I like the taffeta as an accent table runner,I tell her. And,It’s passable—why?
I have to turn my laptop’s camera off so my CEO doesn’t see me texting constantly during our standup meetings.
What do you think of these goblets for the ceremony?Pen shares links to two Michael Aram kiddush cups, one with olive branches weaving through the stem, the other with pomegranates.
Those are kiddush cups, I correct gently.I like them.I pause, considering whether my next comment would be overstepping. But she did say she wanted my help given it’s a Jewish wedding.But does Josh’s family have any kiddush cups you could use? Usually it’s a chance for meaningful family heirlooms.Mycousins have all gotten married with the same kiddush cup our great-grandparents brought from Poland.
They have a couple, Pen writes,but they’re super ugly. I told him I’d just buy new ones. We can use these in our apartment for Shabus dinners.
I can hear Penelope butchering the Yiddish for Shabbat.Shabbos*, I attempt. She doesn’t respond.
I think monofloral is the way to go.Pen’s text wakes me up before my alarm. She sends a reel of an influencer talking to a camera while she changes from her ceremony dress into her reception dress, which hasfive hundred thousand likes. That number doesn’t feel real. Instagram reduces it to four characters,503K, in an attempt to make it more palatable. Imagining five hundred thousand people witnessing my existence makes my skin itch.
The wedding content is a real opportunity for me, she writes after.Can you make sure you’re documenting on the wedding day?
When I was five, I dreamed of growing up and following my friend around with an iPhone on her wedding day.TheAGENTED WRITERmarquee letters glow brighter, as they do with every outlandish request or question.Of course,I write back.
Suit atelier had a cancellation so we have our fitting tomorrow,Eitan texts me one Thursday.
Surprised you know what an atelier is, I say.
Found it reading a luxury wedding blog.
I have to cover my mouth to hold in a laugh at the image of Eitan intently reading a luxury wedding blog. I imagine a pencil in his mouth, steno notebook next to him, filled with notes.
Any tips?he asks, a minute later.
Go for powder blue, I reply.The more ruffles, the better.
Haha, he writes.No.
I do a quick Pinterest search.This is a classic.I send a picture of a vintage tuxedo.And I’m always partial to a slimmer fit pant.
Noted :)I think the conversation will end here, but a few minutes later, he asks,Had any good conversations with strangers lately?
Even though our agreement is purely practical, and Eitan is not myactualcoach, I still feel like I’ve been caught skipping the homework.
Had a riveting conversation with my monstera the other day.
Ruby, Eitan writes. He’s not evenspeakingmy name, and I’m still fighting goosebumps.Every day. Have faith in your coach.
I never agreed to call you a coach.
Too late to change it. That kind of request needs to be submitted in writing, two weeks in advance.
I roll my eyes.
Talk to someone. Interact with the world, he commands over text.
I send back a saluting emoji and put down my phone. Mostly because, if I didn’t stop myself, I could text him all day.
That night, I go to my favorite Vietnamese restaurant, on Argyle. I normally listen to music so I don’t need to sit in silence in public. But this time, I keep my earbuds in my pocket. As I wait for my vegetarian pho, I resolve to try talking to the lone girl working as cashier, host, and server.
She’s wearing a large six-petaled flower pendant on a ribbon cord, which immediately catches my attention.
“I like your necklace,” I say.
She lights up. “Thank you! I just got it, it’s from this native artist on Instagram who makes everything by hand.”
