Parallel

do.
    “My mom sent in my Yale application without telling me,” I say. “Or tried to, anyway. I found it stuck in my out-box this morning. Like fifteen minutes ago, actually. Unsent, thank God.”
    “She filled the entire thing out without telling you?”
    “No, I filled it out. She found it in the trash on my computer.”
    “Why’d you fill it out if you weren’t going to apply?”
    “I was confirming that I didn’t want to go there,” I explain.
    “By filling out the application? How very Abby.” The familiarity of her voice, its distinct mixture of wit and frankness, delivered with Caitlin’s impeccable timing, fills me with an incommunicable joy.
    “I missed you,” I say. “So much.”
    “I missed you, too.”
    Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. We just sit there, relishing the rightness of the world.
    Okay, so maybe the world isn’t all the way right. By the time I get back in my car, I’ve declined four calls from my mom and ignored three texts. Just because I might be able to identify with my mom’s I-know-better mentality doesn’t mean I’m in the mood to talk to her right now. And frankly, I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with Grandma Rose, or the stamina to endure her four-hour meal. With Caitlin out of town, the only place I can imagine going is Josh’s.
    I’m halfway to the Wagners’ before it dawns on me that I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth. Fortunately, there’s a Rite Aid with a bathroom between Caitlin’s house and Josh’s. I buy deodorant, a toothbrush kit, and a travel-sized bottle of Awesome Apple body splash, which I proceed to spritz on every bare inch of my skin.
    Excellent. I now smell like a green Jolly Rancher.
    It’s not until I’ve parked in Josh’s driveway that I realize I haven’t told him that I’m coming. I contemplate pulling back out but decide there’s a pretty good chance someone has seen me pull in. Not the impression I want to make on the family members I haven’t met yet. As I’m debating my options, my phone rings.
    “You’re outside my house,” Josh says as soon as I pick up.
    “This is true.”
    “Does that mean you’re eating with us?”
    “If I’m still invited.”
    “Of course you are. What happened to the marathon meal?” he asks.
    “Long story,” I tell him. “So is it okay that I’m here?”
    “More than okay,” he says. I hear him unlocking and opening the front door. “Are you coming inside now? Or do we need to bring the turkey to the driveway?” Josh steps out on the front porch in bare feet, wearing wrinkled khakis and a gray sweater and looking exceptionally cute.
    “I’m coming in,” I reply. Phone still glued to my ear, I get out of the car and walk toward him. “Please excuse my appearance,” I say. “I left in a hurry.”
    His forehead wrinkles in concern. “Everything okay?”
    “Yes. No.” I sigh and hang up the phone. “I dunno. My mom found my completed Yale application in the trash—where I put it and wanted it to stay—and secretly sent it in. Or tried to. I found it in my out-box this morning.”
    “Wow. Did you confront her about it?”
    “Yeah.” I don’t have the energy to rehash all the details, so I don’t. Josh doesn’t ask for them.
    “You need a hug,” he declares, pulling me into one. Just as I start to relax against him, I feel his nose against my neck.
    I jump back. “Don’t smell me! I haven’t showered. And I went a little overboard with the Jolly Rancher spray.”
    “That’s it!” he exclaims. “That’s what you smell like. A green one.” He smiles and leans forward to sniff me again. “Do they make the other flavors, too?”
    “No. I don’t know.” I move out of his sniff zone. “Can you please not smell me?”
    He laughs. “It’s kinda hard not to.”
    “Great,” I mutter. “Some first impression I’m going to make.”
    “The only person you haven’t met is my brother, and you definitely shouldn’t worry what he thinks.” At the mention of his brother, Josh’s expression darkens.
    “Ouch, bro.” I hear the voice before I see its owner. “That hurts.” I look past Josh into the unlit foyer, where his brother stands in shadows.
    “So this must be the girlfriend,” he says, stepping into view.
    Tall, dark hair, piercing green eyes. Gray Yale Lacrosse T-shirt.
    My breath catches in my throat. The guy from my dream last night.
    “Abby, this is my brother,” Josh grumbles. I’ve never heard him grumble