A piece of golden stationery and a Honda Civic that smelled of cat pee led me to the door of a room in a fancy hotel. I pushed the door open. Andy, my Chinese-American boyfriend, stood in the center of the room, holding a rose. My nervous eyes jumped around the room. Huge bed, already turned down, decorated by a box of See’s truffles. The man knew me well. (One dinner mint on a pillow isn’t even an appetizer!) The room was bigger than my apartment. The furniture was mahogany. The floors were marble.
Thankfully, there was no sign of a square jewelry box. Continue reading Skydiving (#22)