Andy throws the comforter off of us even though it's winter. He says, "I can tell you now."

I'm cold with just the sheets, but it's too late to complain. "Okay," I say, and we lie there, and I know he's trying to figure out how to say it. My mind starts racing, trying to figure out what he's going to say, but I don't want to think about what he doesn't like about me. So I think about how awful my brother's wedding is going to be if I have to go alone. People will say: "Marc is so happy, too bad for his sister." And I will have to waltz with uncles and fox trot with cousins, and no amount of alcohol will make up for having to sit at a table with my parents. And my relatives will say, "I'm sorry to hear about Andy," even though they're not ,because he's not Jewish, and I'll say, "Well, at least I didn't stay with him and have an unconscious, conventional relationship like you." And then I'll drink more, and more, and I'll go to the hotel lobby and call Andy and scream at him that he's ruining this wedding and he's ruining my life and why can't we get back together.

Andy wraps his leg around mine, and asks, "What are you thinking about?"

I wrap my fingers around his and say, "I have to get out."