Page 43 of Parallel

The corner of his mouth turns upward, that dimple blinking into existence for just a moment. “That’s kind of the same thing. All I can say in my own defense is that it’d be memorablenow.”

My stomach clenches with desire. I think of Trevor’s question—haven’t you ever wanted someone so much you think you’ll die if you don’t get it?I think I finallydo.

* * *

We get backto D.C. just at the start of rush hour. I wish the drive had lasted longer. “Thank you for today,” I tell him when he pulls up to myoffice.

“It was surprisingly fun,” he says. His gaze brushes over my face, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Will Jeff be home thisweekend?”

The mention of Jeff’s name replaces all my wistful infatuation with guilt. “Yeah. He wants to go look at houses. He’s not going to be happy to hear I want to spend my inheritance on a degreeinstead.”

His nostrils flare. “Only a selfish dick would try to tell you how to spend your money. Especially under thecircumstances.”

I shake my head. “Jeff’s just looking out for our future. You probably make enough money that you’ve never had to worry about whether you’ll be able to support a family. Jeff and I are not in thatposition.”

I turn toward the door and his hand snakes out, framing my jaw. An intimate gesture, one neither his girlfriend nor my fiancé would appreciate, but I can’t seem to pull away. “Please give it some thought, okay? Don’t agree to anything with him justyet.”

My pulse races. I get the feeling he’s talking about more than just the house. I shouldn’t agree, but with his palm pressed to my skin and the way he is looking at me, I’m unable to do anythingelse.

20

QUINN

The model home is cute but generic. To listen to Jeff, however, you’d think we were in Versailles. He fell in love the moment we pulled up. And once he saw the huge back yard, he was ready to put a ring onit.

“Think how awesome that yard would be for kids,” he says. “It’ll be just like how we grew up. Room toroam.”

There’s an unhappy little twist in my chest. Nick’s question yesterday comes to my head—do you want this more than a degree?And the answer is still no, I absolutely do not. I’m not even sure I want itwithoutthe degree. I don’t want what I grew up with. I want the city. I want to be able to order Thai food at midnight, walk places, be anonymousoccasionally.

The agent gives us a tour and then suggests going to his office to look at pricing. Jeff is all in while I stand back. “Can we have a moment?” I ask the agent, who nods while Jeff’s eyes dart impatiently betweenus.

“I think we need to discuss this,” I say, after the agent walksaway.

“It won’t hurt to look at it,” he argues. “We could write a check for the deposit today. We have forty-eight hours to change ourminds.”

I feel a tiny spark of anger. Has Jeff always pushedthishard for what he wants? Because I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not interested, and yet here he is using his hackneyed sales techniques on me, his futurewife.

But maybe he’s never needed to push this hard, because until now I’ve always just rolled over when he wanted something I did not. I’m not sure why it’s taken me this long to seeit.

“I’ve actually been thinking about going back to Georgetown,” I venture quietly. My hands begin to sweat as I say these words aloud to him, far more directly than I have inyears.

His face goes blank, uncomprehending. “As astudent?”

I look up, rubbing my palms over my shorts. “Yes. I want to finish mydegree.”

“Quinn…Jesus. Are you serious? You…can’t. Do you have any idea how much that willcost?”

Is he really asking me this, like I’m some naïve little girl who has no idea how much tuition would be? I’m the one whowentthere for Christ’s sake. “Of course I do. But I’ve got that money from my dad, and I think that’s how he’d have wanted me to useit.”

“On some overpriced degree you’re never going to use? Are you kidding me?” Jeff asks, rolling his eyes. “He’d roll over in hisgrave.”

My jaw drops. “Are you actually trying to say you know better than I do whatmyfather would have wanted forme?”

He digs his hands in his hair, then pulls me around the corner, away from the raised eyebrows of other people touring the model. “I don’t understand what’s going on. We’ve been talking about buying a house for years, and now, when we’re finally about to pull the trigger, you think you want to go to school? I mean, is the brain tumor…I don’t know,influencingyou? Because it’s coming out ofnowhere.”

Blood pounds in my ears so loud I can barely think. I can’t believe he’s trying to blame the brain tumor. I’ve been talking about school on and off since we first got together, and he just conveniently managed not to hear me. But before I can levy the accusation, he sinks into the stupid wing chair some designer has placed in the model home’s mudroom and buries his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I’m just under a lot of stress at work right now, so your timing isn’tgreat.”

I feel sympathy welling, and I resent it. I don’t want to feel sympathy for him right now—it’s an emotion that always ends with me giving something up. “What’s going on atwork?”

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