The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  Actually, last night over Korean food that Halmoni made us, Hannah made me swear on my favorite One Direction sweatshirt that I would do it. She promised to chop it into little bits if I didn’t. She’s always looking for reasons to get rid of that sweatshirt.

  Threats aside, she’s right. I can’t keep shuffling my feet and doing what I’m doing and expect life to change.

  So now I’m standing in front of Dawson, in the empty front lobby of Cooper’s. I’d say it was fate or the universe, but I saw him walking by and asked him to come over and chat with me. I’m going to keep it simple and just ask him to lunch. No big deal. I’ve got this.

  “So, Dawson,” I say, after taking a big breath because I really don’t have this. But I’m going to fake it until I make it. Which is something my mom used to say.

  She also used to give us a kiss for good luck anytime we were doing something challenging or daring. If she were here right now, she’d kiss me on the cheek, probably pat me on the butt, and tell me to go for it.

  Dawson looks at me, his eyebrows raised in question.

  “I was thinking—”

  “Hey, Dawson,” Robin, our front desk girl, interrupts me as she takes a seat at the high-top desk we’re standing in front of. She’s a tiny thing, with straight blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes.

  She’d asked me to watch the front desk while she used the restroom, which is why I was standing in the front lobby in the first place. It just worked out that Dawson happened to walk by.

  I hired Robin. She’s got a lot of energy and is a great fit for the front desk—the first representation of our company when clients come through the front door. What I didn’t know is that she has the worst possible timing. Not that I would have asked her that in the interview.

  Robin looks to me. “Thanks for watching the desk, Maggie. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” I say. I turn to look at Dawson. He smiles and I swear his eye twinkles. It could be the overhead lighting reflecting in his pupil, but it seemed like there was an honest-to-God twinkle.

  “You … were saying something?” he asks, his lips still curving upward.

  “Yeah, I …” I stop myself and look at Robin and then back at Dawson. This just got weird. I can’t ask Dawson out in front of Robin. She’s my employee. And what if he rejects me? I don’t want an audience for that.

  I’ll just ask him to come to my office, and then it will be go time. I tug on the k pendant on my necklace. Maybe it will give me courage.

  You can do this, Maggie.

  I open my mouth, but then Robin starts. “Hey, Dawson,” she says, her eyes on him, giving him an award-winning smile. “Do you want to go to lunch today?”

  Wait … what?

  “Sure,” Dawson says, giving her a grin, those beautiful pearly whites fully exposed.

  I look at Robin and then at Dawson. She just asked him out in front of me … to lunch. Exactly what I was going to do only seconds ago—only I talked myself out of it because it would have been awkward. But Robin just said the words. No big deal. And he said yes, without flinching or even a momentary pause. Just like that. It was so easy.

  I stand there, totally mouth breathing, stunned by what just transpired. Dawson looks to me and then back at Robin, and then back to me again.

  “Do you … want to come with us?” he asks, as if he could read my mind.

  “I …” I start but then stop myself.

  “Actually,” Robin interjects, “who would watch the front desk if we both went?”

  If Robin is playing some game and doesn’t want me to come, she’s just offered the perfect excuse. It’s usually me that takes over front desk duties for her breaks.

  “That’s true,” I say.

  “We could find someone else?” Dawson throws it out there, nodding his head at Robin and then me.

  We probably could, but lunch with Dawson and Robin doesn’t sound all that appealing to me. I think I’d feel like a third wheel.

  “You know, I think I better take care of the front desk,” I say, and then give them a fake smile. “Rain check?”

  “Of course,” Dawson says, directing that gorgeous grin at me.

  “Well, I better … get back to work,” I say. “Give me a call when you’re leaving, Robin.”

  What just happened?

  ~*~

  Later that day after most of the staff has left for the night, I sit in my office and stare at my phone.

