"Don't you wish love was so strong it could come back to haunt you?"
I told him the story of my mother, who one night had woken up at 3:14 a.m. with a mouth full of violet petals and the scent of roses so thick in the air that she could not breathe. An hour later she was roused by a phone call: her own mother, a florist by trade, had died of a heart attack at 3:14 a.m. "Science can't answer everything," I told Henry. "It doesn't explain love."
"Actually it does," he told me. "There have been all kinds of studies done. People are more attracted to people with symmetrical features, for example. And symmetrical men smell better to women. Also, people who have similar genetic traits are attracted to each other. It probably has something to do with evolution."
I burst out laughing. "That is awful," I said. "That is the most unromantic thing I've ever heard."
"I don't think so . . ."
"Oh, really. Say something that will sweep me off my feet," I demanded.
Henry looked at me for a long moment, until I could feel my head growing lighter and dizzier. "I think you might be perfectly symmetrical," he said.
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