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I am sitting in the passenger seat of our truck. It is January in Boston. I am not sure why I do not have a coat with me, but the wind is howling, and it is snowing.
We are in an open-air parking garage near Faneuil Hall where Scott*, my boyfriend, has a small seasonal business. Our black labrador, Crystal, is beside me in the truck, leaning into me, providing warmth, my arms around her.
My heart is already beating fast, and then I hear the ding of the elevator. Scott approaches from around the corner. His face is bright red. From the cold? I wonder. But no, his hands are clenched in fists. His lips are pursed and thin, so I know he is fuming but trying to hide it. Please no, please no, please no, runs through my mind.