“Mom, I don’t know if we were ever all that happy together. Dad pushed this relationship, and then you and Abby did. I don’t know what was real and what I was convincing myself of to make all of you happy.”
Her lips go into a flat line. “Of course you were happy. Don’t start telling yourself otherwise to justify your cold feet. You’re throwing Jeff off to the side like garbage now, but I have no doubt that in a week or a month you’ll realize what a mistake you’ve made, and I’d rather you figure it out now.”
I know she’s wrong. Maybe I’ll be sad, and lonely, but Jeff would not make me happy now that I’ve seen how much is possible. If I got back together with him, I’d spend my remaining few years wanting something else, something more, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. “It wasn’t a mistake. And long-term, Jeff’s better off this way too.”
“Do you see how unlike you this is?” she asks. “Look at all the people you’ve hurt. Jeff’s devastated. His parents are devastated. And these are people who were good to us, who supported us emotionally for years. Financially, too, when your father died. It’s just such a slap in the face.”
Ah, there it is…the spiraling guilt. I knew she’d find a way to bring it to the surface eventually. I feel sick, and she hasn’t even gotten around to mentioning what a nightmare it will be to cancel the wedding at this late date. The flights people have paid for, the gifts to be returned, the deposits we won’t get back. Or the fact that when I die in a few years she will have absolutely no one to lean on.
“Think about your uncle flying out here,” she continues. “I bet he can’t get his money back for the ticket. Abby’s siblings are flying in too. Jeff’s grandparents are driving up from Florida, and I think they’ve already left—they made a three-week trip out of this. It’s not just about you.”
Maybe she’s right, I think. Maybe I should just fix this and suck it up for the next year or two. Leave people thinking well of me, leave my mother’s life somewhat intact. The crying and the drive have exhausted me, have left me unable to think clearly, but when I hear those words in my head I feel a kind of sick resignation, a familiar resignation. It’s exactly what I felt when she asked me to stay after my dad died, and when Jeff followed me to D.C. with his big romantic speech. Fear is what led me to walk away from Nick yesterday. And guilt is what’s led me to make every other bad decision in my life. Maybe it’s time I took a different path.
“I’m going to lie down for a while,” I tell her.
“That’s a good idea,” she says tersely. It sounds an awful lot like what she wants to say—go sit and think about what you’ve done.
The room I think of as mine is really just a guest room, full of bland white furniture and muted pastels my mom found at some discount store. The quilt at the end of the bed is the only remnant of my past. I curl up, pulling it over me, and feel a fresh wave of tears coming. Was I blind, with Nick? If our situations were reversed I wouldn’t have gone running back to my ex at the first sign of failure. I’d have waited. I’d have fought. It just feels as if there should be more to our story than this pathetic end.
* * *
Nick and I lie safely curled in bed, listening to the wind rattling the windows, blowing over the chairs out on the terrace. It’s the biggest storm I’ve seen since I arrived in London so many months ago, and it serves as a reminder—even here, deep in the heart of a foreign city, we’re still never entirely safe. Not that I really needed reminding. It’s rarely out of my head for long these days.
“Mary downstairs stopped me this morning,” I tell him.
He laughs, dragging the fluffy duvet up to my neck. “Did she accuse us of harboring pets again?”
I smile against his chest. “No. She wanted to show me these historic photos she found. Did you know our building was bombed during World War II? She had pictures of it. It was all practically rubble.”
He pulls me closer. “Yeah. It’s weird you’re bringing it up. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.”
“Our building being bombed?”
“Not that exactly. Just how terrifying it would be to live here during the Blitz. Especially if we were separated. If I were at work, or you were at school and I couldn’t find you. I never gave it any thought before, and now, especially now,” he says, placing a hand over my swollen belly, “I think about it constantly.”
I think about us being separated constantly too. My reasons are probably different than his, but maybe not…maybe some residual memory tells him he has reason to worry because we’ve been separated before. I place my hand over his. “I’d come find you,” I tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Unless you stopped being hot,” I amend. “In that case, the jury is out.”
His hand slides over my hip, down my bare thigh. “Hot, huh? You’ll have to warn me when I’m in danger of slipping.”
“You’re in no danger,” I say, but the words end on a gasp as his fingers slide between my thighs.
“I wasn’t too worried.” He laughs low in my ear. “If you don’t come find me, there will never be a time when I won’t come find you.”
He rolls me on my back and for a brief time, I forget my fears, but later, when he’s sound asleep, his breathing deep and even, they all reemerge. I look at his face in the moonlight—the boyishness of those long lashes and full lips offset by the sharp jaw, already in need of a shave.
Should I tell him everything? I can’t. It will sound insane, and he’ll never believe me. I figured out the truth months ago and I hardly believe it myself. But I can’t lose him again.
“I’m not going to let her separate us,” I promise him quietly. “Not this time.”
* * *
My mother knocks on the door, waking me. I’m so stunned by the dream I don’t even respond the first time she calls my name. I was pregnant.
“Quinn,” she says, more urgently. “I’m starting dinner. Are you up?”
I blink rapidly. “Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll be down in a second.”
