Элисон Скотч - The Theory of Opposites

My face crumbles from the pain, and Theo notices the wince.

“Come on, I know the head of the ER. We’ll get you to the front of the line.” He takes my good hand, without even thinking about it, like he doesn’t even consider the intimacy of intertwining his fingers in mine, and leads me down the hallway.

The doctor comes immediately and gives Theo a bear hug, slapping him on the back, and says: “Man, what can I do for you? I came as soon as I got your text.”

And then he takes one look at my eggplant, mangled fingers.

“Did you really try to catch a homer with your bare hands?”

“I can be an idiot. I was trying to resist inertia. It didn’t work.”

“Like hell it didn’t,” Theo says. He digs into my purse to get the ball. “Your fingers will heal but you’ll always have this. A memento of the night you weren’t afraid to reach up and catch what was coming for you.”

By now, the Vicodin that the doctor has given me has kicked in, so I can easily read his metaphor, and I know that he’s referring to more than just the ball. I sweep my good palm up to his cheek and say:

“You’re sweet.” Though I also want to say: You’re the one who didn’t want to reach out and catch me. You’re the one who didn’t believe in marriage.

Theo whispers: “Uh-oh. I think you’re high.”

And he and the doctor chuckle, and since I am indeed high, I chuckle too.

A kind nurse sets my hand in a cast, and I sit beside a six-year-old whose cheeks are tear-streaked and whose pigtails hang limply against her shoulders.

“What happened, sweetie?” Theo asks.

Her chin quivers, so her mom states:

“We’ve told her a million times not to climb on the bookshelf to get the remote. This time, the entire thing fell on top of her.”

Silent tears tumble out of the girl’s eyes.

“It’s okay, honey,” I say. “I’m a terrible listener too.”

“Really?” Her voice is so very small.

“Really. You wouldn’t believe how many times someone has to tell me something before I finally believe it.”

I feel Theo’s hand against my shoulder, and he gives me a squeeze.

“I’m getting a rainbow cast,” the little girl says. “They said they could give me a rainbow.”

“Then I’ll get a rainbow cast too. That sounds nice. I will take the rainbow.” I close my eyes and the room sways. I open them again and don’t dare turn to look back toward Theo, though I know he’s there, right behind me, holding me up.

“Do you believe in pots of gold?” she asks. “And leprechauns?”

“I believe in everything.”

Though I also believe that when the Vicodin wears off, this will no longer be true.

Vanessa insists that I accept a date with Theo.

“I dare you,” she says, as we stroll through the Pike Place Market, sampling fresh nectarines.

“I’m starting to find that annoying,” I say back. “You only dare me to do things that I don’t want to do.”

“Precisely. And it’s not as if I’ve been wrong. It’s not as if you’re having the worst time of your life.”

“Well, the hike up the mountain was the worst time of my life. But I’ll concede that the baseball game was not horrid.” I wave my rainbow cast in her face. “Of course, this happened.”

“Hmmm,” she demurs. “I guess perhaps we’ve tweaked your master plan.”

“I’m not moving here. I’m not, like, getting dreadlocks and joining a drum circle.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” She types “drum circle” into her phone. “No one said you had to move here, but you’ve had a glimpse of what your life could have been. What else your life could be. You open up your landscape.”

“With Theo. You want me to open up my landscape with Theo.”

“Not with Theo! Or maybe with Theo! Theo isn’t the point here. Finding out what else is out there for you is! Stop being scared of the unknown.”

“You’re forgetting that Theo didn’t want to marry me. And I’ve resolved to fight for Shawn.”

“Hmmm,” she says in reply.

“Hmmm,” I mock her back.

“Just go,” she finally sighs. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Theo is waiting for me when I meet him on The University of Washington campus the next evening. I didn’t agree to dinner. He asked for dinner, he wanted me to say Y.E.S. to dinner — but dinner felt too risky. Risky because though I have told Vanessa that my version of resisting inertia is to try to win Shawn back, the other version is me resisting thinking about Theo every last second. Because since the emergency room visit, I have spent an awful lot of time thinking about Theo, about the squeeze of his hand on my shoulder, about his easy laugh at my lack of lucidness, about the way he comes to my rescue when I don’t realize that I need saving. I don’t want to think about Theo — resist inertia and think about Shawn! — and certainly, with my current state of affairs, there are plenty of things to consider other than Theo.

THINGS TO THINK OF OTHER THAN THEO:

1. My mom is a late-in-life lesbian.

2. Raina’s reaction to mom’s self-discovery. (That we should fly to Palm Beach immediately and bring her home.)

3. Oliver’s headline news on Access Hollywood: celebrity yogi-types have started wearing taupe ribbons (“Because taupe is the color of peace,” Halle Berry explained to Billy Bush last night) as a public display of Ollie’s defense.

4. Shawn’s Facebook page, which I checked again last night after taking half a Vicodin for my broken hand. I am 99% certain that he must be unaware that JDate posts a live update every time Shawn logs in (which is strange for several reasons — one, that Shawn isn’t aware because he is nothing if not tech-savvy, and two, that JDate would think that this is a good idea because it’s sort of embarrassing to have this in your feed but maybe they think that it lets single people know that there are other normal single people out there, and they are on JDate. Which raises the whole question of if Shawn is single, and surely, that is something I should be contemplating more than my ex-boyfriend. I do give it some thought, but not as much as you’d think.) I bet Cilla Zuckerberg would never check Mark’s page if he dumped her. I bet she would basically implode Facebook at its very core, like, literally go in and set their server on fire. I thought of this last night and eventually logged off, but not before trying to break into Erica Stoppard’s profile and see all of her pictures. (She has hers set to private, which really sucked.)

5. Nicky, who took a right turn two days ago while in Palo Alto, likely in response to what he calls Shallow Alto, has definitely discovered God. Or his Jewish roots. He starts and ends his emails with “Shalom,” and I don’t think he’s being ironic. I should devote more time assessing the mental health of 12-year-olds and if this sort of thing is normal. (Also, I should email his mom, but I’m hoping Shawn has already done so. But of course, I can’t ask Shawn and don’t want to be an alarmist. What do I email Amanda? “Dear Amanda, your son has found God. Should we stage an intervention?” No. That seems odd.)

Theo is standing in front of the library checking his phone when I see him. He’s in skinny khakis and a blue button-down, because he was giving a guest lecture called The Art of Persuasion to a grad-school summer class, but he’s rolled the sleeves up to the elbows and looks more like a student than a professor.

Early July in Seattle is perfection. The sky is crisp and clear and blue and makes you forget that summer doesn’t go on forever. It is not too hot, not too cold, and the air is clean and optimistic. The trees are cut from a storybook, and on campus, they burst with life, towering over you, ahead of you, offering insulation from the world outside.