Page 55 of Parallel

I place my hands flat to the desk and force myself to say words I know will hurt her, no matter how gently I deliver them. “Meg…you’re amazing, but I don’t think this is what I want.”

Nothing in her face changes. She was unhappy before and she’s still unhappy. “I knew you’d do this,” she finally says, eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen a man more scared of commitment in my entire life.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. I should have anticipated an argument. She’s not the type to just let things go. “I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“Of course it is!” she cries, throwing her hands in the air. “And why? I’m the one who’s a child of divorce while your parents are still happily married! If either of us should be freaked out, it’s me. You don’t have a single reason to be scared. But you are. And that’s all this is…you’re scared.”

If she knew how I felt about Quinn she’d realize how off-base she is, but God knows that wouldn’t improve this situation. “I’m so sorry. There’s just a certain way I want to feel before I get serious with someone, and it’s not there with us. We have a nice time together, but you deserve more than I can give you.”

Her eyes bulge. “Are you fucking serious right now?” she demands. “We have a nice time? We’ve been together for a year! We’ve practically lived together for three quarters of that, and all you can say is that it was nice?”

I close my eyes. I’ve never dated anyone as long as Meg, but I’ve been through some version of this situation a thousand times. “I wanted this to work, but it isn’t fair to keep going down this path, when it isn’t right.”

“Nick,” she pleads, her voice catching, “if no one is ever right, it means you want something that doesn’t exist. We’ve had this conversation before, remember? This is just how you are.”

I thought she was right at the time. I’d dated more beautiful, intelligent women than I could count, and it never worked—because I was waiting for one specific person without ever realizing it. “I think it exists, Meg.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Her eyes dart to mine, reminding me of a lioness zeroing in on her prey. “There’s someone else.”

“No, not really.”

“Not really isn’t no,” she hisses.

I lean forward, clasping my hands on top of my desk. “I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She brushes the tears from her face. “My landlord already rented my apartment. I have to be out in a week.”

Guilt hits hard. I can’t break up with her and force her to crash with friends for weeks while trying to find a new place. “You can take mine. I’ll find something else.”

She buries her face in her hands. “So this is just it? Just like this?”

I clear my throat. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She jumps to her feet and marches out. I watch her go, knowing I’ve made the right decision and wondering, at the same time, if I’ll come to regret it. What we had was nice, and it was easy, and I’m not sure what I’ve opened myself up to, aside from a lifetime of wanting a woman who is about to marry someone else—a woman I couldn’t be with even if she were free.

It’s never going to be fair to anyone I date, to any woman I end up with. Because I will always be wishing I was with Quinn instead.

26

QUINN

Dee spent most of Tuesday pissed off that I came in late. Since I took sick leave, she couldn’t really reprimand me, but she spent the day punishing me for it, and Wednesday appears to be no better. “I need a mock-up of the D.C. housing supplement on my desk by four,” she barks.

I blow out a weary breath. I expected her reaction, but it exhausts me nonetheless. Maybe it’s just that losing my last shot at talking to Rose has left me depleted. “That isn’t due for two weeks.”

“And now it’s due today,” she replies with a brittle smile. “If you’d been around more this week, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

She walks away, and I think of my conversation with Nick on the trip to New Jersey. About architecture, about why I’m shuffling along in this job I hate. I guess it’s selfish to consider blowing that money on a degree I may never use when Jeff could start a new life with it after I’m gone. But there’s a tiny seed of resistance inside me that says No, it’s not selfish. You’ve given up enough for him, gone along with what he wants, what’s best for him, long enough. No.

I go online and look up the information for Georgetown’s admissions department. And then, with shaking hands, I send them an email asking if I might be able to come back.

Jeff calls that night, miserable. He hates traveling, which makes each of these trips, for him, an endless series of small irritations—the long rental car line in Albany, the hotel room that reeks of smoke, fast food for days on end, running out of toothpaste in a town that closed an hour ago. We both knew at the outset this job would be a bad fit in many ways. But he was desperate to find work after his last layoff, and I was desperate too. I probably should have encouraged him to hold out for something better.

“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “Maybe you should look for something else when you get back.”

“The hell with D.C.,” he says. “We should just move home.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. In his bones, Jeff will always be a country boy. He wants quiet and wide-open spaces, but I don’t. I never have. “Coach has suggested a thousand times he wants me back as an assistant, and he’s got to retire soon. Up there we could live decently on a teacher’s salary.”

A warning note chimes in my head, a chill between my shoulder blades. I’ve held all the cards during our relationship. I’m the one who left for D.C., ready to end it. He’s the one who followed, who gave things up to be with me. But once we’re married, will I still hold the cards? He knows I don’t want to live up there, but he also knows I’m not much of one for fighting about anything. If he insists, I’ll end up agreeing to go. And my inheritance will no longer be my money, it will be ours, and he’ll have just as many rights to it as I do, most likely.