“What if you fall in love?” I swig the remains of my champagne, put the empty glass on a passing tray, and pick up a fresh one. “I won’t.” “You can’t possibly know that.” “Women don’t fall in love, Matt. They fall into traps. They are lured in by sweet lies and smooth promises. Then years, maybe decades, down the line, they realize they’re tethered to a stranger, their chains made heavier by things like babies and mortgages and mothers-in-law with unhealthy obsessions with their sons. Some get divorced; some decide it’s easier just to stay shackled.” Heavy silence whistles in the wind. I turn
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