The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  I go back to Instagram and pull up my page, feeling slightly nervous now about what he’ll see on there. Not so nervous about the pictures of myself, because like all people my age, I tend to post only the best ones. I go minimal on the filters, but there are pictures in there that I took ten times (or more) before I got the one I felt was good enough to post.

  I definitely post a lot more than Chase does, but not gratuitously. No pictures of my food or oversharing of my life. I post a lot about the shop, and pictures of my family and the things we do together, or used to do together. Going on jumps—so many pictures of that. But also zip-lining, bungee jumping, snorkeling. We did so many things together. My mom loved to try new experiences and would remind us constantly how lucky we were to be able to do all the things we did.

  My heart does a little twisting thing when I think of those jumping pictures. It was my mom’s favorite thing to do. She said she felt so free, so light up there. It still doesn’t sound appealing to me. In fact, I don’t much feel like doing any of the things we used to do together.

  There are also a lot of pictures of my mom. Some of just her and me, some of the family, some with only her in them. I posted a lot about her after she died. It felt cathartic, in a way. I’ve hardly posted anything else since. It’s all been her. Of course, it doesn’t feel like much has happened since that November day. Nothing Instagram worthy, at least.

  Except that right now a stranger I met because he has my mom’s phone number is currently looking at my Instagram. That’s not Instagram worthy, but it is therapist worthy.

  My phone beeps.

  Chase: I like all the pictures of your mom. She’s very pretty.

  Maggie: Thanks. I posted a lot. It was … therapeutic.

  Chase: I thought sending her texts was your therapy.

  He adds a winking face. If we were in person, I would throw my well-worn flip-flop at his head.

  Maggie: We shall never speak of that again.

  Chase: Lips are sealed

  Chase: Oh wow. Whose Lambo is that?

  I pull Instagram back up and scroll down to see a picture of me sitting inside my dad’s Lamborghini. This was from last year when we were doing Drives for Dreams. The car is wrapped in a bright-blue vinyl with our logo printed on it, similar to what you’d see on a race car. I’m in a racing suit, also covered in the Cooper’s logo, and wearing a Cooper’s baseball cap. I only sat in the car for the picture. I never race … we let Devon do that.

  My smile in that photo looks pained to me now. I remember that day well. Mom was supposed to be there with us, but she wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed home. That was two months before her diagnosis.

  Sometimes I hate looking at these pictures.

  Maggie: It’s my dad’s

  Chase: Are you for real right now?

  Maggie: It’s for work

  Chase: What does he do?

  Maggie: We have a family business—Cooper’s. We vinyl wrap cars.

  Chase: That car … wow. So cool.

  Maggie: It’s not as cool as it looks

  Chase: Stop trying to ruin my dreams

  Maggie: That’s what I’ve been called. A dream ruiner.

  Chase: I wouldn’t have thought that about you. So sad.

  Maggie: Right?

  Chase: Who are the two little girls?

  He must be looking at the picture of me with Alice and Avery. One of my favorite pictures of the girls and me. It was a month before my mom died. I needed a break from the hospital visits, so I volunteered to watch them while Chelsea ran some errands.

  It was one of my better ideas. For a few hours I was able to put aside all the hard things and just play. In the picture, Avery has her little arms around my neck and Alice has a pout on her face. That’s a normal look for Alice: pouting. I love her so much, my sassy little Alice. I love Avery too. She looks just like my mom did when she was her age, and she gives the best hugs, just like her nana used to.

  Maggie: My nieces

  Chase: Where do you land in the sibling order?

  Maggie: Middle. Chelsea is older, Devon is younger.

  Chase: Oh right. Chelsea is stubborn and bosses you around, and Devon is a player.

  Oh, gosh. Did I write that to my mom? It sounds so crass coming from him.

  Maggie: Chelsea is a typical older sister, but she has her heart in the right place. And Devon … well, he’s a player. But I love him. I feel bad that I wrote those things.

