I checked the time on the wall across from us. My flight wasn’t for a few hours, but I wasn’t going to be on board.
I’d never been so thankful to miss a flight, because I didn’t want to start down a dangerous path. I didn’t want to be like my dad, bailing when things got tough. No, I wanted to be like my mom, who dug in her heels, rolled up her sleeves, and chased life when it got hard.
I wanted to be like Quentin, who hadn’t turned his back on his baby girl like my dad had with me. Because if you ran from every problem that came at you, you might never get to discover the miracle hiding behind it.
“So? Who are you most upset with? Quentin? Or your dad?” Mom asked gently, waiting patiently for my answer.
“My dad.” I bit my lip. “But I’m angry at Quentin, too.”
Mom nodded, her long earrings tinkling against her shoulders. “Are you angry at him because he has a child, or because he didn’t tell you about having a child?”
“Because he didn’t tell me,” I answered immediately. It wasn’t Lily. It wasn’t that he was a teenage dad. Yeah, it wasn’t your everyday, but it wasn’t something I’d list in the deal-breaker part of a relationship column.
“Is this something you’re willing to let him try to explain? Or is it just over, no matter what he has to say?” Mom asked, scooting to the edge of her chair. “Because I am on your side always, but as a former teen parent, I have some useful insight into the mind of another one. I imagine he didn’t tell you about his daughter not to hurt you, but to protect her. To protect everyone, until the time was right to come clean.”
I picked at my nail polish. “He was doing it partly for himself, too. His actions weren’t totally selfless.”
Mom patted my cheek. “Well, if I met a person like you back then, I would have been a little selfish, too. ’Cause you’re pretty darn extraordinary, Jade Abbott.”
I blinked at her, waiting for a punch line. “I can’t believe this. My mother, Meg Abbott, is defending a guy.”
“Not just any guy,” she said. “The guy my daughter’s fallen for.”
I snorted, like she was crazy, but I knew she could see right through me. “What makes you so sure I’ve fallen for him?”
Mom put her arm around me and we watched travelers buzzing by. “Because you’re at an airport, camped outside the security gates for God knows how long now, puffy-eyed and unable to leave.”
I sighed, kind of relieved to finally admit it, kind of terrified, too. “Yeah, I know.”
“Come on.” She stood, pulling me up with her. “Let’s get out of here, find something good to eat, and talk.”
“Talk about what?”
Mom snagged my duffel from the floor and slung it over her shoulder, leading me away from the security gates. “If you’re so unable to leave this place, why don’t we go discuss a few things?”
“What kinds of things?” I asked.
“Some life changes I think we should consider.”
“Such as?”
“Where you want to spend your senior year of high school,” she said with a shrug. “Do we want a house by the beach or one in the hills? Where should we go next summer before you leave for college?”
From the way Mom was glancing over at me, like a kid on Christmas morning, I could guess what she was getting at.
“Don’t you have a concert?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, waving it off. “In twenty-two hours. Plenty of time to answer all of life’s questions.”
This had been a summer for the record books. In every way I hadn’t planned on.
Mom flew back to Vancouver earlier this morning so she could make her concert, but she’d been right about there being plenty of time to answer life’s questions. At least the most pressing ones.
With Uncle Paul and Aunt Julie’s help, we were going to find a rental close by for the school year. I’d spend my senior year in an actual school setting, with the same people and the same-ish routine. Aunt Julie had been so stoked about the idea of us being close, she pretty much overlooked my escape to the airport.
There were only a million details to work out, but the plan was in place.
There was only one big thing I still had to work out.
* * *
—
I could just see his bright blue shorts up on the beach ahead, where he crouched beside someone else. His daughter. Lily.
Now that I knew, it was so obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out before.
Quentin had plopped Lily on a towel. She was wearing a giant pink sun hat and smacking at the sand with a toy shovel. Even from a ways off I could tell how much sunscreen he’d slathered on her—the girl looked like she’d been practically painted white.
It made me smile, watching them. He was so good with her. I knew most teenage guys probably would have up and run rather than be tied to the responsibilities that came with raising a child alone. He was lucky he had his family, but still, nothing about having a baby was easy, all while you were trying to finish high school and work a part-time job.
No wonder he always looked so tired. No wonder he’d been napping that day in his truck.
It had been so obvious.
Lily let out an excited whoop when Quentin lifted up the turtle sand mold. She looked at the turtle, then up at Quentin as if he was the best thing ever. I knew the feeling.
“She looks just like you, you know that?”
Quentin’s back stiffened, but when he turned around, he was smiling. Like he’d been expecting me all along. He patted the sand beside him, getting back to Lily right before she shoved a sand-coated fist into her mouth. “Sorry, kiddo. DNA’s a real bummer.”
“That was more of a compliment,” I said, sitting down beside him.
“Then DNA’s the bomb, kid. You can thank me later. You know, when you can actually form words rather than just spit bubbles.”
Lily handed a fistful of sand to her dad.
