Page 22 of Parallel

“I doubt it,” she says breezily. “It’s a different kind of MRI. It may be that the other one wasn’t clear.”

I convince myself it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not until much later, when Jeff and I are having dinner and he asks about the test, that I actually start to worry.

“So what is it again that the hospital wants you to do tomorrow?” he asks.

I shrug as I help myself to seconds, which is something I never do. Poor Jeff probably made extra for his lunch tomorrow and I’m demolishing it, but I’ve had nothing to eat since that juice this morning. “Some other kind of MRI. They didn’t really explain.”

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “Do you think it means anything?”

I hesitate, will away the nervous flutter in my chest. “It doesn’t sound like it. It sounds like they used the wrong kind of test. Why? Do you think it means anything?”

Jeff frowns. “That guy barely looked old enough to be out of med school, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he ordered the wrong test. You need to switch doctors.”

I set down my fork, but it remains in my grip, stiffly held. I want to argue in Nick’s defense, but it would be poorly received, given what happened in the hospital last night. “I don’t know that he ordered the wrong test,” I reply, the words spoken carefully. “I’m just saying it might be what happened.”

“Well, if this turns out to be something, I still think you should switch.”

No. My shoulders are rigid and it takes everything in my power not to snap at him. His concerns have nothing to do with Nick’s professional abilities. He’s just jealous, and as much as it pisses me off…he’s more right than he knows. For my own sanity, for the health of our future together, Nick Reilly is the last person I should be spending time with.

10

QUINN

Nick creeps into the flat, trying hard not to wake me. He always does this, on the nights he works late, but I’m a light sleeper and there are little things that give him away long before he sets foot in the room: the clink of keys against a counter, a coat falling against a chair. He keeps a spare toothbrush at the kitchen sink for nights like this, just so the bathroom light won’t wake me.

“I’m up,” I tell him when he comes into the bedroom, feeling around in the darkness for the dresser before he stubs his toe on it again.

“Sorry,” he says. He pulls off his scrubs and slips beneath the sheets, wrapping cold arms around me, pulling the covers up to my chin. “I tried to be quiet.”

“I was already awake.” I scoot until I’m pressed tight to his chest. His bare skin, his smell, the weight of his arm—they’re all I need in the entire world right now. “I had the weirdest dream and woke up all upset.”

His calloused hand squeezes my arm lightly in sympathy. “What dream?”

My legs stretch, tangle with his. “We were together but we were teenagers, I think? And we were trying to elope.”

His low laugh brushes my ear. “That does sound terrifying. I’m bad enough now. A teenage Nick wouldn’t have left you alone for a minute.”

I roll his way, wishing I could laugh with him but I can’t yet. It all still feels so real. “We were at this gas station and I called home to tell my mother what we were doing and you were inside, in line. And I started crying because I was never going to see you again. I just knew somehow that it was all over, and I was going to die. And then I woke up.”

I can’t get it out of my head—the sight of him in the convenience store, smiling at me from his place in line, while I stood there panicked, certain it was over. The distress I feel in dreams normally fades immediately. This one though—it remains unchanged.

His lips press to the top of my head. “Hon, it doesn’t require a degree to figure that one out. Call your mom. She’s probably going to be less upset with you for getting married than she is that you waited so long to tell her. And you’re an adult. It’s not like she can ground you and lock you in your room.”

I nod, but I’m not so sure he’s right.

I wake missing Nick. I close my eyes and can almost imagine the way he fit against me, long arms pulling me tight. The mint from his toothpaste, a hint of chlorine as I buried my face into his chest. Jeff and I don’t cuddle like that, and he isn’t someone I share my worries with—I suppose because I’m too busy shouldering his. I leaned on Nick in that dream, physically and mentally, and it’s something I didn’t know I was missing until this morning. My future with Jeff contains wonderful things: a house, kids, a trip to the Jersey shore every summer. But right now I’m aching for what my future won’t contain instead.

I dress and head to the hospital. My inappropriate eagerness to see Nick outweighs my dread of what he might say—I’ve almost convinced myself that the need for another MRI is meaningless anyway.

I’ve just signed in when his head pops around the corner. Like an idiot, like a teen with a crush, I begin blushing. It’s so strange to see him now, to be a stranger to him, when in my head, we were together an hour ago. I can still remember him sliding against me, bare aside from his boxers.

I blush harder. I remember removing those boxers too.

“Come on back,” he says, holding the door so I can walk past. We go to his office, which is larger than I’d have anticipated. His diplomas are on the wall and there are photos too. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, scared of what I’ll discover if I look too closely. It’s funny it never occurred to me, until this moment, that he might not be single. My gaze shifts to his ring finger. It’s bare. My shoulders settle again.

He perches on the edge of the desk, long legs eating up the distance between us. “I’m sorry we had to ask you to come back in. How do you feel today?”

“Great,” I reply, “but I’m wondering why I need another test.”