  I called Hannah after Robin unknowingly stole my lunch date, and she lectured me for three minutes about how I’m going to miss my chance and how right she was and blah, blah, blah. Then she had to hang up really fast when her mom caught her on the phone. Sometimes Hannah working for her mom makes me feel like we’re teenagers again.

  Right now, I’d be texting my mom, telling her about my day. Venting about my feelings. Instead, I’m sitting here staring at my phone, feeling like there’s no one I can talk to. I was getting so much off my chest with those texts to my mom. And now … now who do I have? My family is dealing with their own grief, in their own way. There’s Hannah, of course, but it feels like she’s not really getting it. How could she? She has both parents still, even if her mom and dad are divorced and her dad lives in California.

  I feel like I’m in a big sucky club for one.

  I hear a throat clear and look up to see Devon walking into my office.

  “What’re you staring at so intently?” he asks, with a chin dip toward my phone.

  I put it facedown on my desk and lean back in my chair. “Nothing,” I say.

  He walks in, doing that Devon swagger he does, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and takes a seat at the chair in front of my desk.

  “I’ve been tasked with checking on you,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Checking on me?”

  “Chelsea.” He only needs to say one word.

  I wrinkle my brow. “Why is Chelsea having you check on me?”

  That’s so Chelsea. Delegation is a strength of hers. She’s so good at it, she sometimes delegates delegation.

  Devon shrugs. “She thinks you’re … having a hard time with things.”

  I give Devon a confused look. “Aren’t we all having a hard time?”

  The corners of his mouth lift up just slightly. “Yeah, but … you know, with the jump and stuff. She’s just worried about you.”

  Ah, the jump. Yes, I’ve been trying not to think of it. It’s not until May, anyway. There’s really no need. Also, when I do think about it, nervousness creeps up my spine and my heart picks up its pace. Just a little, but it’s enough to make me think maybe I should just not think about it right now. Of course, there’s also another nagging part of me that keeps telling me I need to figure myself out now, before it’s too late.

  For right now, I’ll go with avoiding. It’s serving me.

  “Are you worried about me?” I ask Devon.

  He looks at me and shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. You know Chels.”

  I do know Chelsea. The thing is, she’s not far off. I’m not doing so well. I thought I was covering it up … faking it until I make it.

  “I miss her too,” Devon says, leaning back in his chair, looking over to the side as he does. Devin doesn’t do eye contact while talking about profound things. I think it might be too much for him.

  “I know,” I say.

  One of the things that’s gotten me through this is my family. I thought we were pretty close before, but now we have this whole new bond. It’s a shared grief, a shared comfort that we’re all experiencing this together.

  Which is why it makes no sense that I feel as alone as I do. It’s just that I never relied on Devon or Chelsea to discuss my feelings, as close as we are. That’s always been my mom’s job.

  But maybe if I tried …

  I look at Devon. “I don’t feel like myself.”

  He just nods.

  “And I don’t know how … to feel like myself.”
/>
  Devon nods again.

  “I really miss myself, you know? The … old me.”

  Devon nods yet again.

  I look at him, and he looks back at me. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s not here to offer me any words of wisdom or comfort.

  Well. At least I tried.

  I take a breath. “What have you been up to?”

  I’ve learned with Devon, if all else fails, talk about him. It’s probably his favorite topic.

  Devon reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. “Just work.”

  “Any new women in your life?” I don’t know why I ask this. I don’t really want to know.

  “Funny you should ask,” he says, a mischievous look on his face.

  “No,” I say, knowing exactly where he’s going with that.

  “Why?”

  “We’ve already gone over this. You’re not dating Robin. I told you the rules.” I give him my death stare.

  I knew when I hired Robin that she’d be on Devon’s radar. She’s his type: petite, blonde. So before she even started, I had words with him about keeping his paws off. Except for her being a lunch date stealer, I like Robin and she does a great job.

  I think I made things worse, though. Devon has only had eyes for her since she started. It’s like keeping her off-limits made her even more attractive. The forbidden fruit.

