“It’s been different without you,” Frank says. “At the office, I mean. No one to give me shit about my bad puns. My confidence is skyrocketing.” “Soz about that,” I say. “What’s that?” “Soz.” I shrug. “It’s how British teenagers say sorry.” “How sorry can you be if you can’t even spring for the second syllable?” “Since when was word length correlative to sincerity? ‘I hate that’ sounds a lot sincerer to me than, say, ‘I anathematize that.’” Frank laughs. “Like ‘There’s truth in that’ versus ‘There’s verisimilitude’?” “Exactly. Or ‘I love you’ versus …” I stop. So I said it. Accidentally and to
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