Page 63 of Parallel

My stomach drops. Were we so obvious in that meeting today? I tried to make things seem professional, but I doubt I succeeded. Admitting to any of this will get me nowhere however, so I go on the offense. “And since when do you nearly start a fistfight with the doctor who’s been trying to save my life? If you really want to help, maybe you shouldn’t be going out of your way to make him the enemy.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

My heart thumps in my chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He walked into the damn room today and only looked at you, like me and Dr. Patel weren’t even there. Like he was your husband and I was just some lowlife harassing you.”

I glance away from him, knowing he’s right and that I’ll never be able to admit it. “I think you’re reading too much into it. And let’s not move away from the point, which is that you were ignoring my wishes, just like he said. And implying that me pursuing a degree I’ve wanted my entire life is some kind of symptom of this tumor, when really it’s just me refusing to put everything I want in life on the backburner in lieu of what you want.”

His mouth falls open. “I’m trying to move our lives forward. It isn’t about what I want or what you want. It’s about logic.”

Wrong choice of words, Jeff. Resentment, held back for so long, floods me. “It’s funny, then, how your logic always leads to me giving things up,” I snap. “Do you realize I’d be done with grad school by now if you hadn’t convinced me to wait? But you did. And then you convinced me we should buy a place, just before you quit your job. Yes, I can see how it’s plenty logical for you—you get to flit from one job to the next, knowing I’ll pick up the slack, but how was any of that logical for me?”

He stares at me for a long moment, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “My God, Quinn. Have you felt like this all along? I thought you agreed. I thought you wanted the house.”

“I didn’t not want it,” I admit. “I just didn’t know that it was going to mean giving up everything I wanted more.”

“You should have told me,” he says. His shoulders are rounded. Every last bit of confidence he’s regained these past few months seems stripped away from him. “I had no idea.”

My inclination is to take it back, to apologize, but I don’t. “And I had no idea you thought me going back to Georgetown was a sign that my brain was malfunctioning. You might have said that in private instead of announcing it to my doctors first.”

He’s silent, and then he leans over and pulls me in for a hug. As much as I want to resist, I don’t. “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is choked. “I want to be what you need, but this whole situation brings out the worst in me. Everything’s changing, and I hate it. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but I feel like I can’t do anything right with you now.”

I let my head drop to his shoulder. This situation has gone too far and it’s entirely my fault. I’ve been pushing him aside ever since that first day at the inn, before I even knew Nick existed. I’ve been telling myself I was protecting him, but when Nick spent the night in my hospital room, when he went with me to meet Grosbaum, when we wound up staying together in Baltimore…I didn’t keep those things to myself because of Jeff’s tender feelings. I did it because I knew they shouldn’t have happened. Each step has been slightly less justifiable than the one before it.

I swallow, forcing myself to make a suggestion I probably should have made long before. “Should we call off the wedding?”

His head jerks back. “Call it off? Why?”

I was hoping it would be obvious to him. “Because we aren’t getting along. I mean, are you even sure you still want to get married?”

“Of course I do! What kind of question is that?”

His astonishment leaves me flustered. Surely the thought has occurred to him at least once? “It’s just…I’m just being realistic.” I press my lips together, staring out at the dense summer foliage just beyond the parking garage. These are the last few days of July, and I don’t even know if I’ll have another one. “We don’t want the same kind of life. You want to move home and live on a farm, which is my idea of hell. I’m keeping you from all the things you want in the world, aside from me, and the truth is that neither of us knows how long I’m even going to be around.”

His eyes well. “But you’re the part that matters, Quinn. You. Not living back home. Not the farm. Okay? So, we are still getting married. If you want to cancel the big wedding, we’ll do that. People will get it, under the circumstances. I’ll talk to the church down the street and see if they can open something up next weekend.”

I freeze. The dread I’ve been feeling—about the future, about staying with Jeff—it sinks into my very bones at his words. “Next weekend?” I repeat, my voice too breathy. “I don’t know if we can pull it together that fast.”

“Just family and close friends,” he says. “You’ve already got the dress. Instead of a reception, maybe we just go to dinner somewhere.”

An anchor sinks deep in my stomach. I made a commitment—to Jeff, to my father—and it’s not as if Nick’s an option anyway. I look at the tears in Jeff’s eyes and my shoulders sag. I’m not sure a year or two of independence would be worth the number of people I’d have to hurt to gain it.

That night, I try to persuade Jeff to leave town as planned for his bachelor/camping weekend, but he insists on staying. “I’ll leave in the morning instead,” he says. “Let’s just have a nice night in. It’s been too long.”

It’s probably what we need. A night where we’re enjoying something together instead of a night where I’m thinking about all the things he’s not. I could have watched Inception with him last night. There’s this ugly assumption inside me that Jeff can’t quite fill Nick’s shoes in any given situation, but I’m not even giving him the chance to try.

“South Park?” he asks after dinner, turning on the TV.

“Let’s watch Inception,” I tell him, ignoring the strain on his face when I say it. Just because he prefers to watch comedies doesn’t mean he’s incapable of feeling something as deeply as Nick does.

It starts. I’m every bit as riveted as I was the last time, perhaps even more since I know just how badly it’s all going to go. Jeff doesn’t look particularly intrigued, but he’s not complaining either. Give it a chance, Quinn. Give him a chance.

At the forty-minute mark, he sighs and hits pause. “I’m sorry, hon,” he says. “This movie doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. You keep watching. I’m going to bed.”

I want to argue. For some reason it seems like my entire future, the fate of our relationship, rests on just getting him to the end of the movie. And that’s insane. He doesn’t have to like what I like. I don’t like to watch football and that’s not a dealbreaker for him.

But as soon as he’s gone the next day, I do what I absolutely should not. I pick up the phone and call Nick.