Page 63 of Parallel

His smile is muted, rather than encouraging. There’s a lack of urgency to his movements, as if he already knows he won’t really be doing anything today. “We’re a little early,” he says. “So we should give Dr. Reilly a moment to gethere.”

“I think we can start without him,” Jeff says, a flicker of irritation in hisvoice.

“Let’s wait,” I say. Fortunately, Nick appears at the door just then, with the look of someone who ran to get here—loosened tie and tousled hair. His eyes go immediately to me, his gaze drifting over each inch of my skin so intensely it feels palpable. There is a connection between us, something physical I can’t put my finger on. It’s as if my nerve endings wake from a long rest whenever he’snear.

The two doctors shake hands. Jeff and Nick merely nod to each other, the movement so small and so hostile on both sides that even Dr. Patel seems to notice. Nick pulls up a chair alongsidemine.

“So, I’ve looked at your scans,” Dr. Patel begins, facing me, “and the reports from Dr. Reilly. I think he explained that this tumor is an area we can’treach?”

I nod, holding my breath. I want him to lay out options and tell me there’s a good chance. A seventy percent chance, but I’d settle for thirty. I’d settle fortwenty.

“Unfortunately,” he continues, “a tumor like this is unlikely to respond well to availabletreatments.”

My breath releases and my spine bows. I was held upright by hope, and he just took it away from me. Nick’s hand clenches into a fist. He knew, just like I did, that the situation wasn’t optimistic. We were both hoping for a miracle, when neither of us believes inthem.

“Unlikelydoesn’t mean it won’t,” saysJeff.

Dr. Patel nods. “Right, it doesn’t mean it won’t. But I think our best-case scenario is that chemo might give Quinn a little moretime.”

My hands shake, but inside I feel absolutely empty, depleted.Zero percentis what he’s saying. I have a zero percent chance of surviving this. I look out the window. There are students in the distance, backpacks slung over shoulders, talking and texting and thinking about evening plans. This is the moment I officially separate myself from them, from all the people in the world who’ve forgotten the value of time. And Patel is offering me more of it, but I’ve seen firsthand how that goes. We begged my father to fight. We convinced him to try experimental treatments when the regular ones failed. He got an extra three months out of it, but it was three months during which he was bedridden and nauseous. He turned into a dry, wizened old man before our eyes. “More time during which I am very, very sick,” I finally say, still looking out thewindow.

The doctor frowns. “Under normal circumstances, a tumor of this size would be having significant side effects, and I’m not quite sure how yours isn’t. But given how well you’re doing, I can see where you might not want to commit to a course of treatment, knowing it will make you feelworse.”

I think about that. I think about the fact that I’m finally going back to school. I have a chance of making it long enough to get my degree.And more time with Nick, I think before I can stop myself. If I start on chemo, will I enjoy any of it? Will I even be well enough to go to school? No. I’ll be sick and frail andmiserable.

“I’m not interested in that,” Ireply.

“Quinn,” hisses Jeff. “You can’t just dismiss what he’s saying. You haven’t even considered it.” He turns to Dr. Patel. “What are the options? Because the tumor might not be making her sick, but it’s definitely affecting herpersonality.”

Nick’s head jerks toward Jeff’s. He looks like a volcano on the cusp of exploding. “What’s that supposed to mean?” hesnaps.

Jeff narrows one eye at him and offers his reply to me rather than Nick. “You’re making decisions that aren’t…that might not be rational. I’m worried it’s a sign there’s worse tocome.”

My jaw clenches. Is he really trying to imply that the decision to get this degree is irrational? A product of my tumor rather than the thing I’ve wanted, without cease, for a decade? I have many, many things to say about that, but not with an audience. “We can discuss this at home,” I say tightly. “But I’m not interested intreatment.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he says softly, “but brain tumors do cause personality changes—and irritability and impaired judgment are two of those changes. I read about it earlier. You need to at least hear what the options are.” He turns back to Dr. Patel. “So there’s chemo and radiation, right? Which of those mighthelp?”

Nick’s voice emerges, a low growl. “You seem to be struggling to hear what Quinn’s saying,” he seethes, “so allow me to repeat it: she doesn’t wanttreatment.”

Jeff snaps his gaze toward Nick, the thin veneer of civility discarded. “And you seem to be forgetting you’re not a part of thisdecision.”

Nick’s eyes have this gleam to them that doesn’t bode well. “I haven’t forgotten anything. It’s just unclear to me why you think it’s okay to ignore what she wants and talk overher.”

Jeff stands, pushing back his chair, and in seconds, Nick is on his feet too. Their hatred for each other is a force, the fifth member of our little gathering, and someone is about to gethit.

Fear propels me from my seat. “Jeff, you stay here and finish the conversation,” I say breathlessly. “Find out the options. I have some questions to ask Dr. Reillyoutside.”

Without waiting to hear Jeff’s protests, I place my hand against Nick’s chest and push. He doesn’t move a muscle, even with all my force behind it, but I glance up at him, a silent plea, and he gives in, slowly leaving the room with me in hiswake.

Nick is rigid as we walk to his office. I suspect it’s taking every ounce of self-restraint not to turn on his heel and pull Jeff back out of hisseat.

He opens his door and ushers me in. The last time I was here I refused to look at his photos because I was so terrified I’d see a wife and kids. I’m still terrified by what I’ll see, but this time I look anyway. There’s one of him with his parents, one with him and a bunch of guys in suits…and one of a very pretty woman in scrubs who must be his girlfriend. I wish I hadn’tlooked.

He shuts the door, but instead of taking his seat at the desk, he turns to me, standing closer than is safe for either of us. “Are youokay?”

I nod, my shoulders dropping. What Dr. Patel just told us was a shock only briefly. The truth is, I’d never hoped for much in the first place. “I got the feeling from you a long time ago it wasn’t likely to work out. I knew what toexpect.”

His eyes close and he leans his shoulder against the wall. “I’m not giving up. I still think there are people who can helpus.”

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