  Chase: I’m not judging

  Maggie: Thanks. I appreciate it.

  Chase: So, how old are you?

  Maggie: You never ask a woman that.

  Chase: My bad. I’m a little rusty. Been a while.

  Chase sends the sweating/smiling emoji.

  Chase: My guess is you’re in your thirties.

  Maggie: I will cut you

  Chase: Forties?

  Maggie: I’m ending this text string and deleting you.

  Chase: Kidding. My real guess is 25.

  Maggie: Not bad. I’m 26.

  Chase: But you don’t look a day over 40.

  Maggie: Don’t make me find out where you live so I can slap you.

  Chase: Tempe. There, I narrowed it down for you.

  Maggie: I’m in Scottsdale

  Chase: Of course you are

  Maggie: What’s that supposed to mean?

  Chase: Snotsdale. That’s what we call it where I live.

  Maggie: Super original

  Chase: Don’t blame me. I didn’t make it up.

  Maggie: But I’m sure you say it

  Chase: Of course

  Scottsdale, where I grew up, has a reputation around here for being a little uppity. Or a lot uppity. I don’t see it that way. It’s just home for me. We’ve lived in this area since I was a baby.

  Chase: Okay, now that the stalking is out of the way. What about the guy with the butt?

  I sigh at his text. What can I say about Dawson? I had a chance, blew it, and now he’s with someone else?

  Maggie: Nothing is happening.

  Chase: I let you stalk me for that?

  This time I laugh, out loud.

  Chase: I thought he was finally single.

  Maggie: I don’t like that you have my texts memorized.

  Chase: Not all. Just parts.

  Maggie: I thought we made a deal that you’d delete them.

  Chase: I did. I promise. I just have a good memory.

  Maggie: Well, try to de-memorize them.

  Chase: I’ll see what I can do. Have any hypnotizing skills?

  Maggie: I wish

  Chase: So there’s nothing going on? This is not the distraction I was looking for.

  Maggie: Sorry to disappoint

  Chase: VERY disappointing

  Maggie: Well … I mean, nothing’s going on. He’s dating my employee now. Fun times.

  Chase: Well … that’s a bummer

  Maggie: It’s the story of my life

  Chase: All the guys you’ve ever liked have ended up dating your employees?

  That makes me snort laugh.

  Maggie: No, just the guys I like always go for someone else.

  Chase: Well, did you ever get to tell him you liked him?

  Maggie: No, but I made it pretty obvious.

  Chase: How obvious?

  I think about this for a few seconds. I didn’t outright tell him, but Dawson would have to be an idiot to not know. He’s caught me staring at him more than once during our weekly staff meetings. I’m always all nervous and tongue-tied around him. I’m so obvious, I’m surprised Chelsea or Devon haven’t caught on. They probably have and have kept it to themselves, a secret joke between them.

  Maggie: Obvious enough

  Chase: Want advice for next time? In case he’s ever single again.

  Maggie: Sure

  Chase: Men are dumb

  Maggie: Helpful

  Chase: You have to spell things out for us.

  Maggie: Like, actually spell things out? S
hould I have written him a note and asked him to check yes or no?

  Chase: Pretty much

  Chase: No, but you do have to be straight up.

  Hannah is convinced that I’ve got this all wrong, that they aren’t dating, so at the anniversary party this Saturday, she’s going to play the role of my wingman. Or wingwoman, as she said she’d prefer to be called, before going off about the man-centric world we live in. She plans to check out the situation and find out what’s really going on.

  Then I have to do her laundry for a week if she’s right. Joke’s on her. I do her laundry anyway. Doesn’t she wonder how her underwear is always clean? A magical fairy?

  Chase: Too bad, though, about the girlfriend.

  Maggie: Yeah

  Chase: Unless all those pictures you posted on Insta are photoshopped, I’d say he’s a fool.

  I feel my cheeks heat up instantly from the compliment. I’ve never thought I was unattractive, but I’ve also never thought of myself as super attractive. Just … cute. Like girl-next-door cute.

