Fiction

«"But don't you think", I persist, "that it´s better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than just okay for your whole life?"
Mr. DeTamble regards me. He takes his hands away from his face and stares. Then he says, "I've often wondered about that. Do you believe that?"
I think in my childhood, all the waiting, and wondering, and the joy of seeing Henry walking through the Meadow after not seeing him for two years and then to find him standing in the Reading Room at the Newberry Library: the joy of being able to touch him, the luxury of knowing where he is, of knowing he loves me. "Yes", I say. "I do". I meet Henry's eyes and smile.
Mr. DeTamble nods. "Henry has chosen well". Kimy gets up to bring coffee and while she's in the kitchen Mr. DeTamble continues, "He isn't calibrated to bring peace to anyone's life. In fact, he is in many ways the opposite of his mother: unreliable, volatile, and not even especially concerned with anyone but himself. Tell me, Clare: why on earth would a lovely girl like you want to marry Henry?"
Everything in the room seems to hold its breath. Henry stiffens but doesn't say anything. I lean forward and smile at Mr. DeTamble and say, with enthusiasm, as though he has asked me what flavour of ice cream I like best: "Because he's really, really good in bed". In the kitchen there's a howl of laughter. Mr. DeTamble glances at Henry, who raises his eyebrows and grins, and finally even Mr. DeTamble smiles, and says "Touché, my dear".»

in "The Time Traveler's Wife", Audrey Niffenegger.