I couldn't be one of them. Curiosity was killing me. My brother and I had been repeatedly instructed that we were a product of our parents' love for one another. We made them swear that was true, and that we'd always all be together. Yeah, well, they lied about Santa Claus, a rabbit with eggs and enough chocolate to end wars, and a fairy who likes to get real close to sleeping kids to pay for whatever dirty teeth have fallen from their heads.
Parents like to tell pretty stories as much as anyone.
The notion that I'd find someone I loved and trusted enough to marry seemed like another in the mix. So by 16 I was thoroughly jaded. Come on, I watched the fucking news, kept up on politics, and had read bits of the Bible. I wasn't delusional. Falling in love seemed no more plausible than any other fairy tale.