Page 21 of Parallel

“She’s pretend,” says Darcy, dragging out the word and giggling at the same time.

Nick grins at her. “You, Miss Darcy, need to get to your room so they can get you ready for your test. And you, Miss Quinn, need to get to your room so we can go over your discharge paperwork.”

I wave at Darcy before she turns away. “Later, Raven. Later, Cupcake Girl.” Her smile is so wide it hurts. A patient like that must break Nick’s heart. She’s breaking mine and I just met her.

When I look up, Nick is watching me in that quiet way of his. I think if I could peek in his head I’d find a thousand words he’ll never give voice to. “So, it looks like you’re ready to leave?”

I want to run my hand over the rasp of his jaw, pull his head low enough that I can press my mouth to his forehead. Exactly the sort of thought that needs to stop. “I was wondering if there is something you can give me to stop the dreams? Maybe some kind of sleeping pill?”

He frowns. “There’s a drug that could help, but one of the primary side effects is headaches. I’m not sure it’s a good idea, under the circumstances.”

“I’ll risk it,” I say quickly. “I need these dreams to stop.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Why? You were in so much pain yesterday you had to be sedated, and it sounds like these dreams aren’t even bad.”

I’m frustrated more with myself than with him, though it probably doesn’t come across that way. “Because there’s no point. Do you actually think we’re going to figure out why this is happening?”

“Probably not, but it’s possible. I keep thinking there’s some obvious explanation we are both missing.”

“There isn’t,” I reply firmly. “And in the meantime, I have a real life, and these dreams are making it seem like a life I don’t want. I would rather not know any of this than be unhappy with what I have.”

His teeth sink into his lower lip, an action that makes my stomach clench in an unfamiliar way. Both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. “Maybe your dreams are saying you’re already unhappy with what you have.”

I look away from him. It’s sort of what Caroline said too. “Then I’d like them to stop telling me that.”

He sighs. “We’ll need to wait on the results before I prescribe anything. I assume you’re heading home. I can call you there with results when they’re in.”

I shake my head. “I’ve got to get to work. We go to print next week. I’ve lost way too much time as it is.”

“Print?” he asks, frowning. “Aren’t you an architect?”

I still. “What made you think that?”

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “I thought I saw it in your file. But…you aren’t? I could have sworn...”

The room grows silent. My voice is a whisper when I finally speak. “I was an architecture major in college, but my father died after my sophomore year and I had to move home where it wasn’t an option. But…in my head, when we were in London, that’s what I was studying. I was there getting a graduate degree.”

The weirdness of it rests between us. “I guess,” he says with a faltering smile, “you’re not the only stalker of the two of us, then.”

I walk into the office, hoping to escape Dee. No luck—she’s just leaving as I walk in. She holds the door but remains still, blocking my path. “We are seriously behind,” she says, jaw clenched. “Please try to get caught up. I need proofs before you leave today.”

A torrent of words I won’t say to her rises in my throat: we’ve worked together for six freaking years. You know I was just hospitalized and you know I never take sick leave. How dare you act put upon right now?

I clench my fists and slide past her into the office. We need this job. I could leave and wind up with half the pay and a boss who’s just as awful. And then my inheritance, the one I’ve refused to touch for the past seven years, will be gone as soon as Jeff loses his job, frittered away on the mortgage and groceries and I’ll have nothing to show for it.

The layout is already open on my Mac and has obviously been tinkered with by someone who has no knowledge of Photoshop. Only Dee would dare, and she’s managed to create twice as much work for me as I’d have had otherwise. I let my head sink back against my chair, staring up at the exposed ceiling, at the gleaming metal of heating ducts and maze of white pipes, wondering how I will feel about Dee and this job if Nick calls with bad news.

Will I be glad I sucked it up all these years, managed to keep us afloat all the times when Jeff was out of work? Or will I feel like this place stole six years of my life?

Except, the magazine didn’t steal those years. I stole them from myself. I’m the one who listened when my mom begged me to stay at home after my father died. I’m the one who let Jeff persuade me it would be foolish to go back to school for architecture. I’m the one who chose to remain at this desk for so long.

I never fought for a single thing I wanted, and now it might be too late.

The real question, however, is what I will do if it isn’t.

It’s late in the afternoon when I finally hear from the hospital. I’m oddly disappointed that it’s one of the nurses calling, rather than Nick. "Dr. Reilly is wondering if you can come in tomorrow for another MRI,” she says.

I lay my pen down. “Another one? Was there a problem?”