Элисон Скотч - The Theory of Opposites

“I came as soon as I could, straight from the airport. How is he?”

“He’s probably going to live,” she says.

She leans in and hugs me — clutches me really.

“Oh my God.” I purge my relief through my tears.

“They’re going to have to operate again, and then they’ll know for sure, but the doctors said the odds of success are high.” She pulls back and straightens her blouse, tucking the hem into her waistband. Zippering right back into pre-crisis Raina.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this on your own.”

“Ollie’s here,” she says. “I mean, he can’t leave the apartment, but he’s calmed me down.”

“Are you wearing a taupe ribbon?” I ask, angling closer and staring at her collar.

“Ollie made me.” She sits, so I do too.

“It’s the color of peace,” Jeremy says, angling over and kissing me.

“Have you reached Mom?”

“I reached Nancy, her ‘partner.’” Raina holds up air quotes. “Mom was on a twenty-four-hour solo spiritual retreat — ”

“They have those in Palm Beach?” I interrupt.

“Evidently. But Nancy said she would try to get in touch with her.”

“You know that mom is just finding herself,” I say gently. “Forty years with dad and his philosophies, and this is the first time she’s been allowed outside those bounds.”

“I know,” Raina says. “And it’s not because it’s ‘Nancy.’ You know that. I mean, we donate every year to support gay marriage.”

“We do?” Jeremy asks.

“We do a lot of things you don’t know about,” Raina says.

“That’s probably true,” Jeremy says to me.

“You’re not great with change,” I say to Raina. “That’s all. I get it.”

“Well, I believe in marriage. They’ve been together forty years. I think that’s worth something.”

I believe in marriage, too , I want to say. Though I’m starting to wonder about mine.

Raina pulls out a prescription bottle from her bag — Bobby’s backpack. She unscrews the lid and shakes out a pill, then offers me one. I pinch it up and drop it on the back of my tongue.

“You guys realize that’s not candy, right?” Jeremy says.

Raina ignores him. “I’m just saying…Dad just had a heart attack. I think Mom should be here.”

“Dad’s sort of the one who told her to get lost in the first place,” I counter. “Which is sort of exactly what Shawn told me.”

Yes, maybe I should refocus on Fault #5: he’s a total asshole!

“Well, maybe you and Shawn should also try to make it work,” Raina says. “You did take vows.”

“It’s not up to me.” The bitterness of the pill is etched onto the back of my throat. “He established the rules. No contact, sex with other people — ”

Jeremy cuts me off: “Sex with other people? Wow.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Raina smacks his arm.

“Not jealous,” he answers, though he looks a little jealous. “Impressed though.”

“I actually resolved in Seattle to fight for him, to get him back, but now…” I trail off.

“But now what?” Raina asks.

But now a million things! I think. But now Theo! But now Dad! But now I’ve seen that baseball games can kind of be fun and that a drum circle might be cool and that hiking is still the worst thing in the world, but eventually, your blisters heal.

“But now, I don’t know. But…I guess…if he comes back for Dad, if he’s there for me during this, I’ll try.”

“Okay.” Raina eases her head back, the Xanax sinking in. It doesn’t really seem like she cares too much either way.

Jeremy says, “I texted him to let him know what was going on.”

And I want to shout: have you seen his Facebook page? Do you know that he is compulsively JDating? Are you aware that he appears to be wooing Erica Stoppard? And while we’re discussing it, can you run a background check on her because she is the sole person in the history of the world who leaves no Google footprint?

But instead I mutter: “Cool. Well, we’ll see what happens.”

And he says, pointing to my rainbow: “Nice cast.”

So I say: “Long story.”

And then Raina opens her eyes and focuses them on my hand and says: “What the hell happened to you?”

But before I can launch into my long story, before I can tell them about the dares and the master plan and inertia and Cracker Jacks and the Jumbotron and Bill and maybe even Theo, I hear a voice behind me.

“Hey,” it says.

And my insides buckle.

I know it’s him without even turning around. But then I do, just to confirm that I’m not totally losing my mind.

I see Nicky first. He’s wearing a yarmulke and greets us by pressing his hands together in prayer and bowing his head. And then, behind him, with his leather jacket and moussed-up hair and Wired2Go graphic tee, he’s there.

My husband.

Shawn came.

“How’d you get that?” Shawn asks, nudging his chin toward my cast, while we’re on line at the hospital cafeteria.

I think: Where’d you meet Erica Stoppard ? but say, because I am trying to win him back: “At Safeco.”

“Safeco Field?” He turns and looks at me.

“Yes, at Safeco Field,” I say, mostly because I know that he’ll find this intriguing. “I went to a Mariners game.” I slap my tray down and reach for a fruit cocktail. “It was singles night. I made it onto the Jumbotron.”

“You made it onto the Jumbotron?” He freezes, lost in what this might mean, until he realizes that he’s holding up the people behind us. When he catches up to me, he says, “Since when do you like baseball?”

I shrug and try to look coy because I can’t exactly say: I don’t like baseball! I just went because Vanessa dared me! I eyeball something that looks like baked ziti but might also be chicken Parmesan or possibly some sort of congealed eggplant and say:

“Anyway, I caught a home run. But I broke my hand.”

He echoes, like he’s in a daze: “You caught a home run. But you broke your hand.”

And I just want to laugh and laugh and laugh, but I do it on the inside, resisting what would be easy, what would be obvious, because I don’t want him to recognize that two can play at this game. Two can come up with a plan. Two can make their own rules and live by them, even without the consent of the other.

I try not to think of that night in the ER when Theo dashed to my rescue, when I promised that six-year-old that I believed in everything, when Theo kissed me on the bridge, and then kissed me again on the houseboat and then assured my safe passage all the way back to New York. No, I stare at the waxy cafeteria selections, and I do the opposite of what my mind wants to do, though sometimes, the mind wants what the mind wants. Even my dad would agree with that.

I settle on the “baked ziti” (?) and shuffle down the line toward the cashier.

Shawn touches my arm.

“Hey,” he says. “You seem happy. I’m glad. I’m happy too.”

My stomach tumbles as I sense my brilliant plan faltering already.

“I didn’t realize that you really meant it…to not talk to me at all,” I say. “I mean, I’ve been emailing with Nicky.”

He bobs his head and grabs a chocolate pudding, peeling off the lid and licking it, then licking it again, which I find a little repulsive.

“It’s…I mean…you’re happy, I’m happy. It’s working.”

I turn away from him without answering and tell the cashier to ring us up separately.

“Willa, come on,” he says. “Does it help if I tell you that I missed you?” He looks at me like he means it, like maybe he’s happy, but maybe this has been hard on him as well.