Hannah’s Marriage
Our relationship began the summer I was eighteen, working at a taco stand in Newport Beach. I’d sweat during the day in all that heat—the heat from the sun-warmed sand, and the asphalt, and the oppressive air and the scorching stove. I wore my sun-bleached brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. Though by evening little strands would come loose and cling to my face. Mark thought it made me look sexy. He liked the way my tiny T-shirts clung to my breasts and the way a bead or two of sweat would trickle down between them, and the way I’d give him a half-blushing self-conscious smile when I caught him looking at me. I knew he came to my taco stand just to stare at me. But it was so damn hot, I didn’t have the will to feel indignant. Besides he was much too cute.
Though Mark
