I count more flower wows than almost any other comment

I

’m ordering kallah flowers for my son’s vort.

“Give me the standard,” I say, “and add a hundred dollars.”

My husband raises his eyebrow. When I put down the phone, he asks the million-dollar question: “Why a hundred more?”

I give him the general rundown of kallah expectations, explaining that each place has its rules and regulations, which mechutenestes better follow or else.

He doesn’t buy it.

I have kallah fever, so the discrepancy of my logic eludes me.

At the vort, I gasp when I see the arrangement. A sphere of grandiflora roses in an explosion of color stands majestic on blanched branche . The bouquet overflows with hanging amaranthus. This is the perfect backdrop to the kallah’s moment. I envelop my mechuteneste in a hug and she squeezes back. “The flowers are gorgeous.”

I did it. I feel a sort of relief humming on the periphery of my subconscious as I take it all in. My son’s kallah, family and friends giddy around her, my offering in the backdrop. Flashes of light capture this moment for posterity.

As the night twinkles on, I count more flower wows than almost any other comment.