“Actually, that’s what I’m calling about.” “Money?” “Men. One in particular.” I wait for an explanation. When it doesn’t come, I say, “Are we going to play twenty questions, or are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” Sloane takes a deep breath. She blows it out. Then, in a tone like she almost can’t believe it herself, she says, “I’m getting married.” I blink an unnecessary amount of times. It doesn’t help clarify anything. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say you’re getting married.”
