Page 74 of Parallel

I don’t want to hear everything she’s about to say. As bad as I feel about what I’ve done, my mother will manage to make me feel worse, and I can’t even blame her for it. I know how this town works: she’ll never walk into the grocery store again without being the object of gossip. Without people discussing what her daughter did, how she and Abby are no longer friends. For the rest of my life, I’m going to bethe girl who broke poor Jeff Walker’s heart. And for the rest of her life she’ll be the mother of thatgirl.

I tap once on the door and then—guessing correctly that it will be unlocked—I walk in. She’s waiting for me in the kitchen with a thin smile and circles under hereyes.

“Have you eaten?” she asks, walking to the refrigerator. In two seconds, she’s got a pan on the stove and is unloading the contents of the dairy drawer. I feel a sudden burst of affection for her. Even in a crisis, even when I’ve destroyed her, she still wants to make sure I’m fed. “I could make you a sandwich, but I only have mozzarella. Or if you can wait, maybe we could just go out to dinner. There’s a cute little cafe now, where the barber shop used tobe—”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I reply. I give her a tentative smile. “So how much have you bought offQVC?”

Her hands grip the counter, her head sags, and I finally see what all her bustling around the kitchen has been hiding—intense disappointment, grief, shame. All caused by me. I should have known a joke wouldn’t lighten the mood. We’ve never had that kind of relationship. “I just don’t understand how you could have donethis.”

I lay my palms flat against the old oak table. It fit in the farmhouse, but it’s too worn and heavy for this bright room with its thin walls. “I never meant for any of this to happen. But the tumor has put everything in perspective,” I say, carefully skirting around how limited my time maybe.

She frowns. “Jeff thinks it’s the tumor making you behave thisway.”

The softness I felt just a moment ago, watching her move around the kitchen, is gone. In its place is something sharp-edged and cold. I know I’m not the daughter she wants. I never have been. She wanted a normal child who couldn’t occasionally predict the future, who didn’t wake knowing things she shouldn’t. And maybe any parent would, but I’m still her child. Heronlychild. And that’s where her loyalty should lie. “How long have you been having conversations with Jeff aboutme?”

“I’m just—” She stops, throwing up her hands. “I know you won’t want to hear this, but you have to look at it from my perspective. Imagine if I had some disease. If I were schizophrenic, for instance, and suddenly decided to give away all my belongings and live on the streets—you’d intervene, wouldn’tyou?”

I’m more weary than I am angry. “I really hope you’re not comparing my tumor to a severe mentalillness.”

“I don’t know what to compare it to!” she cries desperately. “You’re making a lot of decisions that don’t make sense. You and Jeff were really happy together, so Ihaveto question it when you suddenly decide you want nothing to do withhim.”

I’m not sure why Caroline and Trevor figured out so easily that I wasn’t entirely happy with Jeff, while my mom doesn’t appear to have a clue, but I’m guessing it’s my fault: ever since her breakdown after my father’s death, I’ve been on a tight wire, trying to keep her safe from grief or disappointment. Just as I did with Jeff, I made it my mission to hold her together in the wake of tragedy—a role I never allowed myself to retire from. And part of that was convincing everyone I was thrilled to be dating her best friend’sson.

“Mom, I don’t know if we were ever all that happy together. Dad pushed this relationship, and then you and Abby did. I don’t know what was real and what I was convincing myself of to make all of youhappy.”

Her lips go into a flat line. “Of course you were happy. Don’t start telling yourself otherwise to justify your cold feet. You’re throwing Jeff off to the side like garbage now, but I have no doubt that in a week or a month you’ll realize what a mistake you’ve made, and I’d rather you figure it outnow.”

I know she’s wrong. Maybe I’ll be sad, and lonely, but Jeff would not make me happy now that I’ve seen how much is possible. If I got back together with him, I’d spend my remaining few years wanting something else, something more, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. “It wasn’t a mistake. And long-term, Jeff’s better off this waytoo.”

“Do you see how unlike you this is?” she asks. “Look at all the people you’ve hurt. Jeff’s devastated. His parents are devastated. And these are people who were good to us, who supported us emotionally for years. Financially, too, when your father died. It’s just such a slap in theface.”

Ah, there it is…the spiraling guilt. I knew she’d find a way to bring it to the surface eventually. I feel sick, and she hasn’t even gotten around to mentioning what a nightmare it will be to cancel the wedding at this late date. The flights people have paid for, the gifts to be returned, the deposits we won’t get back. Or the fact that when I die in a few years she will have absolutely no one to leanon.

“Think about your uncle flying out here,” she continues. “I bet he can’t get his money back for the ticket. Abby’s siblings are flying in too. Jeff’s grandparents are driving up from Florida, and I think they’ve already left—they made a three-week trip out of this. It’s not just aboutyou.”

Maybe she’s right, I think.Maybe I should just fix this and suck it up for the next year or two. Leave people thinking well of me, leave my mother’s life somewhat intact. The crying and the drive have exhausted me, have left me unable to think clearly, but when I hear those words in my head I feel a kind of sick resignation, afamiliarresignation. It’s exactly what I felt when she asked me to stay after my dad died, and when Jeff followed me to D.C. with his big romantic speech. Fear is what led me to walk away from Nick yesterday. And guilt is what’s led me to make every other bad decision in my life. Maybe it’s time I took a differentpath.

“I’m going to lie down for a while,” I tellher.

“That’s a good idea,” she says tersely. It sounds an awful lot like what shewantsto say—go sit and think about what you’vedone.

The room I think of as mine is really just a guest room, full of bland white furniture and muted pastels my mom found at some discount store. The quilt at the end of the bed is the only remnant of my past. I curl up, pulling it over me, and feel a fresh wave of tears coming. Was I blind, with Nick? If our situations were reversed I wouldn’t have gone running back to my ex at the first sign of failure. I’d have waited. I’d have fought. It just feels as if there should be more to our story than this patheticend.

* * *

Nickand I lie safely curled in bed, listening to the wind rattling the windows, blowing over the chairs out on the terrace. It’s the biggest storm I’ve seen since I arrived in London so many months ago, and it serves as a reminder—even here, deep in the heart of a foreign city, we’re still never entirely safe. Not that I really needed reminding. It’s rarely out of my head for long thesedays.

“Mary downstairs stopped me this morning,” I tellhim.

He laughs, dragging the fluffy duvet up to my neck. “Did she accuse us of harboring petsagain?”

I smile against his chest. “No. She wanted to show me these historic photos she found. Did you know our building was bombed during World War II? She had pictures of it. It was all practicallyrubble.”

He pulls me closer. “Yeah. It’s weird you’re bringing it up. I’ve been thinking about that a lotlately.”

“Our building beingbombed?”

“Not that exactly. Just how terrifying it would be to live here during the Blitz. Especially if we were separated. If I were at work, or you were at school and I couldn’t find you. I never gave it any thought before, and now, especially now,” he says, placing a hand over my swollen belly, “I think about itconstantly.”

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