I’ll do. Rachel and she and I can have a girls’ night out. I bet Rachel could use one, too.
I get home—no music from down below today—and am just about to pour myself a glass of wine when someone bangs on my door.
“Jenny! Shit, Jenny, are you home?”
I run to the door. “Leo! What— Oh, no.”
Leo is holding Loki in his arms. The dog is shaking. “He’s having a seizure. Can you drive me to the vet?”
“You bet.” I grab my keys and run down the steps, open the back door for Leo, who gets in. “Which way?”
“The emergency clinic. It’s in Poughkeepsie. Can you hurry?”
