The familiar mossy wooden bench creaks when I sit on the knotted red blanket I used to

cover the loose slotted planks. A chilly breeze wafts the scent of fresh bread from the deli down
the street. The sun is shining through a break in the trees, allowing the light to hit my black coat
and warm my body from the outside in. My fingers are red and stiff, but I promised him I would
come here today—to our spot.
The tote bag I’d hauled for ten blocks containing a paperback novel, a turkey melt
sandwich, and the blanket rests at the foot of the bench. I rummage through the bag until I feel
the scratchy parchment and pull it out. Undoing the sandwich wrapper, the sharp mustard scent
slowly fills the air. I pull out the book–a story about a woman who leaves an abusive relationship
only to find out that she’s pregnant with his baby—and open the bookmarked page. I’m not a fan
of the story, but Carly will not stop bugging me until I finish it. And I need something to occupy
my mind while I sit. The delicious smell of the sandwich makes my stomach groan. I take a large
bite before setting it aside, careful not to stain the loaned book.
I feel a hot breath of air on my ankle. For a moment, my heart jumps leaps and bounds
ahead of my mind, disobeying any rational thought. I jolt against the touch, immediately
glancing down. I expect to see a long, white snout with a slippery black nose rubbing against my
leg. I expect thoughtful eyes and exaggerated brows. But when I look down, it’s just a panting
boxer who has run from his owner. It’s not uncommon at this park, especially here where the
parting trees give way to a long open field of grass. People bring their pets all the time to frolic
in the open space that the city streets never allow. I used to bring my dog, too. I give the boxer a
quick pat on the head before his human calls him back.
I take another bite of the turkey melt, careful not to let the shed tear drip on the
parchment.