Page 5 of Parallel

“I’m totally fine and I’m tired,” I tell him. “I just want to go home.”

He turns and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’ve never given me one reason to doubt you.”

I allow my head to rest against his chest. “I just don’t get where it even came from.”

“Sometimes…” he begins, and the gust of his exhale ruffles my hair. “You’re the smartest, most beautiful girl who ever came out of our town. And sometimes I wonder how I got this lucky, like it’s just a matter of time before you figure out you could do so much better than me.”

I ache for him. His issues with work may have taken an even greater toll than I realized. “That’s crazy,” I whisper.

“Can we just forget this happened?”

I nod and give him one last squeeze as the elevator doors open. I’d love to forget it happened too. I’m just not sure I can when the proof it did is staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.

3

NICK

Meg’s alarm wakes me, and my first feeling is regret. I was having the dream again—a girl standing on a boat, seen from a distance. Lithe, golden-skinned. Her husky laugh echoing off the water, sun-streaked curls blowing in the breeze.

Meg’s alarm continues shrieking. “Hon,” I groan. “Alarm.”

She mumbles something, reaching for her phone to hit snooze.

In the ensuing silence, suspended somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I think of the dream and feel a pang in the center of my rib cage. It’s the same one every time, and I never remember much of it. Mostly, it’s just the sight of her standing there, nothing but smooth skin and a tiny red bikini I long to remove, and the way she makes me feel—as if my heart is exploding in my chest.

Meg’s alarm goes off again and I give up on sleep, padding quietly to the closet for my gym bag. I was at the hospital until after midnight and it feels like I just shut my eyes five minutes ago, but birds are chirping so I figure it’ll be dawn soon enough. I don’t mind waking up early during the summer anyway. At least with all the students gone I won’t have to fight for a lane at the pool.

“Why are you up?” Meg asks, yawning again as she moves toward the stuff she keeps on the left side of my closet. “I thought you went in late on Tuesdays.”

“It might have something to do with the fact that you hit the snooze button three times,” I reply. I’m crankier than normal. That dream about the girl on the boat always leaves me feeling dissatisfied with my life, and guilty at the same time. I have an amazing girlfriend. I shouldn’t be dreaming about someone else. “It’s fine. I’ll get in an extra-long workout.”

She winces as she pulls a clean pair of scrubs off the rack. “Then this is probably a bad time to ask, but do you mind if I crash here for a little while? I want to end my lease but I haven’t found another place yet. I promise I’ll never hit the snooze button again.”

I drop goggles in my bag and look in a drawer for my second pair to stall for time. I know the question should be a no-brainer, but I’m comfortable with what Meg and I have. I don’t know if I’m ready for more, and moving in here temporarily seems like the kind of situation that turns permanent before you know it. “I like your place.”

“It’s just too far from the hospital. I’m here almost every night anyway. What’s going to change?”

I sigh, frustrated more with myself than the situation. She’s absolutely right, and there’s really no reason for me to object. I like having her here. The fact that we share a profession makes things easy with us in a way it hasn’t been with other women I’ve dated. I just really need to stop waking up thinking about someone else. “Yeah, okay.”

She wraps her arms around my waist. “You could at least try to sound enthusiastic,” she scolds.

I drop a quick kiss to the top of her head and grab my bag. “You know I’m just cranky until I swim.”

“Fine, go swim,” she replies, pulling me back for a real kiss, content once more. “But I expect enthusiasm when I talk to you later.”

I force a smile, hoping I’ll be able to drum some up by then.

At the pool, I swim hard, longer than normal, building up from a 4x25 to 4x200 before I work my way down. I take long strokes, feeling the water rush past as my arms slice through. What I love about swimming is how scientific it is. Muscle and position and timing, all simple to adjust when it goes off course.

I only wish the rest of my life was as simple, that I knew which parts required adjustment. I’ve done exactly what I was supposed to, dammit—college, med school, residency—but something is still missing, and it’s this constant itch just beneath the surface of my skin, wondering what it is.

My mother claims what’s missing from my life is a family, but I suspect that has more to do with her desire for grandchildren than anything else. You and Meg are both 30, she says. Her biological clock is ticking even if yours is not. But every time I even consider it, the dream about the girl in the boat returns to needle me, to leave me dissatisfied with what I have and suddenly uncertain I’m doing the right thing.

It makes no sense, really. I can’t name a specific quality about the girl. I can’t really see her face. I don’t know what she likes, how she will laugh, if she’s rude to waiters or hates dogs. All I know is how I feel—as if I’d swim the ocean to save her, walk into battle on her behalf without a second thought. That when I stand on that dock in my dream, I want to give myself to her until there is nothing left of me.

And I don’t feel that way about Meg. I’ve never felt that way about anyone.

My morning is full. It’s afternoon before I get in to see Darcy, the patient who kept me here so late last night. Things looked pretty grim fourteen hours ago, but when I walk into her room she’s laughing over a cartoon so hard she’s got to hold onto her stomach. Her exhausted mother is sound asleep in the chair beside her. Seven year olds bounce back a lot faster than adults.