6 Times We Almost Kissed (and One Time We Did)

“We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends.”
“We’ve never been enemies either,” Penny says.
She’s right.
What we were… I used to think it was maybe undefinable. That a word to describe this constant crossing of paths and reluctantly entwined lives didn’t exist.
I don’t think that anymore.
I think there’s a word for it.

Wow. Such a beautiful book. I went in expecting a YA romance with some family drama on the side, but instead the romance here is intertwined with such a thoughtful exploration of trauma and grief and how both can alter family dynamics. I was so engrossed not just in Penny and Tate’s relationship development, but in everything that accompanied it and in all the layers of their backstory. It was so interesting to see this place they were coming from: not friends, even though they’ve known each other all their lives as their mothers have such a strong friendship they’re practically family; not enemies, even though they’re pretty different and often rile each other up; not exactly united by a common goal until the book starts, but always dealing with various aspects of the same situations. There’s this balance of distance and familiarity that really made their connection work for me.

Penny was my favorite character here. I really liked how PTSD was handled and my heart absolutely broke for her because of her relationship with her mother. At the same time, it was very clear that her mother was acting out of grief, not out of spite, and struggling with her own trauma—except she was doing it in that terrible way some people have when they’re too scared to process and make a path through their grief: dragging others, specifically Penny, with her, preventing Penny from healing, forcing her to carry all the emotional load. And I absolutely loved Tate, too, with her quiet strength, her emotional maturity, the way she found it so natural to both be mad at someone for what they did wrong and want to help them with whatever they’re suffering, her ability to stand up to a bad situation and say as loudly as it needs to be said, This is fucked up. 

There are things that aren’t our fault, but how we deal with them in the aftermath is our responsibility, and this book really drives this point home. But it never feels moralizing—it feels real and alive.

I also want to take a moment to appreciate how skillfully multiple timelines are handled here. Tess Sharpe has a real knack for creating narratives like this, weaving together these different story threads to form a narrative that hits all the right nerves at all the right points. And then there’s also the additional thread that involves the girls’ friends banding up to help and gradually developing their own unexpected romance that was a joy to read, providing a bit of emotional relief when things got heavy in the main story but never detracting attention from it. It’s this whole landscape of foreshadowing and reveals, setting up deliberate gaps and then filling them, and when I finished the book I just had to sit there for a moment looking back and admire the level of craft that went into it.