I’d look like a party pooper if I protested, and Max knew I would. Minutes from finishing a two-hour drive, it seemed his timing was strategic. Max popped the surprise as we hurtled down the 405 North, costumed and jammed into his faithful jeep with the chipped silver paint. The first being, “Are you joking?” and the second, “Can we please go to Denny’s instead?” I still remember how two questions stuck in my throat the night my boyfriend, Max, revealed he was not taking me to any ordinary Halloween party.
