“It’s fine. Let’s just move outside for a while,” I said as calmly as I could. “The cooler night air is good for her cough, too.”
Quentin watched a sleeping Lily and swallowed. “Yeah?”
I opened the door and motioned him through it. “Yeah.”
He headed for the backyard once we reached the first floor, and I pulled the sliding door open for him. As he padded onto the deck, I snagged a couple of throw blankets from the living room and followed him.
He’d settled onto one of the comfy outdoor couches. I dragged one of the little tables up so he could kick his feet up on it. He looked exhausted now that the adrenaline had stopped pumping.
“You can fall asleep. I can babysit, if you want.” I settled down beside him, closer than I’d intended. “I promise I’m capable of taking care of a little person.”
He must have caught the slight edge in my voice, because he exhaled, squinting up at the night sky. “Yeah, about that,” he started slowly. “I’m sorry. That didn’t have anything to do with you. It was me.”
“No, it was me. All me. You were right to be upset. My aunt and uncle were right.” I shook the blankets out and spread one over Lily, who was snuggled against his chest. “I messed up big-time.”
He scoffed. “I don’t think I’d call that a big-time mess-up.”
I spread the other blanket over Quentin’s and my laps and stared up at the sky with him. “You made it seem like that last week.” When he didn’t say anything, I peeked over at him from the corner of my eye.
“You know how stuff you go through in life makes you, I don’t know, extra-sensitive?” he said, swallowing. “How certain issues just get to you more than others?”
“Yeah?”
His shoulder rubbing against mine lifted. “Well, that’s mine,” he stated. “Not being there when you should be. Bailing on people when they need you.”
I nodded like I understood, but I wasn’t sure I had a clue. Quentin had both of his parents in his life—neither of them had ditched when he’d been the size of a pinhead in his mom’s stomach. But the way he talked about it, I could see how scarred he’d been by the idea of it.
“I’m not usually like that,” I said. “I’m normally the total opposite.”
“I know that. You’re the most responsible person I’ve ever met—the one I’m trying to make more irresponsible.” When he peered over at me, I peeked back. We smiled like we’d been caught. “It’s my fault. If you want to point a finger, aim it this way.”
I rolled onto my side so I was facing him. “And you’re the most responsible person I’ve ever met who tries really, really hard to pretend he’s irresponsible.”
He laughed quietly. “Noticed, did you?”
My eyes dropped to where Lily was snoozing soundly on his chest. “Only weeks ago.” I tucked the blanket tighter around her. “One responsible person trying to make another responsible person irresponsible is in no way going to be successful.”
Even his smile appeared tired. “Can you blame me?” He cocked his brow at me. “You’ve got the world at your fingertips. I have to live vicariously through you.”
My eyes lifted. “What are you talking about? You’ve got the world at your fingertips, too.”
“Funny, it feels more like the world has its fingers around my throat and is slowly squeezing.” Quentin raised his hand, curling his fingers around his neck in demonstration.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I laughed as he played dead with his tongue hanging out for a moment.
His face cleared, and then he was looking at me in that way again. The way that made me feel like I was about to make a bad decision but that it would be one of the best choices I’d ever made. “So maybe I should stop talking,” he said in a voice that came from low in his chest.
My stomach fluttered. I wanted to kiss him. So very badly. I knew he was holding something back, but it wasn’t like I’d confessed my life story yet, either. Whatever it was, I felt I could trust him. With his secrets. And with mine.
I slid closer. “Maybe you should.”
His arm stretched behind me, curving around my neck and gently guiding me toward him. His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Maybe I will.”
His head tipped, but right before he kissed me, Quentin paused. His eyes connected with mine, a silent question in them. I answered it.
I touched my lips to his as my hand slid around the side of his neck. And he kissed me back. Like I’d never been kissed before. Like I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be kissed again. A kiss was magical no matter who it was with—usually—but this was something else. Something bigger. Something stronger. Something that felt like it was changing me, one touch at a time.
When I twisted to move closer, I ran into an obstacle. Lily. She gave a little baby sigh, but she didn’t wake up. Yeah. I’d just had the best kiss of my life with a guy holding his sick baby sister on his chest.
I laughed, but Quentin didn’t unwind his arm from around my neck even though we’d stopped kissing. Once I’d caught my breath and shaken the dizziness from my head, I was ready for more. If he could kiss like that, what was I doing wasting time? Why had I wasted so much of this summer when I could have been kissing Quentin and feeling like my lungs were about to explode?
“Wait,” he said when I moved in. “I think this is a good time to tell you something. Since we finally just had our first kiss after our third attempt.” He was smiling, but his eyes didn’t match—they fell more into the freaked realm.
I waited, with his arm around me. I could tell he was wrestling for the right words. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him struggle so much to say something. From his face, I was bracing myself for the worst.
