She spoke to me like I was a child who didn’t understand her arithmetic. Anuradha grinned smugly
I
peeked into the showroom from behind the sewing room door. No Mina in sight. Fu.
There was only so long I’d be able to avoid her. If Mina was going to ask me about that gown again, I didn’t know what I would do.
Holding the raglan sleeves from the Fulop gown, I headed over to Anuradha. “Here,” I told her. “These are ready.”
She looked up from her babochka work. Gingerly, she placed the half-done butterfly on the shoulder area of the sleeve and shook her head. “No.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
