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he just swallowed.
    “Depressed?” he echoes when he’s recovered enough to speak. “Who said I’m depressed?”
    I look around for a conveniently loaded pistol. Sadly, there doesn’t appear to be one available, so I have no choice but to answer the question.
    “Luke,” I mutter shamefacedly. “He thinks you’re depressed because he’s getting married and you’re all alone.”
    “Luke would think that,” Chaz says with a smirk.
    “So… you’re not depressed?” I ask, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe suicide won’t be necessary, just this once.
    Chaz looks me dead in the eye and says, “Why, yes, Lizzie. I’m manically depressed because the girl I’ve finally realized I’ve always been in love with, and who I was beginning to think just might love me back, turned around and got herself engaged to my best friend, who, frankly, doesn’t deserve her. Does that answer your question?”
    It’s the weirdest thing, but my heart seems to do a flip-flop in my chest, and for a second, I can’t breathe, nor can I drop my gaze from his.
    Then I realize he’s joking.
    And I feel my cheeks begin to burn.
    He’s joking. Of course he’s joking. God, I’m such a fool.
    “What does it matter to you?” I demand, ignoring his sarcasm. I’m furious at myself—for thinking he meant it when he said he loved me, but even more, for having felt bad that I’d hurt him. He can’t be hurt. I mean, obviously he can. But not by me. Never by me. “You should be relieved you escaped my sights. You don’t even believe in marriage. It’s just a slip of paper, right? That’s what you said, anyway.”
    “You got that right.” Chaz has leaned back to watch the game. “You want a happy romantic relationship? Don’t ruin it by getting married.”
    I blink at him. I can’t believe he’s serious.
    “Since when did you start feeling this way?” I ask. “You never felt like this about marriage when you were with Shari. You two were the picture of connubial bliss. Without the connubial part. But you were always making pies and doing her laundry and stuff… ”
    “Yeah,” Chaz says, still not taking his gaze off the television screen… although I notice he’s set his jaw. “Well, she left me, remember? For a woman. Believe me, I won’t be making that mistake again. Marriage is for suckers.”
    “You don’t mean that,” I say, a little shocked at his bitter tone.
    “Don’t I?” He smirks at the screen. “I think I know what I’m talking about. My dad’s a divorce lawyer, remember?”
    “And yet he’s been married to your mom,” I say, “for like, what, thirty years?”
    I can’t believe I’m still upset about the I’ve always been in love with you remark, which, considering all the making out we were doing in the back of that cab on New Year’s, wasn’t really in the best of taste. I’m even more upset about the way my heart had reacted to the information. What had that been about?
    And how, even for one second, could I ever actually have believed him?
    I know I’m a naïve Midwestern girl. But I really try not to act like one. Most of the time.
    “I try to keep that on the down low,” Chaz says. “The happily married parents thing doesn’t really go with my whole persona. You know, newly single philosophy Ph.D. candidate, living alone in an East Village walk-up, hard drinking, hard living, kind of dangerous—”
    Now it’s my turn to smirk.
    “What?” Chaz drags his gaze from the television screen and eyes me. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
    “Not in that hat,” I say.
    “Oh, I’m dangerous,” Chaz assures me. “More dangerous than Luke.”
    “I don’t like Luke because he’s dangerous,” I point out.
    “Oh, right,” Chaz says. “You like him… why? Because he’s rich? Handsome? Suave? Debonair? Thoughtful? Kind? Going to save the children someday?”
    “All of the above,” I say, “except rich. I intend to make my own money, thank you, so I have no need