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cell sounded like you wanted to talk to me about something.” I look at Zoë as she bites her lower lip.
    “I’m giving Jeff an ultimatum.”
    Ruh roh.
    “Either marry me or it’s over. We’ve been dating for two years. I’m tired of this shit.”
    Need to tread carefully here. When Zoë wants something, she channels Veruca Salt.
    “Well, I definitely see why you’re frustrated, but don’t you think forcing the issue will only push him away? When is the last time you guys talked about this?”
    “Shrimp taco night. Four months ago.”
    Hmm. I remember shrimp taco night. I don’t think drunkenly screaming, “I have to have two kids by the time I’m thirty-eight you fuckhole,” in the parking lot of El Compadre is talking. But I won’t share that with Zoë.
    “Well, maybe you should talk to him again. No one likes to be backed into a corner,” I say as Zoë crosses her arms and sits up straight.
    It definitely sucks that Jeff has been dragging his feet, but a big part of Zoë’s problem is that she’s been handed everything in life. So I know this situation is excruciating for her, but I think it’s a mistake to force a confrontation. You shouldn’t guilt someone into marrying you, not that I’m going to say any of that to her.
    “I’m thirty-five years old. If it’s not him, I need to move on. I told him from the start that I wanted kids. I can’t dick around anymore.”
    Oh Jesus, I feel a Golden Egg moment coming up. I’m nodding and smiling on the outside, but in my head, all I can hear is that song from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.
    I want a party with room fulls of laughter…
    “I’ve been dreaming of my wedding day since I was like, ten.”
    Ten thousand tons of ice cream…
    “Vera Wang has the perfect dress and…”
    And if I don’t get the things I am after…
    “I refuse to waste any more time waiting for Jeff to stop playing World of Warcraft and marry me.”
    I’m going to scream!
    “I really need you to back me on this.”
    Okay, I need to switch into supportive mode here. But it’s hard because I don’t have that rabid fear of being alone that Zoë has. I just don’t. Maybe it’s because I’m three years younger than her. Or maybe it’s because all of her friends from high school are already married and have kids. Either way, I know I better fake it. “Of course I support you, I just want to make sure you aren’t going to accidentally throw something great away.”
    “Please, if he bails, the last two years have been a huge mistake. This is not a situation where talking is going to help. He just needs a push. I know Jeff wants to get married, he just needs to have the decision made for him.”
    Taking a sip of my coffee I buy myself a few seconds to think about what I want to say. “You have to do what you think is right. And I think Jeff will definitely…” Oh shit, best choice of words here? Fall in line? Give in? Do what’s best? Run for the hills? I can’t think of anything that isn’t trite, so I decide to go with what she wants to hear: “…want to get married. He loves you.”
    Zoë relaxes and slumps back into the booth. “I promise you won’t look fat in the bridesmaid’s dress.”
    Luckily, before I have to respond to that whole issue, the waitress returns to the table with my 3000-calorie lunch and Zoë’s plate of charcoal.
     
    The time is 1:50 p.m., which means I’ve been gone for two hours. Even though this place is usually cool about such things, it’s probably best to sneak in the back way just in case. I decide not to return to the edit bay just yet (even though Mark is probably cursing me by now). I’d rather extend my lunch break for another fifteen minutes to look at my favorite blog. It’s a guilty pleasure that I’m not particularly proud of, considering it’s a website that rips Hollywood stars to shreds. But come on, who doesn’t enjoy a celebrity caught vomiting on a dirty public bathroom floor?
    “Can everyone come