Page 25 of Parallel

“So I’m okay?” she asks. “Aside from the bizarre knowledge of your personal history, thatis.”

I grin and lean back in my chair. “Aside from that, I think so. We’ll still need to keep an eye on it, but as long as you don’t have any more incidents, a follow-up MRI in six months will befine.”

Except, in six months, she could already be married to that tool I met in her room the other night.The thought makes mequeasy.

“So if the scan looked okay, does that mean you can call something in for me, to stop thedreams?”

Why does a part of me want to tell herno? I sigh heavily. “We’ve got your pharmacy on file. I’ll call it in and check with you tomorrow to see how itworked.”

It takes a minute for us to actually hang up the phone. She seems as reluctant as I am to end the call. And I like her reluctance way, way toomuch.

12

QUINN

I’m fine. I’m going to live. It’s a relief…so I’m not sure why I feel vaguely disappointed when Nick hangs up. I pick up the phone to call my mother afterward but put it down again. She doesn’t know about the brain tumor because I didn’t want to worry her until I knew more, and I suppose there’s no reason to tell her now. Plus, she’s worked herself up into a fever over the fact that I’ve now passed out at the inn twice—which certainly doesn’t bode well for the wedding—and I don’t feel like listening to any more of her theories about why it’s happening. No pesticide or allergy has ever caused the problem I’m currently having. I concocted some theory about the sunlight from the lake affecting my pineal gland, and she’s gotten the inn to agree to let us place the tent in front of the main building rather than beside it, so I can avoid looking at the house ifnecessary.

I pick up the meds on the way to the Metro, bouncing them from one hand to the other during the long ride home. I don’t actuallywantto take them. I’ve seen myself falling in love with Nick, marrying him. It’s like a really engrossing TV show that’s just ended on a cliffhanger, and I’m desperate to know what comes next. Except, with each of these dreams, I fall a little harder for him, and that is so much more dangerous now that I know heexists.

Jeff’s in the yard when I get home, playing football with Isaac, this teenager who lives a few houses down from us. He’s in his element right now, and the sight of it is bittersweet. It’s who he was meant to be—a football coach, a big fish in a small pond—and I took it from him by moving here. My friends are less forgiving than I am of his job woes, but that’s because they didn’t know him back when he was succeeding. They’ll never understand how much he gave up to be withme.

My father saw that quality in Jeff. Knew he would always be there, loyal and steadfast in his devotion, willing to follow me wherever I went. I trusted my father’s views implicitly, and for good reason—I wasn’t the only one of us who sometimes knew things I should not. My father knew I was allergic to shellfish before I’d ever had it. He knew Matisse was my favorite artist before I’d ever set foot in a gallery. So sometimes I wonder if he knew things about my future that I did not, and wanted Jeff to be there by my side when theyhappened.

I cross the street and Jeff smiles over his shoulder, throwing one last pass to Isaac before following meinside.

“That kid has an amazing spiral,” he says. “He’s fast too. I could totally have him ready for JV if his mom would justagree.”

We make dinner while he continues to tell me Isaac’s strengths, and bitches about Isaac’s mom’s fear of concussions.That stupid Will Smith movie made everyone paranoid. You know what sport has the most injuries?Cheerleading.

I was worried my news about the brain tumor would ruin our evening, but the whole time we’re cooking he never asks once about the MRI. I try not to let it botherme.

Over dinner he complains about the new asshole at corporate and some policy on travel reimbursement I’m unable to care about. I wait for him to finish his diatribe, resentment churning in my stomach, but when he’s done with that he moves on to another topicentirely.

“We need to go back to that development in Manassas,” he says, oblivious to my unhappiness. “The agent called today and said the model isopen.”

I’m already in a bad mood, so the suggestion hits me poorly. “I told you I don’t want to live in Manassas. It would take me two hours to get intowork.”

He shrugs. “Well, it’s not like youhaveto work in D.C.,” he says. “You can get a jobanywhere.”

I grind my teeth. I go out of my way not to remind him about his employment history, but the fact that he’s managed to stay at his current job for four months doesn’t mean my job is suddenly irrelevant. “Washington Insiderpays me twice what anyone else will,” I remind him. “And there have been months when we’ve needed every penny of it to pay ourbills.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. His shoulders sag and I immediately want to take it back. “I know it’s been rough going for a while. But it’s not like we’re completely screwed if one of us is out of work. You’ve never even touched yourinheritance.”

Just like that I’m irritated again. “I want that money to go toward something special. I’m not going to fritter it away on things we should be able afford on ourown.”

“You thought you were going to use it on school,” he argues, “but obviously that’s no longer happening. I get not wanting to fritter it away, but let’s at least put it toward something like a house. We can’t stay here. We need a place where we can raise afamily.”

Nothing he’s said is untrue, but my stomach sinks all the same. Once that money’s gone, it’s gone. And with it, any lingering hope of becoming an architect. I know it’s probably never happening, but the idea of giving it up hurts anyway. “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”

“It doesn’t have to be Manassas, but we would get so much more for our money there. We should at least go look at the model when I getback.”

“When you get back? You’releaving?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Day after tomorrow. I told you about it—Albany, and then down toMiami.”

Is it unreasonable to expect him to stay home under the circumstances? Perhaps. But this, combined with the fact he hasn’t evenaskedabout my test results, has me feeling separate from him. As if we are no longer part of a team, but two entities that merelycoexist.

I’m in bed, nearly asleep, when he finally slides in beside me. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t think Jeff was hot. He was Rocton’s star football player, and I’m still the envy of half my graduating class for landing him. But tonight, when he starts to tug at my shorts and those wiry chest hairs of his are scraping my back, I feel repulsed. And that’s a first in all our yearstogether.

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