“Of course,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “I understand. So how can I help? I assume you’re here because you need help with planning.”
Another glance passed between them, and this time I caught it clearly—that silent communication that spoke volumes about conversations they’d had without me. Conversations about me.
“Actually, Mom,” Avery said, his voice dropping to that soft tone he’d used since he was a little boy asking for something he knew was a stretch, “that’s exactly why we’re here. You know how times are these days. The economy. Inflation. Everything’s so expensive.” He paused, searching my face. “We just want Sophie to have her dream wedding. She’s worked so hard. She deserves a beautiful day.”
I looked at my son—truly looked at him. He worked at a small advertising agency in Midtown. Good job, but not great. Taylor didn’t work at all beyond her lifestyle influencer Instagram account with seventeen thousand followers, which as far as I could tell meant posting photos of brunch and giving advice about handbags.
“How much does Sophie’s dream wedding cost?” I heard myself ask.