  “Sorry, Devon, it’s not happening.”

  “Fine,” he says. “How’s Hannah?” The corner of his mouth lifts up, a sly look.

  I give him another death stare. Hannah is also off-limits. Although I should really let him try. She’d eat him alive. But there’s that .0001 percent chance that he’d get through her walls and get past her dislike of men, and I’m not willing to take that chance. Don’t get me wrong, I want Hannah to find someone, just not my player brother.

  Devon holds his hands up, palms toward me. “I know, I know,” he says. He stands up from his chair. “I’ll keep your dumb rules.”

  “Thank you.”

  “See you tomorrow,” he says as he leaves.

  “Thanks for the chat,” I say, my tone oozing sarcasm.

  I’m not sure why Chelsea thought sending Devon to talk to me was a good idea. This time her delegation skills are sorely lacking.

  Chapter 7

  I’m getting ready for work when my phone beeps, telling me I have a text.

  It’s been a week since Robin snatched my lunch date, and now it would seem that Robin and Dawson are a thing. Yep. There is, without a doubt, a thing happening between the two of them.

  So Hannah was right—he didn’t stay single for long, and now I can go back to my regularly scheduled pining. It’s fine. This is a more comfortable place for me, sitting on the sidelines.

  The truth is, I’m not in the best place myself. So why was I even bothering? I’m still in the midst of my grief, still not feeling like myself, still being a chicken. I also still have to jump out of a plane in two months and haven’t even tried to think about that lately.

  I’ve got to fix myself first. I still have no idea how to do that.

  I pick up my phone to see that it’s from an unsaved number, but it’s one I know by heart.

  I have exactly five phone numbers memorized: my dad’s, Chelsea’s, Devon’s, Hannah’s, and … my mom’s.

  I let my phone see my face for recognition and then watch as it opens up. I click on my texting app and then click on the number.

  (480)555-1058: Hi

  I pull my face back, tucking my chin inward. This feels suspiciously like one of those messages you get on Facebook from a hacked account where they end up asking you for money. They always start with “Hi.”

  Do I write back? What would I even say? Such a strange thing to text someone. Just one word.

  My phone beeps in my hand and I look down at the screen.

  (480)555-1058: Sorry. This is Chase.

  Okay, so if this is a hacker, they know a lot. I take the bait, just in case.

  Maggie: Hi, Chase.

  I sit on the edge of my bed as the three dots appear, each dot changing from light gray to dark in subsequent order as he types his reply.

  (480)555-1058: How are you?

  How … am … I? Crap. He’s going to ask me for money, isn’t he? I’m such an idiot.

  Maggie: I’m doing okay

  I type out “Do you need anything?” but then realize that I was just opening the door perfectly. So I delete it.

  The dots appear again. I stare at my screen, wondering when the words will appear. After a while of watching the dots going away and then reappearing again, I put my phone down and go to my bathroom to finish getting ready so I’m not late for work.

  So strange, Chase texting me out of the blue. It could be a hacker. I haven’t really heard of that happening via text, but these days with thousands of hackers on the internet, it wouldn’t surprise me.

  Just as I’ve finished getting ready and am standing by my mom’s jewelry box, putting my k necklace on, I hear my phone beep again.

  I walk over to the bed and pick it up.

  (480)555-1058: I was just hoping you’re doing okay.

  Okay. So maybe not a hacker trying to steal my money.

  I guess that’s kind of sweet. Still … a little creepy. But I did pour my heart out to this poor guy, unknowingly. I also complained about my period and went on and on about Dawson’s butt, so I’m the real creeper in this scenario.

  Still, I suppose I can see why he’d wonder how I was feeling.

  Maggie: I’m hanging in there.

  This is my standard answer. I’m hanging in there. Sometimes it’s by a thick cord, and sometimes it’s by silly string. It just depends on the day. Or sometimes the moment.

  (480)555-1058: Good

  Maggie: Thanks for checking up on me.

