Page 40 of Parallel

“Does Jeff know you’re doing this?” heasks.

I glance at him, wondering if it’s an accusation. “No. Did you tellMeg?”

His eyes remain on the road. “She’s at aconference.”

I guess that’s a no. “I hope it wasn’t a big deal taking offwork?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see patients on Fridays anyway, so I just got someone to cover my morning rounds. What aboutyou?”

I shrug. “I hate my boss and she hates me, but it’s hard to say too much when your employee tells you she has a braintumor.”

His jaw flexes. “Why the hell are you still there? Howexactlyis it too complicated for you to get your architecture degree? Because it seems kind of simple tome.”

I let my head fall back against the seat and close my eyes. It’s hard to argue on behalf of something I’m not certain of myself. “From a financial standpoint, it doesn’t make sense. I’d be thirty or thirty-one when I finished, and to do what I actually want to do, I’d need a master’s degree. Which means four or five years during which I’m not producing anincome.”

“I get it,” he says. “It’s intimidating enough to take money out for student loans without losing your income in addition to it, but long-term you’ll earn itback.”

I suck my lip in between my teeth. “Actually, I inherited some money from my dad. Enough to cover school, at least undergrad.” I could explain why our living expenses are such a concern, but I don’t want to throw Jeff under the bus. Nick already seems to think very little of him and telling him about Jeff’s job history won’t improve that. “But we have a mortgage that requires both our incomes. And Jeff really wants to use the inheritance on a down payment for a bigger place, which is probably the smarter thing todo.”

His nostrils flare. “Doyouwant a bigger place? Or wait, let me rephrase that: do you want a bigger place more than you want thedegree?”

No.

The answer reverberates in my chest. Would Ilikea bigger place, one with hardwood floors and a new kitchen and a bathroom big enough for both of us? Sure. But I don’t hunger for it the way I do that degree. It doesn’t make my heart beat hard at the thought. When I think of getting a new place, I feel more resigned than anything else. “Probably not,” I say quietly. “But if I only have a few years to live, does it really matter whether I got the degree Iwanted?”

“It’s possible you’ll have more than a few years, but that’s really a question only you can answer: does itmatter?”

My gaze turns toward the window, at the dense wall of trees outside, almost close enough to touch. Does it matter? The practical part of me says no. But there’s another voice inside me, something wild and hopeful. And it saysfuck it.I want this.I want that life I’ve been dreaming about, even if it will amount to nothing. Even if it can’t includeNick.

“You were already at Georgetown and I assume you had good grades,” he says, as if he can hear my internal argument. “Why not check and see if they won’t let you just slide into classes this fall? And if that fails, I know a few people we could talkto.”

I’m like a shaken bottle of seltzer, bubbling up inside but not quite stable. I can’t believe we’re discussing this—not as a hypothetical, not as asomeday it’s possible, but as something that really could happen. Jeff will not be pleased, but for the first time in my life, I sort of don’t care. “I’ll think aboutit.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but you’re my best patient. I want you to behappy.”

I laugh. “Best?”

His smile lifts high on one side. “Okay, the only patient who held my hand when we met and told me we weremarried.”

Argh. I’m never going to live that down. I cover my face. “You weren’t supposed to mention that! It’s sohumiliating.”

His hand brushes mine, back to back, a quick but intentional sweep. “It’s not humiliating. It’s eerie, since you were so accurate. And cute. Maybe the only time eerie and cute have been combined together. But speaking of bizarre things you seem to know, did you have any more dreams last night? I’m still waiting to hear what retirement community we end upin.”

I laugh. “That might be tooboringfor me to remember when I wake up. No, last night, it was just us walking around some campus I’ve never been to. And the bad dream…the one in the hospital. I had itagain.”

“I can’t get my head around that one,” Nick finally says. “That I’m in it. Maybe you saw something that’s going to happen in thefuture.”

It’s occurred to me too, but it just doesn’t add up. “You and I aretogetherin that dream, but in real life, you’re with someone and I’m about to get married, so it can’t be thefuture.”

“No one’s married to anyone just yet,” he replies quietly, and my heart begins that odd, fluttering rhythm. Half terror and half excitement. I shouldn’t be in this car, I shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of cancelling the wedding. But I also can’t deny that when Nick suggests it, I feel…set free. And I think maybe I haven’t felt that way in a very longtime.

* * *

We pullinto Princeton just after eleven. Dr. Grosbaum’s house, with its crooked shutters and the abundance of dying plants in the front yard, does not inspireoptimism.

“You sure you want to do this?” Nickasks.

I square my shoulders. “Yeah.”

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