Page 53 of Parallel

He lifts himself up on one arm. The sheet is down at his waist, so I get to watch a thousand muscles blink into life at the movement. For a moment I’m so spellbound I forget what I just said. “Please tell me you’re not going to feel guilty about something that minor, especially given that it happened when you were asleep.”

“I guess,” I say with a sigh. “It’s still…” Awful, wrong, humiliating, inappropriate. There are so many ways to end that sentence. “Bad.”

“Hey, come on,” he says with a grin, “you and I are apparently married in some alternate universe, remember? Technically, I think that means you’re cheating on me when you’re with Jeff.”

I laugh reluctantly. “Is that how it works?”

He looks over at me from where he lies, his smile fading. There are words there, right on the tip of the tongue, but they never emerge. He pushes the sheet away and walks to the bathroom instead, and I remain behind, drinking in the sight of him—that swimmer’s back, boxers clinging to his tight, perfect ass. As horrified as I am by what might have happened last night, I sort of wish I could remember every single second of it, whatever it was.

We arrive at the diner far earlier than necessary, the two of us rumpled and walk-of-shame-esque in yesterday’s clothes. He’s in no rush since someone is covering his morning rounds, so we order breakfast and nurse cups of coffee while we wait. There’s nothing magical about it. The diner isn’t particularly clean and the coffee isn’t especially good. But I’m happy. Not that lukewarm, milquetoast version of happy I normally am, but something so much better. For the first time, my soul is full. All I want in the world right now is more of him. More time, more knowledge. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

He looks at me for a long moment. “Green,” he says. “Favorite movie?”

I shrug. “I don’t think I have one. What’s yours?”

A small smile warms his face. “Inception. Have you seen it?”

I shake my head. I’ve always meant to, but when you’re part of a couple things tend to get decided based on who cares the most, and it’s never me.

“You should,” he says. “Favorite song?”

“It’s an old Foo Fighters song,” I reply. “Everlong.”

His smile grows slightly wistful. He rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Mine too.”

The waitress refills our coffee, and he stirs cream in his until it’s the lightest beige. Almost the color of his skin right now, with that tan of his. Before I can stop myself I think about that skin, which I saw a great deal of this morning. His smooth back, his broad shoulders. Stop, Quinn. Those thoughts can only cause trouble. I focus on my own coffee instead. “Do you think Rose could help with Darcy if she really can do what she says she can? Like go back in time and change something?”

He sets his spoon on the saucer and looks at me, thinking. “Darcy had headaches for months last summer, and her pediatrician blew it off. I suppose she could warn Christy about the tumor somehow, but what would compel her to believe a teenage girl’s advice instead of a pediatrician’s?”

I laugh. “Rose is a lot more duplicitous than either of us. She can probably figure something out.”

“That kid,” groans Nick. “The only thing worse than having an out-of-control delinquent teenage daughter would be having one who is capable of time travel.”

“And lands everywhere naked.”

“And aspires to party with an army of rock stars,” he adds, shaking his head. “Anyway, speaking of our troubled new friend, I was trying to come up with questions for her since we might not have much time.”

I nod. “We should ask if there’s someone else we can talk to,” I tell him. “Maybe her grandmother or someone who’s been at it longer would have ideas for us.”

He leans back in the booth. “I think we should also ask if there’s a way she can go back and reset things somehow. If she could keep you away from the lake, maybe you’d never have had these flashbacks at all.”

I feel a sudden urge to smile and cry at the same time. “If I didn’t have these flashbacks, I wouldn’t have met you.”

He glances away. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“No, I…” Heat creeps into my face. It would be better if we hadn’t met. I just can’t bring myself to wish for it. “It’s almost seven. I’d better get in there with the clothes.”

I slide from the booth, before he can see my face, and head to the bathroom, my mind a whirlwind of things that aren’t related in any way to my brain tumor, or the fact that time traveling exists, much less that I might be capable of it. With everything that has happened in the last twelve hours, the most terrifying revelation of all is this: I wouldn’t want to change anything that’s happened if it meant never meeting Nick.

In the bathroom, I lean against the sink and wait for a pair of bare feet to materialize at the bottom of the bathroom stall. How does she do this? How does she land in a bathroom stall without discovering it’s occupied? What does she do when there’s not someone waiting outside with clothes in her size? If I was capable of time travel, I think I’d avoid it just because it seems so fraught with difficulty.

At 7:00, I watch expectantly. At 7:01, I shrug—just because she can time travel doesn’t mean she’s punctual. At 7:05, I start to worry. That’s when I finally open the bathroom door and find her note.

I’m so sorry. I really can’t help you anymore. Good luck—Rose

25

NICK