But still, we’d driven for more than an hour, and even from where I was, I could tell the scenery was worth enduring a little cold for. Unable to lock the car without the fob, I took Josh’s backpack off the back seat and got out of the car. No matter how snarky he’d been, I didn’t want his backpack to get stolen.

Standing next to the car, I tipped my head to the sun and tried to tell myself that it was warm, balmy—hot even. As convincing as I can be sometimes, I was not having it. Still, I soldiered on. I took my phone out of my pocket and tapped on the camera. Then I set off a brisk pace, determined to get as many photos as possible before other parts of me turned blue along with my nipples. They were hating me, by the way.

Everything I could see in every direction made it look like I’d landed on Mars. Rocks, from small pebbles to enormous boulders, dominated the landscape, covering it in a deep rusty red, and there was absolutely no plant life. Not surprising, I guessed, for a dormant volcano. The observatory rose from the red rock, its foundations in grey-coloured brick and its white domes a stark contrast to the red ground it stood on.

Walking away from the observatory, I stepped off the asphalt onto the rocky rim of the crater and realised we were above the cloud-line. What a unique feeling it was to stand somewhere and look down on clouds. I took some photos of the rusty red earth meeting the brilliant sky and snowy clouds—only three colours, but an utterly epic view.

Then I lifted the phone and took a selfie, my smile almost a grimace as my teeth started to chatter. I hadn’t seen which way Josh had gone, but I hoped like hell it was to the observation deck, which was enclosed. I walked back towards the observatory and climbed the steps to the observation deck as fast as I could. It was a relief to step inside.

Josh had his back to me and was looking at the view I’d just photographed. A family of four was also there, the boys about four and seven chatting excitedly to their parents, who listened patiently.

I walked up behind Josh. “Hey.” He didn’t turn around.

“Hey,” he said finally.

I stood next to him. “Sorry for being pouty before.”

“It’s okay,” he said, after a moment.

“I was just disappointed. I really wanted to go on this hike, and I’m annoyed I didn’t dress more appropriately. Well, that we didn’t.”

I glanced at him and he nodded, his face set in a frown. “I’m sorry for being pissy.”

“It’s okay.”

He looked at me and saw that I had his backpack. He took it from me. “Hey, thanks for bringing this.”

“I didn’t want to leave it in the car.” Sometimes it’s easier to talk about mundane things than about what’s really bothering you, like our impending separation.