  There were a lot of implications in that last text from Chase.

  My phone beeps and I look down at the screen.

  Chase: Too far?

  I smile and shake my head.

  Maggie: No … just processing. Also, thank you.

  Chase: Well, save all this advice for the next guy. It’s worth gold.

  Maggie: And then if I try and fail miserably, I have you to blame.

  Chase: Win-win

  Maggie: I have only myself to blame with Dawson.

  Chase: Right, Dawson. Forgot his name.

  Maggie: Like you’re supposed to. Good job. Forget all the things.

  Chase sends back one of those emojis with the head exploding.

  Chase: Why are you to blame?

  Maggie: I should have just been blunt. I should have asked him out. But I’ve become a chicken since my mom died.

  Chase: A chicken? You didn’t tell me about this side effect. So month … what is it?

  Maggie: Month 4

  Chase: Okay, so month 4, I’m going to turn into a chicken. I’ll put that on my calendar.

  Maggie: I think it’s been going on for longer than that, but I haven’t had a chance to test it out until recently. Let’s hope you don’t get this one.

  Chase: I’m guessing it’s an anxiety thing, and I’ve been feeling that already.

  Maggie: Right. That “what else could go wrong” feeling.

  Chase: Yeah, that one

  Maggie: It could be an extension of that. Never thought of it that way.

  Chase: Who needs therapy when you’ve got me?

  Maggie: Not sure I should be getting therapy from a stranger over text.

  Or from someone who recently lost his mom. I don’t think that’s necessary to say, though.

  Chase: We’re not strangers anymore.

  Maggie: True. You know too much already. I, however, don’t know all that much about you.

  Chase: I don’t know anything. I’ve un-remembered it.

  Maggie: Liar

  Chase sends a smiling emoji.

  Chase: Thanks for this. For chatting with me. It helped. I’ve got some stuff I need to do, and I guess I should let you get back to whatever you were doing.

  I look down at the tattered pajama shorts and cotton tank I’m wearing and then over to the now completely melted ice cream that I was drowning my frustrations with before Chase texted me.

  I felt heavy tonight when I sat down to watch my shows and eat my junk food. But now I feel lighter. Interesting.

  Maggie: Happy to help, and thanks for the tips.

  Chase: Have a good night

  Chapter 12

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, but Halmoni wants me to tell you that you look too tan and that too much sun is bad for your skin.”

  Hannah turns toward me, giving the back of her head to her grandma, and mouths “sorry” while rolling her eyes.

  “It’s self-tanner,” I say, nodding my head at the both of them.

  Hannah tells her grandma this in Korean.

  Halmoni says something back and then looks at me and shakes her head slowly, disappointment on her face.

  “She doesn’t believe you. She thinks you’re going to tanning beds.”

  “I’m not! I promise.”

  Hannah closes her eyes and puffs air out of her cheeks. She says something to her grandma, her voice elevated, and Halmoni raises her voice back. They are basically now fighting over my fake tan.

  This doesn’t happen every time I’m here, but it happens often enough that I’m used to it and don’t worry about it. I appreciate Halmoni’s lecturing through Hannah. It’s nice to know she cares. If Hannah’s mom were here, she’d probably break it up, but I see her so rarely nowadays. She’s always working. Hannah too. It sometimes worries me, seeing Hannah work so much.

  I get back to the jjajangmyeon Hannah’s grandma made us for dinner, while the two of them hash it out. I’m on my second bowl of the noodle dish; it’s one of my favorite things that Halmoni makes, even if Hannah doesn’t appreciate it as much. She says it’s like a Korean version of mac and cheese. Which makes me wonder, who doesn’t like mac and cheese? I’ll even eat the boxed version, on purpose.

  I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket and pull it out to see I have a text from Chase.

  Chase: I listened to sad country music today.

  Maggie: Rookie mistake. I should have warned you.

  Chase: It was more painful than I thought it would be.

