My grandmother's face lights up when I enter the room with my boyfriend, Caleb. She slowly rises from her rocker and hugs me close. My step-grandfather pats me on the back. It's as if they'd been waiting in the same spot for weeks for my arrival.
I update them on my life: lots of work, lots of play, lots of time with my boyfriend and bunny rabbits. I tell them that I'm traveling to New York City in January with my work, and all my grandmother asks is if my boyfriend is coming with me.
"He is."
"Oh, good. Good. It's too dangerous alone."
I nod. Silent. Not wanting to argue.
"So dangerous," she repeats.
Yes, she'd been traumatized by her own daughter's death in Mexico. However, did she realize that her daughter died in a hotel room separated by only a wall from her own husband.
Anyone can die with or without a man holding their hand.
And sometimes fear kills you faster than danger.
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