They Went Left - Monica Hesse Page 0,73

completely outshone by my dress.”

Esther points toward the desk chair until Breine obediently sits, and then she holds up a series of lipsticks to Breine’s face, looking for the most flattering color. “This one, I think,” she decides, choosing a creamy pink. “Open your mouth a little. No—more natural, like this.”

After Esther applies the borrowed lipstick to Breine’s mouth, she dabs a little on her own fingertip to use as rouge for Breine’s cheeks. “I’ll just do a tiny amount,” she promises in response to Breine’s grimace. “You’ll still look exactly like yourself; it will just be a bit of color in case you get nervous and pale standing up there in front of us all and knowing we’re watching you.”

“Well, you’ve made me nervous now.” Breine laughs.

Watching the whole exchange, I’m overcome by a memory. “Use three dots,” I suggest to Esther.

She hovers her fingertip just over Breine’s cheek. “Three dots?”

“My aunt Maja always told me: one dot of rouge lined up below the pupil, one about two centimeters lower, in line with the tip of the nose, and a third high on the cheekbone. You make a triangle with three dots, and then blend in between for the most flattering appearance.” I laugh. “I can’t believe I suddenly remembered that.”

“We’ll do three!”

Esther finishes Breine’s makeup and moves to her hair, beginning with a braid, as Breine always wears it, but then pinning it up at the base of Breine’s neck. When she’s finished, she holds up a hand mirror, and we all examine the work.

Breine raises her fingers, lightly touching her face and elegant hair.

“It’s not too much, is it?” Esther says. “I told you it wouldn’t be. Breine? Tell me you don’t hate it.”

“It’s not too much,” Breine says quietly. “This is how I used to look all the time. My mother said a woman should never leave the house without wearing lipstick, and she always made sure I’d tidied my hair.” Now she smiles ruefully, and her eyes grow a little distant. “She would have wanted such a different wedding for me. She would have wanted such a different life.”

Esther and I look at each other. Breine is usually so optimistic; I’m not sure how to respond. Esther puts a hand on her shoulder. “I hope she would be happy for you anyway. Chaim is a wonderful man.”

Breine sucks in a deep breath and then reaches up to return Esther’s touch with a brisk pat on the hand. “Let’s get me dressed,” she says.

We give her a towel to hold over her face to keep her makeup from smudging. And then Esther keeps Breine’s hair in place while I slide the dress over her head and button the back.

When I’m finished doing up the back, Breine splays her palms upward, eyes quizzical. “Well?”

Esther brings her hands to her heart. “Oh, Breine, you’re perfect.”

Breine’s face lights up, and she motions for Esther to bring her the chair so she can get a full-length glimpse of herself in the wall mirror.

I don’t say anything yet, instead busily walking around her in a full circle, straightening hems, critically eyeing my own handiwork.

The new sash at the waistline gives Breine more of an hourglass shape, and a new sweetheart neckline draws attention to her pretty neck and collarbone. All those dozens of tiny beads, those infernal tiny beads, I reattached around the scalloped edges. Clustered together this way, instead of scattered over the whole dress, they catch the light and sparkle as if Breine is carrying around her own sun.

I’ve done a fine job. Maybe not completely up to Chomicki & Lederman standards, but a very fine job, especially given my limited resources and time frame. I wouldn’t be ashamed for my father or Baba Rose to see this dress.

And earlier this afternoon, just before I took the dress to iron, I made one last adjustment because the garment didn’t feel complete. Along the neckline, at the lowest part just near Breine’s heart, I ripped out a few stitches of the seam, and before I repaired it, I tucked in a small square of silk:

Choose to love, I wrote. It’s what Breine said to me when she first told me about Chaim: She was choosing to love the person in front of her.

Choose to love.

WE GIVE BREINE A HANDKERCHIEF TO TUCK UP HER SLEEVE, and when she’s as ready as we can make her, Esther and I throw on our own donation-box dresses—hers, pink and frilled, and mine, the color