Decidedly with Wishes - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,2

later, Bibi gave me my first real sewing machine—and there was no stopping me after that.

I stepped into her office.

She was standing by the high-rise window overlooking the bay, her attention on the contents of the portfolio resting on her forearm. The late afternoon sun lit her face, softening the deep lines I knew so well.

“Hi, Bibi.” I walked over to her and kissed her vanilla-and-lavender-scented cheek. Her skin was a shade darker than my golden-bronze tone, and her hair under her hunter-green turban was short and gray. Other than that, we shared a number of the same features, especially our brown eyes.

She closed the leather portfolio before I had a chance to see what she’d been looking at. “Hello, Honeybee. How was your little outing?”

“It was great. Sarina and Amelia asked me to say hi to you.”

Bibi smiled warmly at their names. Then the corners of her mouth tilted down, furrows forming between her brows. “I still can’t believe that little girl’s father wanted nothing to do with her because she was born with spina bifida.”

Bibi frequently said that, though it never changed anything. And I doubted it would’ve made a difference even if Sarina hadn’t been born with the spinal defect. He hadn’t been interested in being a father, period.

Where was he now?

In an urn on his grandmother’s mantel. Amelia had long since moved on, doing her best to give Sarina all the love and support a single mother could.

“You said you wanted to discuss something with me.” Bibi stepped away from the window and set the closed portfolio on the corner of her neatly organized desk.

“Yes. I would like to create a line of dresses for girls. They would be classic, fairy-tale-style dresses for girls of all ages, up to and including teenagers, and would still keep with the company’s vision.”

“There are several companies who already do that. We’ve always focused on women in their late twenties and older. It doesn’t make sense to diversify beyond that.”

“I know, but these dresses aren’t your typical dresses. They’re designed specifically for girls with certain physical disabilities, and for girls who experience difficulty with their fine motor control, such as fastening buttons. They’ll be easier to put on and do up. They won’t irritate those individuals who are sensitive to something as simple as the way a label or seam might rub against their skin. They’ll accommodate whatever aid the girl needs to be mobile, whether that be leg braces, crutches, or a wheelchair. And they’ll make the girl feel like a princess—someone who doesn’t have to settle for less.

“She can go to birthday parties or the prom or to the theatre with her family, and she’ll know that she looks as beautiful as her non-disabled counterpart.” I presented Bibi with my design portfolio.

She leafed through the pages, stopping long enough to study the sketches and to read the features of each dress.

“They’re gorgeous designs, Nala, which comes as no surprise. But we’re dealing with such a niche market, it wouldn’t be viable.”

Was that news to me?

Not at all.

It was precisely what the banks had told me when I approached them. While some were impressed with my background—a degree in fashion design and an MFA in Fashion Marketing & Brand Management, both from the San Francisco Academy of Art—all had said the same thing: go talk to my grandmother.

She was my only hope.

“I understand the line won’t bring in a lot of money. And we wouldn’t produce the number of dresses we normally do with our other lines. That means the dresses would only be available online.”

I had given the last point a lot of thought. As great as it would’ve been to have them available in select shops, it wasn’t feasible. Most stores wouldn’t be interested in carrying them because it was such a niche market.

Bibi continued flipping through the pages, reading my business and marketing plans.

The sinking sensation in my gut?

Definitely not a good sign.

After the minutes stretched into what felt like a lifetime, she handed the portfolio back to me. “I really don’t think it will work. However”—she drew the word out with her dramatic flair, giving me a tiny ray of hope—“I will consider giving it a trial run on one condition.”

“Anything.” I said it a little too hastily, but this line of dresses had been a dream of mine for the past two years.

Bibi opened the lower drawer of the desk, riffled through the files, and removed a folded piece of paper. She passed it