  Maggie: I can say that part does get better. I don’t cry over any old song now. They have to be ones that mean something.

  Chase: She loved country music

  Maggie: My mom did too

  Chase: What are you up to?

  Maggie: Eating dinner at my friend’s mom’s house.

  Chase: Is this the one with the grandma who lectures you?

  How does he know that? I do a search in my messaging app for Hannah’s name and see this one I sent to my mom:

  Maggie: We went to dinner at Hannah’s tonight and her grandma made us those noodles you loved. I think she’s made it her job to see that I’m fed. She also lectured me—through Hannah—about how my shirts are too old and I look like a slob. I just threw on an old T-shirt and some sweats to go over there. I probably did look like a slob. At least you can rest easy knowing I’m still being mommed. Miss you.

  I go back to Chase’s messages.

  Maggie: You’re not forgetting my texts, and you promised you would.

  Chase: Right. Sorry. Will work harder.

  Chase: How about I tell you something so we’re even?

  Maggie: I mean, you should probably tell me ten things. Even that won’t come close.

  Chase: Okay. Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.

  Maggie: They have to be bad things. None of this “I save puppies in my spare time” junk. I mean, that would be cool if you did. I just need stuff to hold over your head.

  Chase: Got it. I’ll get you some real juicy stuff. Promise.

  Chase: What have you been up to?

  Maggie: Just getting ready for a big work party.

  Chelsea has had me doing a lot of things this week for the party. Checking on little details, on RSVPs, making sure we have enough seating for everyone. It’s taken up most of my week.

  Chase: Oh yes, the anniversary party.

  Maggie: Did I tell you about it?

  I search my brain, trying to remember if I told him when we were texting yesterday. Chase sends back one of those sheepish-looking emojis.

  Maggie: Oh my hell

  Chase: I’m sorry. You were complaining about how much Chelsea was making you do, and wishing your mom could be there to celebrate. It’s an easy one to remember.

  I’m starting to wonder if Chase has a photographic memory or something. I mean, I can’t even remember what I ate for breakfast this morning. Wait, yes I can. It was overnight oats with honey and cinnamon. My favorite. But
still, his ability to remember the things I texted to him is a little frightening. Especially since I need him to forget it all.

  Maggie: I want that list. Stat.

  Chase: I’ll work on it, promise.

  “Who’s Chase?” Hannah asks, and I jolt at the sound of her voice.

  I was so caught up in the texting between Chase and me that I didn’t realize the arguing had ended.

  Now Hannah is standing over me, her eyes on my phone. Halmoni is cleaning up the kitchen, the argument she was having with Hannah resolved or forgotten.

  Crap.

  “Who’s Chase, and why are you smiling at your phone like a weirdo?” she says, accusation in her tone.

  “I haven’t been smiling at my phone,” I say, pulling my brows inward.

  “Yes, you have. Like a weirdo. Now … who is Chase? And why have I never heard of this guy?”

  “He’s just … someone I met.” I reach up and play with my necklace.

  Hannah sits back down at the table. She now looks appalled. “And you didn’t tell me about him?”

  “You’ve been busy.” This is true; however, it’s also not the reason I withheld this information from her.

  “Okay,” she says, placing her forearms on the table and intertwining her fingers. I know this look. I’m about to be interrogated.

  “Let us look at the facts,” she starts.

  “I didn’t break any laws.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. And you did break the friendship code. While not illegal, it’s offensive.” She looks and sounds very lawyerly right now as she starts her interrogation.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “That’s what all guilty people say,” she points out.

  I slump in my seat and Halmoni tsks at me from the kitchen where she’s currently cleaning dishes.

  I sit up straight. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’ve got all night,” Hannah says, looking me directly in the eyes.

  “No, you don’t. You have to go back to work.”

  “Fine,” she says, annoyed. “I’ve got thirty minutes. Now, spill.”

  I let out a breath. “Fine,” I say, my tone matching her annoyance.