“Yeah, they’re pretty well known, I suppose.”
“So if you’re wedding planning royalty, why don’t you work with them?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why, instead of taking your rightful place in the family business, did you start your own competing company?”
“I guess I wanted to make a name for myself. They expected me to join them after college. Continue the legacy, eventually take over. But they, they’re...”
“Let me guess. Controlling? Manipulative? Disappointed in everything you do no matter how hard you try?”
“Something like that.” I smiled despite myself. “They plan beautiful weddings, but they have their particular way of doing things. I wanted to try something different. They didn’t like it.”
“Hence Perfect Day Planning. Not exactly a rebellious name,” she teased.
“I never claimed to be a revolutionary.”
“Says the man about to be featured in Modern Wedding.” She tilted her head. “Your parents must be thrilled about that.”
My stomach twisted. “They’re... coming around.”
“Coming around?” She sat up straighter. “Oh my god, they really were pissed when you left, weren’t they? The prodigal son dared to compete with the family business.” Her eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “This is amazing. I thought my parents were bad.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Of course it is.” She leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “My parents basically disowned me for choosing wedding planning over law school. My brother became the golden child the moment I chose flowers over torts.”
“Torts?”
“It’s a type of law.” She waved dismissively. “The point is, my parents barely acknowledge my existence now that my brother is a junior partner at their law firm.”
“I would almost prefer my parents forget my existence.”
“You say that, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. No family holidays. No calls on your birthday. Nothing but the cold shoulder 365 days a year.” She shuddered. “Your turn. What did your parents do when you defected?”
“My mother cried. My father threatened to cut me out of their will.” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, though the memory still stung. “They didn’t speak to me for three months.”
“Amateur hour,” Mari scoffed. “My parents didn’t even call me when my grandmother died. I found out from my childhood neighbor’s cousin, who went to church with my grandparents.”
“That’s... actually worse,” I conceded.
“Told you. I win the terrible parents competition.” She raised her beer in mock victory. “Though your parents sound like a special brand of nightmare. Wedding planners who can’t support their son becoming a wedding planner?”
“They’re supportive as long as I do it their way,” I clarified. “The Gable & Gable way. Which means catering exclusively to old money, using the same five venues, and charging obscene amounts for basic services.”
“And you wanted to...”
“Create something modern. Accessible. Something that didn’t rely on my parents’ connections.” I realized I was getting worked up and took a breath. “Something that was mine.”
Mari studied me, her expression softening. “I get it. Even though it terrified me, I was glad Anica trusted me to come out here to Chicago and try my hand at this alone.”
“How’s it been working out for you?”
“I set a booth on fire at the wedding expo, so...” She gave a half-smile.
“The booth fire wasn’t entirely your fault,” I admitted and drained the rest of my first beer. I cracked another one open.
“Did you just defend me, Gable?” She placed a hand over her heart in mock shock. “I think the apocalypse is upon us.”
“Oops. Must be the beer.”
“I’m sure it is.” She finished hers too. “So how did you get your parents to speak to you again? Or do they just communicate through their lawyers?”