  (480)555-1058: I guess I was wondering how long that awful feel-like-you-can’t-get-a-good-breath part lasts.

  I look at my phone, furrowing my brow. What’s he talking about?

  Maggie: I’m … sorry?

  (480)555-1058: Sorry. My mom died three days ago. It was sudden.

  My heart clenches. I sit back down on the edge of my bed. I know that awful feel-like-you-can’t-get-a-good-breath part. I know it so well.

  Maggie: I’m so sorry

  (480)555-1058: Thanks. I’m sorry to text you like this. I feel kinda lost.

  Maggie: I get it

  I run my tongue over my lips, looking down at my phone. I feel almost a responsibility right now, which is ridiculous. This is a complete stranger. But I know that desperation. I know exactly how he’s feeling. All too well.

  Maggie: How old was she?

  It was always helpful to talk about my mom after she died. When people who didn’t know her wanted to know more, telling her story, or even just a tiny part of it, helped. It still does.

  (480)555-1058: 59

  Only a year older than my mom. My heart does that clenching thing again. Too young. That’s too young to die.

  Maggie: My mom was 58

  (480)555-1058: Gone too soon

  Maggie: Yes

  The three dots are back.

  (480)555-1058: This is weird. I’m sorry. I feel out of my mind. I was thinking of the texts you sent, and I just had this thought to text you. This is probably not what you need right now. Thanks for writing me back.

  (480)555-1058: I won’t bother you again.

  I take a breath. I could let him go. I could just send him a heart emoji or something like that and just be done. I could do that …

  Maggie: A couple of weeks

  (480)555-1058: ??

  Maggie: It took me about two weeks to feel like I could really breathe again.

  (480)555-1058: Okay. Two weeks.

  Maggie: It’s different for everyone, though.

  (480)555-1058: Not very helpful ;)

  I smile at the winking emoji he added to the text. I like a person who can find humor, even in horrible, life-ch
anging situations.

  Maggie: Would be nice if they could give you a magic pill to get you through the hard stuff.

  (480)555-1058: I can see why people turn to other stuff to cope.

  Maggie: Gotta be careful of that

  (480)555-1058: Right

  Maggie: What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.

  (480)555-1058: Car accident

  I don’t know how to even respond to that. I know what I can’t say. Things like: She’s in a better place, or It was God’s time, or Everything happens for a reason.

  We heard so many clichéd comments after my mom passed. It became a running joke with me, Chelsea, and Devon. Sorry for your loss … Her body is whole now … Sending hugs and prayers and/or thoughts.

  I get it. It’s hard to know what to say. I still don’t know what’s right, to be honest. A simple “I’m sorry” seemed to do the trick for me.

  I text that to Chase. And I am truly sorry. A car accident that takes your parent away suddenly sounds like such a terrible thing. I got a long goodbye with my mom. I got to tell her how much I loved her so many times before she died. I’m grateful for that.

  (480)555-1058: What about your mom?

  Maggie: Brain tumor. Fast acting. She was gone six months from diagnosis.

  (480)555-1058: Wow. I’m sorry.

  Maggie: Thank you

  (480)555-1058: I appreciate you texting me. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing.

  Maggie: You’re welcome

  Maggie: Have to go to work

  I look down at my phone, chewing my bottom lip. Not sure if I should type next what I want to type.

  Maggie: If you ever need to talk, I’m here.

  I hit send before I can overthink it. He’ll probably never text me again. Maybe in a few weeks, I can check up on him. It’s not like I’ll forget his number. I’ll probably never forget that number.

  My phone beeps.

  (480)555-1058: Thanks

  Chapter 8

  “But is it going to be fun?” my dad asks as he sits at his big, ancient, oak work desk. “We need some fun.”

  It’s Wednesday and Chelsea, Devon, and I are all standing around my dad’s desk in his office at the shop, discussing the upcoming party we’re having to celebrate the anniversary of Cooper’s.