“Jade, I—” But the opening garage door cut him off. We both twisted our heads when we heard a ruckus coming from inside. “Quentin?!” Mrs. Ford’s voice echoed through the house before she rushed out of the sliding door when she saw where we were. “How’s Lily? Where is she?” She looked panicked and disheveled and mad with worry. “We finally got your messages. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“She’s here, Mom.” Quentin sat up, tucking the blanket down so his mom could see her. “She’s fine. Jade knew what to do. She’s been here all night.” Quentin shot a half smile at me as his mom exhaled a long, shaking breath. “She stayed.” Quentin glanced up at his mom. She stroked Lily’s head a few times, like she had to make sure she was really here and fine. Then she did the same to Quentin’s.
“Good job, sweetie,” she said to him. “You did good.”
“No. I didn’t. I freaked out. I was about ready to strap Silas’s strobe light to the top of my truck and blast my horn to get to the ER.” Quentin hadn’t let go of me when his mom showed up, and now he seemed like he was pulling me closer. “Jade calmed me down and helped Lily. Actually, she helped us both.” He beamed at me, like we were the only people on the planet.
But I was very aware of his mom lingering behind us. What she did next, I did not expect.
Mrs. Ford’s hand dropped to my shoulder and she patted it softly. “Thank you, Jade.” Her voice was tight but strong. “Thank you for being there for them.”
After that night, Quentin and I earned back a little freedom. Especially when I sat down with my aunt and uncle after breakfast and told them the whole story of the previous night. We were figuring our way around each other, one step at a time.
“I really don’t like the idea of you walking to the park by yourself, Jade.” Aunt Julie fretted again. “Why don’t you let me drive you?”
I checked the time on her minivan’s dash. “Because you’re late meeting Uncle Paul for frozen yogurt.” I waved into the backseat, looking for some support from the twins. After I called out Uncle Paul that night about not spending any time getting to know me or his own darn family, he’d been making ste
ady improvements. Less time at work, more time at home—he could even be found sitting at the dinner table with us more nights than not.
“Yeah, Mom. We gotta meet Dad.” Hailey unbuckled and waved at the mall where we were parked, where they were meeting Uncle Paul for frozen yogurt.
“I haven’t seen Dad all day. I miss him,” Hannah added, managing an impressive sad face.
Aunt Julie studied her girls in the rearview mirror, then sighed. “Fine.” She unclipped her seat belt. “I’m going to respect the fact that you are a young woman who is used to a hefty amount of freedom and is responsible.” Aunt Julie didn’t have to say it out loud. Her eyes filled in the rest: most of the time.
I already had the door open and was climbing out. “And I’m going to respect the fact that you care about me and are responsible for me by texting once I get to the park, and checking in every hour after that.” I showed her my phone so she could see it was on and charged, then started to make my way through the mall parking lot. “Have fun.”
The twins were already pulling their mom from the minivan, steering her toward the main mall doors. Who would have thought frozen yogurt could cause such excitement?
It was still light out, and the park was literally only five blocks away, but it felt good to be on my own. Exploring someplace I’d never seen, navigating one block after another. The few times I’d gotten turned around in some of the cities I explored while on tour with my mom, a panicky feeling would settle into my stomach. But I’d always pop out at some local café or great bookstore and realize I wasn’t really lost—I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment.
I wished that applied to feeling complete as a person, too. Half of me still felt missing because of not knowing my dad. That was why I had to fill in that blank, even if it meant going behind my mom’s back.
Her name showed up on my phone. Man, it was like she had telepathy, I swear. I groaned, but knew I had to take the call. I couldn’t put this off any longer.
“Mom,” I greeted, trying to sound all excited.
“Good. You haven’t forgotten who I am. Contrary to the past week’s string of missed calls.”
I shouldn’t have picked up.
“I’m sorry about that. We’ve both been so busy.”
“I’m never too overscheduled to take a call from the person I love most in the world.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Except when you’re in the middle of playing a sold-out concert?”
Mom didn’t pause. “I’ll give you a code word to say to the stage crew. Say it and I will walk right off that stage, even if I’m in the middle of the chorus to ‘Blinders On.’ ”
I knew she meant it. “I’m sorry. I can talk now. If you can.”
“I can talk. If you’ve got enough minutes left to spend on the woman who gave birth to you. I realize talking on the phone with Quentin Ford for”—the sound of shuffling papers in the background—“five hundred and forty-two minutes so far this billing cycle eats up your phone’s plan.”
Yikes. Had it been that many minutes? Those late-night phone calls really added up. “Wow. Who have you got on intel? Because the White House could probably make better use of your contact.” I wiped my forehead because of the hot night, and because this conversation was making me sweat.
“My teenage daughter has just gotten involved in her first serious relationship. I’ve got more intel on you than the White House could shake a stick at.”
Of course she did.
“Listen, Mom, we’re taking it slow. Don’t worry. He’s a good guy. You’d like him.”
On the other end, I could hear her huff, as if the only way she could like him was if he moved to another country. “How is spending every night together for the past week taking it slow? My definition is pretty much entirely different.”
Great. The sarcasm. Never a good sign.