“Hey, Lily. How’s it going?” I made a face. She patted the turtle mold with her shovel, looking at me and waiting.
“Fair warning. There’s no going back once you make that first sand turtle. I lost count somewhere around nine hundred and fifty.” Quentin brushed the sand off his knees. “That’s today’s tally alone.”
I scooped some sand into the mold before pressing it down in front of Lily. An excited whoop, followed by a shovel smack. A half second later, she was blinking at me again, waiting.
“Told ya.” He nudged my arm. Both of us stayed quiet as if we were trying to decide how to start this conversation.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “So I can’t help but notice you’re here. In California.” He paused. “You stayed.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
When Lily tossed a palmful of sand into the air, half of it sprinkled into his hair. He didn’t seem to notice. “Why?”
“For a lot of reasons,” I said.
“Am I included in those reasons? Maybe?” He sounded unsure, doubtful.
Which made me start to smile. Clearly both of us had been oblivious. Still were.
“Yeah, you are.”
He lifted his hand in front of Lily. “Give me some skin.”
Lily’s shovel high-fived him.
“Mom came here before I could get to her. We talked. A lot.” I handed Lily her sippy cup when she motioned at it. “We decided we’re going to spend the school year here in California. Once her tour’s done, she’ll be in the studio, and I’ll go to a real school my senior year. We’re looking for a house close to my aunt and uncle.”
Quentin started grinning. “Does that mean…”
“We’ll be going to the same school.”
That took him a minute to process; then a familiar smirk shifted into place. “Didn’t get enough of me this summer?”
>
I made a face. “Nah. I think there’s a whole lot more to get to know.”
Quentin grabbed the sippy cup before Lily sent it flying over her shoulder. “Not to disappoint you, but this is my life. Her.” He pushed her sun hat down a little farther on her forehead. “What’s left after isn’t much. You deserve a lot more than that, Jade. You deserve way more than I’ll be able to give you.”
Another sand turtle met its demise. I already had a new one ready to go. “I think I deserve to be happy.” I returned Lily’s smile when she sent a toothy grin my way. “And you make me happy.”
Quentin held out a hand toward me. “You make me happy, too, Jade Abbott.” I took his hand without thinking.
“You know, I grew up with only one parent in my life. But the way she loved me was more than having two parents combined.” I watched his arm whip out behind Lily when she started to fall back, righting her. He was proving my point that very moment. “Lily’s going to turn out just fine. Trust me.”
His hand squeezed mine. “I do.”
“It wasn’t that you had a baby that upset me.” I slid closer. “It was that you didn’t tell me about her. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, if you’d been the one to tell me.”
“I know, but”—he motioned at the diaper bag and baby paraphernalia spread around on the towel—“this isn’t an easy life, Jade. For me it’s not an option, but for you it is.”
I looked over at him. “I don’t need easy; I just need real.”
“This is as real as it gets, Jade.” His eyes found mine. “So if you want to make a run for it, I get it.”
I shifted in the sand to get comfortable. He hadn’t been joking about the sand turtle thing. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
We sat like that for a while. Not speaking a word but saying everything. He wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t going anywhere. We were both right where we wanted to be.
This book was a true labor of love for me. Months after completing Jade and Quentin’s story, they’re still with me. I guess they always will be. Their story would not be what it is without the team that was committed to giving them the book they deserved.
Endless thanks to my editors, Phoebe Yeh and Elizabeth Stranahan, who poured as much of themselves into Almost Impossible as I did. Their insight and feedback were invaluable. Their edits and devotion to this book demonstrate just how committed they are to putting out the best young adult books possible.
Thank you to my agent, Jane Dystel, for her tireless work ethic. I’m grateful to have such a professional, committed agent on my side.
To all the book bloggers who dedicate themselves to spreading the word of books: you all inspire me. To write better. To be better. To do better. You give so much to the book world without expecting anything in return. Thank you for continuing to read and share your love of books.
To my Reality Heroines: I hope you all realize just how heroic you truly are. You are my happy online place and I consider you friends, even though I have yet to meet many of you. Thank you for your kindness and unwavering support.
To my husband and daughter: my loves, my life. You are my reasons for everything.
Lastly, to all of you readers out there: thank you for letting this bookworm live her dream. Never settle for anything less than yours.
Nicole Williams is the New York Times bestselling author of Crash, Clash, and Crush, and numerous other books, including her first young adult novel, Trusting You & Other Lies, which Booklist called “a charming summer romance.” While never getting to travel the globe at a young age like Jade, Nicole spent her youth imagining all the exotic places she’d go and the adventures she’d have along the way.
Nicole loves reading and writing books about star-crossed lovers and happy endings, but believes some of the best stories are the ones we create every day. Nicole lives with her family in the Evergreen State with her husband and daughter, and they try to travel and find adventure every chance they get. Visit Nicole on Twitter at @nwilliamsbooks, on Facebook, or on her website at authornicolewilliams.com.