I was pregnant. I remember the feel of a baby kicking as I watched Nick sleep. Less like a kick than a bubble popping against my side, repeatedly. I can still feel the warmth inside me as I placed my hand there. I loved that child and now I miss her—I feel certain it was a her—almost as much as I miss Nick. We were a family, and I made him promises—that I’d find him, that I wouldn’t let her separate us again. How could we have been so much in that life and so little in this one?
I go downstairs, distress weighing heavily on me. My mother seems to interpret it as repentance. “Nothing’s been done that can’t be undone, honey,” she says softly. “It’ll be fine. Everyone knows you’re going through a lot.”
I lay my arms on the table and rest my forehead against them. “I haven’t changed my mind,” I tell her. “I’m just tired.”
She sinks into the chair across from me with a glass of wine. I wonder how many she’s had. Either way, it means the tears will start shortly. “I wish you would think this through,” she says.
My jaw falls open. “What on earth would make you think I haven’t?” I demand. I’ve tried to be patient with her, but this is getting ridiculous. “Why are you in Jeff’s corner so much? I’m the one you’re related to, not him.”
Her lips go tight, a flat line that makes them nearly invisible. “It was your father’s dying wish.”
A small ping of guilt. I ignore it. I’ve had this conversation with myself enough times. “Mom, he never encouraged it until he discovered he was dying. He just wanted to know I’d be taken care of.”
She is quiet, wrestling with something she’s not sure she should say. “You know things,” she says, her voice barely audible. “You always have. You know things you shouldn’t.”
I can feel my heart tapping, far too fast, at the base of my throat. We’ve never, ever discussed this. It’s how we both wanted it and I have no idea why she’s changing the rules now. I swallow. “I was just a weird kid,” I reply. “I had an i
magination. Why are you even bringing this up?”
Her eyes meet mine. Saying if it was merely your imagination, it was a shockingly accurate one. “Sometimes your father knew things too,” she says, her gaze falling to the table. “Things about you. And the way he insisted at the end…it was like when you were a kid and he was so certain about your allergy before you’d ever had shellfish. He was certain about this too, and that’s what makes me think you should listen to him. Because it’s possible he knew something you don’t.”
It’s the same theory I suggested to Caroline yesterday, but now that I’ve made my decision, I don’t want to hear it.
“Jeff can’t protect me from a brain tumor,” I say softly. “Maybe Dad did know something, but what I’m certain of is that Jeff is no longer enough for me, and he’s not how I want to spend the time I have left.”
My mother knows what I’m saying makes sense. Yet I see in the way she swallows, tips her chin in a barely visible nod, that she still thinks my father was right.
* * *
Dinner is painfully quiet. My mother drinks throughout. She looks at me each time she pours herself a new glass, daring me to say something. I won’t, of course. Her five glasses of wine will hurt no one but herself. My decision this morning hurt tons of people.
Her cell rings during dinner and she glances at it. “It’s Abby,” she says, not looking at me as she speaks. “She called earlier too. She said you were refusing to take Jeff’s calls. Please tell me that’s not true.”
I rub my forehead. I napped all afternoon, but this conversation makes me want to go straight back to bed. “Mom, I said everything there was to say this morning.” She gives me a baleful look and I sigh. “Let me listen to the 400 voicemails he’s left and maybe I’ll call after that.”
She excuses herself for the night, though it’s barely seven, taking a new bottle of wine with her, so I retire too. I know I need to listen to Jeff’s voicemails, but God I dread it. I can deal with his anger, but I cringe at the idea of his pain. Right now, I’ve got so much of my own, I’m not sure I can handle his on top of it.
I shower, dry my hair, and dawdle as much as possible before I finally turn on the phone. My heart sinks when I see there are well over a hundred texts.
And stops entirely when I see the most recent one is from Nick.
Nick: Quinn, I’m going crazy. Please just answer me. I need to know you’re okay.
He sent it 15 minutes ago. And he texted an hour before that. I scroll through all the messages from Jeff and discover Nick began texting me at ten this morning. Maybe he was just trying to warn me about his change of heart. Maybe he wanted to make sure I didn’t show up at the lake and ruin his reunion.
Or maybe, just maybe, he’s the guy I thought he was all along.
35
NICK
I already knew yesterday the risk to my career no longer mattered to me. It was only the remaining question of ethics that kept me from driving back here last night and begging Quinn to give me a chance. As her doctor, it’s possible I hold more sway over her than I would otherwise. But I also know this isn’t the classic case of a vulnerable patient and predatory doctor. I know her. My very bones remember her in ways my brain can’t quite catch up with.
And when I woke this morning, I realized there was no longer time to sit around debating—I could go for it, or I could become Grosbaum, growing old still longing for someone who didn’t come back to me.
The decision was made, but I never dreamed it would take me eleven fucking hours to get ahold of her. By the time she finally calls, I’ve spent so long worried she had another seizure that I’m almost as angry as I am relieved.
“Thank God,” I say when I answer, before she’s even said a word. How could she have let me go that long, unsure if she was even alive? “Why the hell was your phone off?” I demand, pacing the room.
