A Working Theory of Love by Scott Hutchins

Author:Scott Hutchins [Hutchins, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781594205057
Google: nQwHi2NoIhMC
Amazon: 1594205051
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2012-10-02T06:00:00+00:00

AT HER APARTMENT, WE MAKE AN AFTERNOON of it. In the dusky light of her kitchen, I stand naked and eat leftover salami. My body is tingling and warm, and I need the salt. Her place is as neat and impersonal as an IKEA showroom, and I admire it. There’s no family bed to polish or telescope to dust. You can put every stick of this out on the sidewalk tomorrow and start fresh. Liberty!

She has an impressive array of running equipment—heart monitors, various shoes, a weightless wristwatch. We have a lot of similarities, the two of us. Working in Silicon Valley. Working for bosses who know each other. We’re similar in age. In education background. (Actually, I’m under-educated. She has a PhD.) This profile stuff—the bread and butter of Toler’s marriage site—shouldn’t be underestimated. I could move into this apartment tomorrow. She could move into my apartment tomorrow. The salad spinner, the iPhone adapters, the pods for the espresso machines—we could find it all. In important ways we’re living the same life, though hers is probably more interesting. She’s mentioned a weekful of plans. Drinks with friends, barbecues.

I flip through the magazines on the kitchen table—Wired, Time, US Weekly—and also a blue, glossy brochure from Pure Encounters. It’s a professional-looking production. Across the inside it reads, The Way to Feel. Part of me thinks, maybe so. Another thinks, Jesus Christ.

“A friend gave me that,” she says. She’s cinched a paisley robe around her waist, getting back in touch with modesty. “I think it’s a kind of a crazy sex cult thing.”

“I know a few regulars.”

“Computer people, I bet. We’ll pay good money to be reminded we have a body, right?”

“I guess so.” Though I don’t forget about my body so much as myself.

“I’m not judging it. It’s about connections. I think a lot of people are looking for that.” Her face flushes with embarrassment.

What an odd world. I think she needs a hug—I recognize the way she’s standing—but do we know each other well enough? We’ll see. I take her by the shoulders and pull her to me, gripping her harder with one arm than the other—a little ambiguity in case I’ve misread the situation. Then I settle in for a good hug. Maybe I need it. With Rachel kaput—yes, still thinking about her—and Dr. Bassett enraged to silence (enraged at me), and my doddering genius boss giving me the furlough I don’t need. Maybe I’m the one who needs to be held. And it does feel good, though maybe only sixty percent good. Jenn and I have drunk deeply of the cup of each other’s bodies today, but—I have to say—hugging feels a little strange.

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