For the one thousandth time, I shifted in the backseat, trying to get more comfortable, but I should have known better. Nothing about this summer was going to be comfortable, not even the leather seat that was supposed to be all ergonomic and crap—making road trips a dream, my dad had claimed. After doing almost six hours of hard time in the backseat, I could confidently say that my dad’s definitions of dream and nightmare had gotten crossed.
The air-conditioning inside the Ainsworth family Range Rover was blasting from the front seat, where my parental units sat, but they might as well have been on opposite poles of the planet for as much as they’d acknowledged each other on this four-hundred-mile-and-some-change road trip.
I adjusted my seat-heat, dialing it up a notch when I noticed my mom crank up the air-conditioning from frosty to arctic. A faint sigh slipped past her lips as she angled the vents toward her face. Any other human being would have been sprouting icicles out their nose from the way that glacial air was blasting at her, but instead she continued to fan her face, like it was still too warm.
The leggings and tunic I’d thrown on were not holding up to the cold front, so I snagged my North Shore Track & Field hoodie from my backpack. I pulled up the hood and tied the drawstring around my face. Despite the sweatshirt, a shiver rocked me right before the seat-heat started to do its job. My mom might have been born and raised in the Northeast, but I was Californian born and bred. I didn’t do below sixty degrees unless I was sporting a couple extra layers.
“We’re almost there.” Dad pointed at a sign on the side of the road, but I couldn’t have read it if I’d wanted to. We’d been hauling ass ever since he’d pulled out of our driveway in Santa Monica.
“Still looking through that brochure?” Dad glanced back at Harrison, my ten-year-old little brother, who was sitting beside me and thumbing through the camp brochure I knew he’d memorized fifty flip-throughs ago.
Harrison, or Harry as I called him despite my mom’s protests that the nickname was much too “ordinary,” scooted his glasses higher on his nose.
“Fencing’s that thing where they wear the weird masks and dance around each other, right?” Harry asked.
“That’s right. It’s kind of like medieval sword-fighting, but with blunted swords that won’t totally maim or injure the opponent.” Dad glanced at Harry again, which made me all kinds of uneasy given he was speeding into a sharp corner going at least fifty miles per hour.
“That sounds sick!” Harry pulled a pink highlighter from his side pocket and drew a surprisingly straight line over Fencing under the activities section of the brochure. Most of the few dozen others were already highlighted. Everything besides basket-weaving, papier-mâché, and cake decorating were highlighted in different colors depending on Harry’s level of interest.
He had a key for it and everything. A yellow highlighter meant he was interested, a green one meant he was very interested, an orange one meant he’d be camped out the night before so he could be first in line, and a pink one meant he’d sacrifice a litter of puppies to do it. For a kid whose life had consisted of textbooks, music lessons, and computers, this was the adventure of a lifetime—almost as major as winning a lottery to go to the moon.
For someone like me, though? A teen girl who’d planned to spend her last official summer at the beach, playing volleyball during the day and huddling around bonfires at night before going away to college next fall—this was like serving a life sentence in a maximum security prison, the guards being my parents, my cell being some “rustic” cabin smack in the middle of nowhere.
I wanted to spend the summer before my senior year at Camp KissMyButt in Flagstaff, Arizona, about as much as I wanted to be locked in the same bedroom where I’d found my former boyfriend rounding second base with my former friend at a party a few weeks ago. Ke
ats—former boyfriend, current buttmunch—had blamed it on his overconsumption of tequila that night. I’d blamed it on his underconsumption of self-control over his whole life.
Whoever was right, the outcome was the same. We were done. Through. Good-bye and good riddance.
That was my mantra, though my conviction lagged sometimes.
“Sick, sick, sick,” Harry said as he continued to devour the camp brochure.
“Harrison, please stop talking like you’re auditioning for a rap video.” My mom’s eyes were closed, like they’d been the majority of the trip, but now she was pressing her temples, which meant a headache was coming on. She’d had headaches for as long as I could remember. She blamed them on the California sun and not being used to so much sunshine, even after two decades of living beneath it. Lately, her headaches had been a lot more frequent. The sun wasn’t to blame for the majority of them now, though.
“Sorry, Mom.” After drawing another wide pink line through Fencing, Harry added a few exclamation points on either side of the word. “Fencing sounds both mentally and physically stimulating.” Harry smiled up at her, but she didn’t see it.
Harry was Mom’s little clone, her shadow for the first five years of his life, and the child she deemed worthy of living vicariously through. I’d always been more of my dad’s carbon copy and used to love knowing I’d gotten all my drive and ambition from him.
I didn’t feel that way anymore.
“So? Can I do it?” Harry flipped to the last page of the brochure.
Mom twisted around in her seat just enough so that she could look at us when she opened her eyes.
Harry took after our mom in the looks department—fair skin, dark hair, slight build—but everyone said I had her eyes. That had been a point of pride, but then things changed. The person who used to be my mom seemed to have disappeared, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted the same eyes as the person sitting in the front seat now.