Page 9 of Parallel

“Yes.” A nice big breakfast. Of coffee, but it had creamer, so I assume thatcounts.

“What are you having forlunch?”

I laugh. “Mom, it’s not even nine a.m. I’m not thinking aboutlunch.”

“But you’re not going to forget to eat,right?”

“I promise Iwon’t.”

“Why on earth would you be on a diet anyway?” she demands. “You don’t have a pound to lose. Just please stop doing whatever itis.”

“Okay, Ipromise.”

She hesitates. “When you woke yesterday, you asked for someone named Nick. Do youremember?”

Crap. I was really hoping she wouldn’t bring it up. “Yeah.”

“That was the name you used to mention when you were little. Those nightmares you had. I guess it was just a coincidence?” There’s a hint of pleading to her voice—she desperatelywantsit to be a coincidence—but my God I wish there was one person I could discuss this with. To sayI miss someone I’ve never met. I grieve for him.My mother, however, will never be that person. “Yeah, Iguess.”

“It was…shocking…hearing you ask for him,” she says quietly. “Just like it was when you were small. You seemed so certain it wastrue.”

I hesitate. I remember little about the year I spent in therapy, aside from the strain on my mother’s face each time she brought me in. I was her miracle baby, the child she never thought they’d have, and I was flawed. I wanted to become normal for her, but at the end of most sessions my mother seemed a little more hopeless than the time before. “Did the psychologist ever tell you why it was happening?” I askcautiously.

“She just said you had a very active imagination. But it finally stopped. And the other stuff…” There is a long, awkward pause. We really don’t discussthe other stuff. “Well, after what happened with the Petersons, you seemed to grow out of it, mostly.” Her words end on a whisper. Perhaps she thinks saying it quietly means she’s admitted to less. “Anyway, the nightmares stopped, and that’s whatmatters.”

I wish I shared her certainty that this is over. But when I think of Nick—of his laugh and the way he looked at me, as if he knew me in a way no one else ever has—a sort of panic thrums in my chest. I didn’t want the nightmares. But I don’t want this either. In some ways, it scares me evenmore.

* * *

That night,Trevor and I head out for drinks, swinging by my friend Caroline’s office to grab her on the way. Though Caroline was my friend first, she and Trevor have been attached at the hip since I started throwing her work for themagazine.

“Quinn,” she says, shaking her perfect, jet-black bob as I walk in, “whatare youwearing?”

I sigh. I never take her comments too personally—as a stylist, she has a far higher bar for clothing choices than most people—but occasionally, I wish she’d just let itgo.

“Instead of telling me how I’ve chosen wrong, just go ahead and dressme.”

She squeals and claps her hands. “I love when you let me dress you,” she sings. She grins at Trevor. “It’s like having a grown-up doll to play with. You should make her come see me everymorning.”

Trevor’s palm shoots out. “No. Absolutely not. Dee already resents her just for being young and pretty. You start putting her in nice clothes and makeup every day, and we will allsuffer.”

Five minutes later, I walk out of her bathroom in a Dries Van Noten dress that could pay my mortgage, and Caroline is appeased. “So muchbetter.”

I have to agree. I wouldn’t say I’mfrumpyunder normal circumstances, but when Caroline gets her hands on me, I wind up feeling like Gigi Hadid, which is an experience words can’t sufficientlydescribe.

“If only Lindsay could see you now,” says Caroline. “You could tell her to shove that Hermes purse right up herass.”

I laugh. I cannot believe Caroline is still holding a grudge about the purse incident nearly a decade later. I’m not sure I’d even remember it if she didn’t reference it sooften.

“Who’s Lindsay?” asksTrevor.

“This girl on our floor freshman year,” I reply. “She was awful to everyone but she hated me the most because I was there on ascholarship.”

“No,” corrects Caroline, “she hated you because you were her first experience of not being the hottest girl in the room. That’s why she went out of her way to throw her money in your face.” She turns to Trevor. “You know that Hermes Kelly bag? Real ones are like ten grand, but we found the best knock-off and I talked Quinn into it. And then we get back to the dorm, and Lindsay says, ‘Bless your little heart. It almost looks like arealKelly bag.’ And then the bitch goes and buys a real one, just to show shecan.”

I shrug. “Well, I’d suggest karma would get her eventually, but she’s got this amazing job and she’s married to some millionaire, so I guess she won in theend.”

Trevor and Caroline glance at each other. “You could have that too, if you wanted,” says Trevorcautiously.

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