“Ezra, are you okay?” “Yes.” I step into the alley, avoiding the slimy river of black water snaking down the middle of the cobblestones, and meet him by the dumpster. I’m half expecting someone with a mask and gun to leap out of it and drag me into a nearby van because that’s the kind of month I’m having. Instead, Ezra smooths his hands down the lapels of his blazer, shifts his weight from foot to foot, takes a breath, then blurts, “I think we should get married.” Oh Lord. I honestly would have preferred the kidnapping.