“Why the hell was your girlfriend visiting you at the lake?” she replies. The question—and how hurt and angry she sounds asking it—stops me short.
“What?”
“I saw Meg,” she says. Her swallow is audible. “At the market by your parents’ house this morning. Talking about her boyfriend and his Jeep. I just don’t understand how you could say the things you did yesterday and—” Her voice breaks.
I’m so confused right now. But my anger disappeared the moment I realized how upset she was. “Quinn…I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not even at the lake. I came home this morning to see you and you never answered your phone once.”
“But then—” She stops and takes a deep breath. “But then why was she out there?”
I lean on the counter and run a hand through my hair. None of this makes sense. Why the fuck would Meg have gone to the lake? I saw a voicemail from her this morning but didn’t check it. The more important question, to me, is why Quinn was there. “I have no idea. I didn’t invite her and I haven’t seen her since last week. But…why were you there?”
“I wanted to see you,” she admits quietly. “But then she was at the market…so I left.”
I’m dumbfounded. What I have with Quinn is something I wouldn’t be able to replace in a year or a decade or a century—how could she possibly have believed otherwise? “I would never have done that. There is no one for me but you. Not today and not a year from now. So if you stay with Jeff—”
“I didn’t,” she says quietly. “That’s why I came to the lake. I ended things this morning.”
The relief is so sweet and sharp that for a moment I’m speechless. “Thank God,” I finally whisper. There is so much more I want to say to her right now, but not like this. I need to see her face. I need her to see I mean every word of it. “Where are you? This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone.”
“I’m at my mom’s, up in Pennsylvania,” she says. “I’m coming back tomorrow night.”
Not soon enough. Now that I’ve spent an entire day wondering if I’ve lost her, there’s not a chance I’m waiting twenty-four hours to really know she’s mine. I grab my keys and head for the Jeep. “Give me your address.”
“In Pennsylvania?” she asks. “Are you serious?”
I’ve never been more serious in my life.
* * *
It’s just after ten when I pull up to her mother’s house.
I’m halfway up the walk when she steps outside the door. I don’t slow my pace. I keep going until she’s in my arms.
“I can’t believe you came all the way up here,” she whispers.
“I can’t believe you thought for a fucking second I could want anyone but you,” I reply. My lips press to her brow, to her eyelids, her temples, the blade of her cheek, the soft spot just below her ear, until I finally find her mouth. She tastes like mint and sugar, and I could spend a hundred years just doing this—memorizing the contour of her lips, relishing the small, solid warmth of her.
She rests her forehead against my chest. “But…can’t you get in trouble for this?”
Yes, and I no longer care. “I don’t think we have to worry about it too much. As long as we’re careful.”
She cocks a brow. “That isn’t what I asked.”
I’m tempted to lie because I know exactly how she’s going to react to the truth. But she’s it—the person I want forever, or for as long as I can have her. For once in my life I want to be an open book. “I could, in theory, lose my medical license if someone made a big enough deal out of it.”
She jerks backward. “You could lose your license for good? But…” She trails off, crestfallen. “You can’t risk that. I mean, how long would something with us even last? I might not even be—”
I pull her back to me. “Stop. We have no idea how long you have, and I’m sure as hell not going to let some vaguely possible consequence keep me away from you, so don’t even suggest it.” I exhale heavily. The next part has to be said, no matter how much I’d like to skip it. “But I need to be sure that this is really okay. You’re relyin
g on me to treat you, and you shouldn’t feel like there are strings attached. To anyone outside of us, this situation would look kind of predatory. You’re in a vulnerable position and—” My words trail off. They sound even worse out loud than they did in my head.
She slaps a palm to her forehead. “Predatory? Are you kidding me? I wanted you long before any of this began. Before I even knew about the brain tumor, I was trying to stop dreaming about you. And ever since you kissed me yesterday, I’ve been unable to think about anything else, which I can assure you has nothing to do with your ability to heal my brain.”
My eyes flicker to her mouth, uncertain. I push her hair back from her face, palms on her cheeks. “Does this mean you’re mine now?”
She smiles up at me. “I think maybe I always was.”
I lean down, capture once more that mouth I’ve craved since the first time I ever saw her. But I refuse to get carried away like I did yesterday, on the dock. Tonight is our beginning and I want every step of it to be perfect, memorable. Her hands slide through my hair. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she says.
“I have a long list of things I’ve wanted to do for so long,” I reply, my mouth moving from her jaw to her perfect neck, “but they’re probably not appropriate for a first date.”
She laughs. “Is that what this is?”
I force myself back from her. “Not yet, it’s not.” Behind her the house is quiet, mostly dark. “I haven’t said this in over a decade, and I’m not sure there’s anything around here that’s open, but are you allowed out after curfew?”
She grins. “Yes. And I know just the place. Wait here.”
She runs inside and comes back a minute later with a blanket, a bottle of wine, and two plastic cups. We drive into the hills and turn onto a gravel road, where she tells me to pull off. “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I say. “I’d just like to point out that if our situations were reversed you’d probably be getting a little nervous now.”
Parallel Page 23
