Элисон Скотч - The Theory of Opposites

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Email from: Theodore Brackton

To: Willa Chandler-Golden

Subject: Hi

So hey. I can’t stop thinking about you. And what’s going on. I’ve been asked to consult on a project for Goldman Sachs for the rest of the summer (insider trading, but you didn’t hear it from me), but I’m not going to accept if you don’t want me here. I’m trying to do the right thing, Willa. I know what that means for me. I have no clue what it means for you.

Email from: Raina Chandler-Farley

To: Willa Chandler-Golden

Subject: Theo

W — don’t kill me but I just called Theo to ask for his advice on Ollie’s case. The govt wants some heads to roll, and Ollie’s a high-profile head to axe. Theo said he might be staying in the city for the summer, so I figured it was cool to bring him on. Just wanted to ask you if that’s okay?

Email from: Willa Chandler-Golden

To: Raina Chandler-Farley

Subject: re: Theo

Please, you already called him so why are you asking me for my permission now?

Email from: Raina Chandler-Farley

To: Willa Chandler-Golden

Subject: re: re: Theo

I was trying to be polite.

Email from: Minnie Chandler

To: Raina Chandler-Farley; Willa Chandler-Golden

Subject: Your father

Girls –

Willa (I’m cc-ing you Raina because you should know this but keeping your brother out of it because lord knows he has enough problems), I wanted you to be aware of the fact that when I stopped by the hospital today, your father inquired as to the current standing with your book with Vanessa. He is and continues to be quite worked up over the thought that his own kin is publicly contradicting him — I believe that’s an exact quote — and he sat up in his flimsy hospital gown and with his thinning hair flopping every which way and with his teeth unbrushed and his rage turning his cheeks nearly purple and spit out: “I cannot believe that our daughter is publicly contradicting me!” and I must say, girls, I have never been less attracted to a human being in my life. Anyway, I think he may be struggling with facing his own mortality (despite what he says) or perhaps just getting old (it’s really no fun, though better when you’re a lesbian!) or maybe I just caught him at a bad moment. But…it is something to be aware of. His displeasure. Do with it what you want. Lord knows I have spent too much of my own life nurturing his pleasures and displeasures and now, I frankly don’t give much of a fuck.

Can we get lunch tomorrow? Nancy and I will be at the opera tonight.

xoxo

Your mother, Minnie

Email from: Willa Chandler-Golden

To: Theodore Brackton

Subject re: Hi

It’s okay if you stay. I actually think it’s kind of sweet.

Sleep refuses me that night. Raina’s out of Xanax, and the Ambien I found in her medicine cabinet while stealing some of her eye cream does nothing to help. I flop to one side, then I flop to the other, my mind like a million electrical wires, all interconnecting, all flipped on high. Shawn. Theo. My dad. The book. Good lord, wasn’t it all so much simpler way back when there was just Shilla and our plan and the notion of a baby? Even if I wasn’t sure that it’s what I wanted — motherhood and its complications and the guilt and the fear and the worry that comes with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. Still, it was easier. It was inertia. It was what should have been my master plan. It’s what should have been my fate. Fate doesn’t have to equal happiness, you know. Fate just has to be. Fate just is.

My mind drifts to Theo and my new fate and his question. What was it that he needed to ask me? What was it that he needed to know?

I start a list:

THINGS THEO WAS GOING TO ASK ME:

1. Do I still want to sleep with him after so many years? (Yes.)

2. Did I think about him even when I shouldn’t, even when I was married? (Yes.)

3. Do I understand what exactly this means? (No.)

4. Am I willing to throw caution in the wind and give him a chance? (Caution into the wind is not my strong suit.)

5. Do I still love Shawn? (Yes.)

6. Do I still love him? (Yes.)

7. Is that enough? (How do I know?)

Ollie shifts in the bed next to me, and then the nightstand light goes on, and he says:

“So I take it you’re going to keep me up all night?”

“I’m sorry. Insomnia.”

“Have you tried melatonin? It’s nature’s cure.”

“Shut up, Ollie.”

“Sorry.” He does sound truly sorry. “I can’t help it. It’s instinct.”

“Dad doesn’t believe in instincts, you know.”

We fall quiet, though he doesn’t turn off the light. I make bunny ears with my fingers, and the little rabbits hop along the wall.

Then he says: “I’m not trying to be annoying when I say this but you should exercise more. It would help with your stress.”

“I know. Vanessa said the same thing. She dared me to be able to run five miles. I think she’s, like, angling to make me enter a marathon or something. It’s a little preposterous that she doesn’t have to do any of this crap that I do.”

“She was born brave,” Ollie says.

And I can’t dispute that because she seemingly was. Which also made her too independent and maybe meant that she’d never settle down, settle in, but courage wasn’t the problem.

“Still, she could maybe start running with me.”

“Run alone. It’s quiet time. I work out a lot of my mental crap when I work out.”

“But I hate it.”

He says: “That’s a dumb excuse, Willa. You know that. You sound like you’re eight.”

“Neither of us is exactly an expert at taking responsibility.”

“Hey,” he says. “I’m employed! That’s responsibility.”

I tut: “You’re running celebrity yoga classes from Raina’s living room. And…that wasn’t what I mean. I meant responsibility .”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, so I waggle the bunny ears in the shadows. Quiet seeps into the room until he whispers:

“I really screwed the pooch.”

“A Chandler family specialty.”

“You’re kind of in deep shit yourself,” he says. “Falling for Theo when you’re still married.”

I sit up suddenly, the bunny ears no more.

“I’m not falling for Theo!”

“I read bodies for a living, Will. I know you think it’s BS, but I’m good at it.”

I flop back onto the pillow.

“I don’t think it’s crap. I just never had the same conviction.”

“I can’t disagree.” He doesn’t mean it rudely, I know.

“Does Raina know you did it?”

“More or less.” He rolls over onto his elbow and looks toward me. “But I did it with the best of intentions.”

“It was a shortcut.” I mirror him, up on my elbow now too.

“I was never good at the long-cut,” he states. “Responsibility was never either of our things.”

“I’m sure they’ll be more lenient for your good intentions.”

There’s not much more left to discuss after that, so eventually, we both lay back, and he flips off the light, though I know I’m no closer to dreaming than before. After a few minutes, I’m certain he’s asleep, his breath slowed, his body still.

But then he says:

“Willa, you know, it’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?” I stare up to the blackness of the ceiling.

“For conviction. For you to find it. If I can find responsibility, maybe you can find conviction.”