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on,” Luke says in a more serious tone. “Chaz loves you, you know that. He wants to say congratulations in person. And seeing you will cheer him up. You know how much he likes teasing you about your weird outfits. Besides, if you don’t show up, I won’t see you all day.”
    Except it isn’t my outfit I’m afraid of Chaz teasing me about.
    Not that I’m about to mention this, either.
    “Luke,” I say. “The whole point of our not living together is so that we can use this time of our engagement to explore who we are as individuals, so that when we come together as a married couple we’ll have a clearer idea of exactly what we want out of—”
    “Lizzie,” Luke says. “I know all that. I was there when you made that little speech, remember? Can’t a guy just want to see his girlfriend?”
    I sigh, visions of my fun evening of high-fashion photos and bubbles going down the drain. Literally. “I’ll be there around seven.”
    The bar is crowded, but thankfully not smoky, since New York City banned all smoking indoors and actually enforces it. I find Luke and Chaz in a booth beneath one of the dozens of televisions hanging suspended from the ceiling and blaring college basketball games. Luke leaps up to kiss me hello. Chaz, I see, is wearing one of his ubiquitous (except when he’s in evening wear) University of Michigan baseball hats, pulled down low over his hair. He is unshaven and looking a little rough around the edges… rougher, even, than when I’d seen him last, after a night of too much champagne…
    And too much other stuff as well.
    “Come on,” Luke says to me, grinning his adorable grin. “Show him.”
    I’ve slid into the booth beside Luke, and am taking off my coat and unwinding my scarf.
    Chaz is nursing a beer, his eyes on the game above my head.
    “Luke,” I say, blushing, though I don’t know why. “No.”
    “Come on,” Luke says. “You know you want to.”
    Chaz’s gaze flicks down from the television screen and onto me. “Show me what?”
    Luke lifts my left hand to show Chaz my engagement ring. Chaz lets out a long, low whistle, even though of course he’s already seen it. “Nice,” he says.
    Luke’s grin is now ear-to-ear.
    “Let me get you a drink,” he says to me. “I’ll just run up to the bar, since the waitress takes forever. White wine?”
    I nod. “That’d be great… ” I wonder if I need to remind him to get it with a side of ice. I hate warm white wine, and I can never seem to drink it fast enough. It’s tacky, but lately I’ve started asking for my white wine with a glass of ice on the side. It also lasts longer and has less calories that way.
    “Be back in a flash,” Luke says before I have a chance to say anything, as I slide to let him out of the booth to go to the bar, then slip back into the seat he’s just vacated.
    Oh well. He’ll remember about the ice.
    Chaz has lifted his gaze back to the game over my head. I clear my throat.
    “Thank you for the roses,” I say quickly, to get it over with, and before Luke gets back. “You didn’t have to do that.”
    “Yeah,” Chaz says shortly, still not looking at me. “I did.”
    “Well.” I see that Luke is still frantically trying to get the bartender’s attention, so I lay a hand—my right—over Chaz’s. “Thank you. It meant a lot to me. You have no idea.”
    Chaz looks down at my hand. Then he looks back into my eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
    I pull my hand away, stung—though I’m not sure why.
    “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
    Chaz chuckles and reaches for his beer. “Nothing. God, what are you so defensive for? I thought you and Luke were so blissfully happy.”
    “We are!” I squeak.
    “Well, then”—he tilts his beer at me in a toast—“mazel tov.”
    “You don’t seem very depressed,” I can’t keep myself from remarking.
    Then I immediately want to kill myself.
    He seems almost to choke on the mouthful of beer