Page 57 of Parallel
“Not really isn’tno,” shehisses.
I lean forward, clasping my hands on top of my desk. “I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’reasking.”
She brushes the tears from her face. “My landlord already rented my apartment. I have to be out in aweek.”
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 somethingelse.”
She buries her face in her hands. “So this is justit? Just likethis?”
I clear my throat. “Yes. I’msorry.”
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 werefree.
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 Quinninstead.
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,” shebarks.
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 twoweeks.”
“And now it’s due today,” she replies with a brittle smile. “If you’d been around more this week, it wouldn’t be anissue.”
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 saysNo, 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 comeback.
* * *
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 somethingbetter.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “Maybe you should look for something else when you getback.”
“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’ssalary.”
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 bemymoney, it will beours, and he’ll have just as many rights to it as I do, mostlikely.
“I emailed Georgetown today,” I blurt out. I meant to introduce the topic slowly.Alas. “Admissions. To see about comingback.”
He’s silent for so long I begin to wonder if he even heard me. “Honey,” he finally says weakly, “you’re not really consideringthis?”
He makes getting a degree in architecture sound like some outlandish pipe dream. As if I just told him I want to be an Olympic gymnast or star inHamilton. It’s one of many ways he and my mother are similar—the things they want in life have never required a degree, so to them it’s mostly a useless accessory. Aseconddegree, therefore, is completely frivolous. “Obviously I am, or I wouldn’t have emailedthem.”
“Jesus, Quinn,” he groans. “I tell you I might lose my job and you think it’s a good time toquit?”
Will there ever be a good time to quit, Jeff? Will there ever be a time when you aren’t about to lose a job?Irritation blossoms into anger as I hold in all the things I want to say. “Why was it okay for me to blow my inheritance on that house I didn’t even want in Manassas, but it’s not okay for me to use it on a degree I’ve wanted my entirelife?”
He sighs. “Because a house moves our lives forward. Our neighborhood isn’t a good place for kids. You know that. But think about how long your degree will take. Four years? Five years? And all that time you’re accruing debt and not working. Which means we’re not having a kid until well after you’re done. I’m 32. I don’t want to wait until I’m in my 40s to start a family, and that’s basically what you’re asking ofme.”
“I may only have a few years to live,” I reply. “I don’t think kids are even in the picture for meanymore.”
“Stop saying things like that!” he demands. “You have no idea how long you’re going to live! We haven’t even met with the oncologistyet.”
“Whether I have a year or a century, I’m going to want the degree more than ahouse.”
He’s quiet again, recalibrating. “Look, hon,” he finally says. “I know I’m not reacting the way you want me to, but you’re kind of springing this on me. If the degree is that important to you, we can discuss it, okay? Just wait until I’mhome.”