“Love?” she sputtered. “Even the mightiest fire becomes ashes. Those butterflies in the stomach crumble, and all that noise becomes a matter of settling scores: you said, you promised, you forgot, you disappeared, you disappointed. Who needs it? And who needs children who look at you like a burden? And who ever came up with this institution of housing a man and a woman in the same home, the same bedroom, for forty years? Look at you, Mano, as free and light as a down comforter. If you marry, you’ll be handcuffed.”
