The Theory of Opposites by Allison Winn Scotch Page A

“the face of our future,” and his future wife, the current COO at Nordstrom and daughter of the mogul John Nordstrom. The two met by accident — she had inadvertently taken his seats at a Mariners game, and last night they joked that they may be the only two people in the world who are grateful for the team’s abysmal 2011 season…

    The New York Post – Page Six
    Preview: We Hear……That a certain hot prospect (and hot-bodied!) CEO and face of the future is about to become very single. It seems that a recent health scare has jolted him into reality, and that his supposed wife-to-be will not be saying Y.E.S.! We’re betting her daddy won’t accept him for return, even if he comes begging for her back, despite his very generous return policy.
    —
    “Here is what we’re going to do,” Vanessa says later, back at my apartment, once we are done looking at dead innards, once I can stop gazing at the human heart, wondering how many heartbeats we all have left.
    As she speaks, I snap my laptop shut quickly — I hadn’t even meant to google Theodore. I find myself doing that too often these days: thinking of him, wondering if he’s out there in the world also thinking of me, waiting for me to respond to his email and reignite our closed connection. I inch the computer to my left on the counter, as if hiding it, exorcising it from my sight line will allow me to exorcise him ( the face of our future!) from my mind.
    Vanessa rises from the stool in my kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal.
    From the couch, Nicky says while completely focused on the TV, “Can you make me one too?”
    “So here’s what we’re going to do,” she repeats, reaching for a second bowl. “I have this theory — the theory of opposites.”
    “Like, opposites attract? Is this going to be some psychoanalysis of my relationship with Shawn? We’re not opposites, so I can stop you right there.”
    “My mom and dad were opposites,” Nicky says, tearing himself away from the TV. “That’s what she tells me anyway. That they were always learning something new from each other.” He glances away, his moment of vulnerability gone as quickly as it came.
    “That’s sweet, Nicky,” I say. “I didn’t know your dad, but from everything Iknow about him, I bet he was totally crazy for your mom.”
    He doesn’t answer, already wrapped up in some HBO movie that seems upon quick glance — the actor on screen is snorting cocaine and then punches another guy dead in the nose — completely ill-suited for his age.
    “No, my theory of opposites has nothing to do with you and Shawn. It’s this: what if we did exactly opposite of your dad’s advice? Like, what if, every time you listened to your instincts, you did the opposite?”
    “You know I have terrible instincts.”
    “I do know that. Which is why you’re the perfect person to write this with me.” She passes me the cereal box, and I scoop some into my palm. “You’re someone who has no baseline, no real gauge of your gut. For which we can firmly blame your dad. But I think….I think it’s time you stopped blaming him for everything too.”
    “I don’t blame him. This is just my life.”
    “God, you’re frustrating,” Vanessa states, which she’s allowed to because she’s known me since I was eighteen, and also, because I am.
    “I read your dad’s book, by the way,” Nicky says. “I can’t believe how many people believe that shit.”
    “Don’t say ‘shit,’ Nicky,” I say. Then: “You read his book?”
    He doesn’t reply at first, the action on screen in this terribly inappropriate movie too engaging (several Asian men being shot by a drug lord as he breaks into their compound in Barbados), but after all of the characters are sprawled in pools of their own blood, he says: “Yeah. My therapist thought it might be helpful for me to understand the shit with my dad.”
    Vanessa chews her cereal.
    “Did it help?” I ask.
    “What do you think?” he says.