“I meant we’re taking things slow physically,” I said, feeling mildly awkward talking about this with Mom. We talked about anything and everything for the most part, but the relationship topic, and how it directly pertained to me, had been left untouched. I’d never had enough time or interest to get serious with the guys I’d met before this.
“So what—you haven’t kissed yet?”
My head dropped. So. Awkward. “No, we’ve kissed.” A lot, I added to myself. “But we haven’t done anything else.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief. Because I’m not quite ready to be a grandmother.” And keep the sarcasm rolling. Jeez. Mom was really in a bad mood tonight. It didn’t seem like it should have been over me dating a guy, but I knew better. Of all the things in the world, me getting serious when I was too young was the one thing that could get her worked up.
“Mom, come on. I’m not you. I’m not going to get—”
“Pregnant at seventeen by some guy you fell head over heels in love with? Some guy who may not stick around long enough for the stick to turn pink?”
I paused. If for no other reason than to let her know I’d heard her and was giving it thought. I knew she was worried about me. I knew why she was worried. But I wasn’t her, and Quentin wasn’t my dad. Our situation was totally different.
“I’m not going to get pregnant, Mom. I’m smart. I’m careful. It isn’t going to happen.” Why did I feel the need to locate some nearby wood I could knock on?
“Just know that if you do, he’s going to run, Jade. He’s a seventeen-year-old boy. Their definition of responsibility is BYOB.”
Anger pulsed in my veins. She wasn’t being fair. She didn’t know Quentin and hadn’t seen him with his family. She didn’t have a clue about how responsible he was or wasn’t.
“Mom?” I waited a moment before continuing. “I really don’t want this to be the first time I ever hang up on you. But I feel like I’m going to if you keep saying that kind of stuff. You’re not being fair—you’ve never even met him.” I didn’t say it snappy or bitchy, just honestly.
I stopped when I reached the edge of the park, not sure what to say next.
“I love you, Jade. No matter what.”
For some reason, this time it sounded different. I think I understood why. “No matter what what?” I asked.
Mom sighed, knowing what I was getting at. “My parents turned their backs on me when I told them I was pregnant. At the time, it felt like your aunt did, too. You can tell me anything, whether it is about you approving of censoring music or getting knocked up with triplets—I’ll never turn my back on you. Never.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too. No matter what.”
After we said good-bye, I needed a minute to put myself back together. At the same time I felt like I was exactly where I belonged, I also felt homesick.
* * *
—
“There you are.” Zoey glided down the grassy hill in front of me, her wild hair bouncing as she moved. “I was worried you might have ditched me for your boyfriend.”
“Never.” I gave her a fake-injured look as she slipped her arm through mine and steered me into the park. I’d loved getting to know and spending time with Zoey. It was so different seeing the same person daily. Her friendship was a serious bonus I hadn’t anticipated this summer.
“Where is lover boy, by the way?” she asked.
“Home. Family obligations.”
Zoey’s nose crinkled. “He’s so responsible. It’s freaky.”
I played with the end of my braid, not sure how to respond to that. Quentin was super-responsible, but I didn’t take that as a bad thing, just yeah, unusual. Or “freaky,” in Zoey rhetoric.
“I didn’t really take you for a farmers market kind of girl,” I said instead, taking in the scene up ahead. Mom and I loved farmers markets and had probably spent a life savings on organic produce. However, Zoey leaned more toward the Quentin diet of fried, processed, or prese
rved when it came to food.
She kept guiding me along, clearly looking for something as we wove through an array of stands and vendors. “What do you mean? I love a farmers market as much as the next girl.” She must have found what she’d been looking for, because her face lit up. Her bracelets tinkled when she clapped her hands.
When I saw what she was eyeing, everything made sense. “Kale Boy is kind of cute.”
Zoey wasn’t blinking, she was so transfixed. “Kale Boy is divine.”
My hip bumped hers as we kept milling around. “Kale Boy also looks kind of old.”
Zoey waved that off like it was trivial. “That might seem like a big deal now, but in five years it won’t matter one bit.”
“And you’re going to wait five years for a guy who peddles bundles of kale for five bucks a pop, drives an old VW van, and clearly has a thing for flannel?” I asked, scanning his setup.
Zoey chewed at her nails, her chipped polish a dark shade of violet today. “Absolutely.”
My eyes lifted as she circled a stand that had a selection of cherries and peaches. “Are you going to go over and say hi or something?”
Zoey shook her head. “I prefer to do my pining from a distance.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes a ton of sense. What if he’s got this really shrill, high-pitched voice that sounds like he’s been sucking on helium? Or what if he has really unfortunate body odor?”
“Other than kale?” I interjected as he heaved another crate of bundles from the back of his van.
“Trust me. It’s better to keep my distance and imagine he’s perfect in every way possible.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
Zoey gave me some side-eye. “Quentin Ford seems pretty darn close to it.”
We moved on to the next vendor over, who was selling essential oils. “What makes you say that?” I asked, trying to keep it casual and like I wasn’t fishing.
“Because it’s the truth.”
“How do you know? You must know him pretty well to say he’s close to perfect.”
Almost Impossible Page 16
