The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  “BABE!” I hear a squeal to my left and I jerk back as ridiculous pink fake-fur arms wrap around Dawson’s neck.

  “Natasha,” Dawson says as he attempts to untangle himself from her. He’s not successful.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says, pulling him toward her and planting a big lip-gloss kiss on his cheek. Under her massive pink fluffy jacket, she’s wearing a white shirt and a skirt that barely covers her lady bits. She also has on over-the-top tall black stilettos. Her blonde hair is slick and straight, and there’s so much contouring and highlighting going on with her flawless skin, she looks nearly plastic.

  What in the hell? Sorry she’s late? Did he invite her?

  Dawson clears his throat, looking at a loss for words. With Natasha’s arms still around his neck, he gestures to me. “You remember Maggie?”

  She turns her face so now she and Dawson are cheek to cheek. Her eyes widen, like she had no idea I was standing there, about to dance with the man she has nearly in a headlock.

  “Oh, hey, Maddie,” she says.

  “Maggie,” Dawson corrects her.

  “What?” she asks, looking at him and scrunching her perfect button nose. “I can’t really hear you over the music.”

  Yep. I’ve been unceremoniously put in my place. That trollop. And here I thought Robin was going to be my competition tonight. Now there’s a whole new wrench in the plans.

  Natasha gives me a little shrug, as if she gave it her best effort. “I’m thirsty; let’s go get a drink,” she says to Dawson. She releases her arms from his neck and entangles her hand with his.

  For Dawson’s part, he looks a little pained. He gives me a thin smile. I give him one back. And then—looking almost resigned—he lets Natasha drag him off the dance floor, where I stand in the center, couples dancing around me.

  What just happened?

  Chapter 17

  I kind of feel like laughing one of those maniacal laughs. Seriously, what just happened? I’m not sure where to start. This whole evening is so ridiculous, it borders on comical.

  “Hey,” Chase says. He’s standing next to me and I have no idea how he got there—I never saw him approach.

  I feel instant relief at his presence, so grateful to have him here. Even if he’s part of the reason this night is so farcical. The fact that he’s here, but also that he’s suddenly become a life force tonight. A beacon.

  Without words he faces me, grabbing my hand and placing it on his shoulder, and then he wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me toward him, our bodies pressed together. He grabs my other hand with his and lifts it up and then begins to move us in a circle.

  “What happened?” he asks, leaning in so we’re nearly cheek to cheek, his mouth right by my ear. He’s tall, so he has to lean his head down to meet mine.

  “Natasha happened,” I say, spying my dad and June on the other side of the dance floor, dancing and smiling at each other.

  “Ah, Natasha,” Chase says.

  I pull back so I can see his face. “Please tell me I didn’t text my mom about Natasha.” What a waste of words that would have been.

  He gives me that slight smile and then leans in again. “Nah, I can just put two and two together.”

  “Right. Well, he invited her, apparently.”

  “Oh,” is all he says, drawing out the word.

  “Yeah,” I say, leaning closer to him so we’re nearly cheek to cheek again.

  We move around in a circle; I let Chase guide me, feeling something like defeat settle over me.

  I make eye contact with Chelsea, who’s dancing not far from me, her arms wrapped around Mark. She gives me bright, questioning eyes. Insinuating eyes. I scrunch my face at her. My younger sister way of telling her to bug off. She won’t, though. I will be questioned about this later.

  “Whatever,” I say to Chase, after nudging him so he turns us and I’m no longer facing my sister. “It’s fine.”

  “Is it?”

  “I mean, it felt like we had a moment.”

  “It looked like you had one,” Chase says. “I wasn’t creeping … just making sure I did my job.”

  I sigh. “This is not how I saw this night going.”

  “Me either. I mean, I was going to have crappy delivery pizza and watch a violent movie, and now I’m in a suit, dancing with a pretty woman.”

  I pull my head back so I can see his face again. He smiles at me.

  “Sorry to waste your night.”

  His brow instantly furrows. “Totally not a waste,” he says. “I’m having a great time.”

  “Well, you do have some mad wingman skills.”

  “Sorry it wasn’t enough,” he says as he puts his cheek close to mine again. “We can try another strategy?”

  I look over toward the bar and see Natasha and Dawson, drinks in hand. Natasha has her arm weaved through his and they’re standing close to each other. She whispers something in his ear, and he laughs.

  “No,” I say to Chase as the song ends. I pull away and hold him by the lapels of his suit jacket. “You’re released from your duties.”

  A heavy bass rhythm that I can feel in my throat starts up, and I don’t much feel like dancing to anything upbeat. Only sad, sappy songs for this gal. Perhaps the DJ could play “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. as I walk away with my head hanging. It feels like a proper soundtrack to my life.

  I lead Chase off the dance floor. “Wanna grab a drink and go sit in the Lambo?” I say when we’ve gotten far enough away from the dance floor that we no longer have to scream or be cheek to cheek to communicate. Not that I minded being cheek to cheek with Chase. It was … comfortable.

  Chase stops in his tracks and I turn to see him there with big wide eyes that remind me of the heart eyes emoji face.

  He clears his throat and sniffs, now taking on an extra cool demeanor to counter the drooling he almost did. “You mean that lame car over there in the corner that I have not been looking at or dreaming about all night? Nah, I’m good.”

  I give him a sardonic smile. “Oh, okay, so you don’t want to see it? That works.”

  “I mean”—Chase tilts his head to the side—“it’s not a big deal, of course. But you did say we could, and I did get you on the dance floor with Dawson. I can’t help that Fluffy Barbie showed up.”

  I laugh. That’s a fantastic way to describe Natasha. I might steal that. “It’s true, you did your job.”

  I grab him by the hand and drag him toward the bar, which is thankfully now free of Dawson and Natasha. We grab drinks—this time mine has alcohol in it—and we walk to the other side of the tent, over to my dad’s fourth child.

  Chase blows out a breath, his cheeks popping out as he does. There’s almost a reverence about him as we approach the car.

  Chase gets in the driver’s side, and before I get into the passenger side, I open up the door, lean inside, and put my drink in the cup holder. I know from experience that it takes a lot of ab and thigh muscle to get into this low-riding car without flashing anyone. Especially in this tight dress and heels. It would have been helpful if Hannah and I had kept up the workout routine that we started at the beginning of the year. It only lasted a week.

  After some maneuvering, I shut the door on my side and turn on the specialty LED cab lights my dad had installed. With one little click, blue lighting appears, giving the space a sort of otherworldly hue.

  “Wow,” Chase says, awestruck.

  I feel cocooned in here, with all the noise of the party now dampened.

  “Yep,” I say.

  “This is … amazing,” he says almost reverently. He flicks open the cover of the start button in the middle console, his expression reminding me of my niece Alice when she first found her feet.

  “Want the specs?”

  Chase lets out a breath. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  I laugh, a real belly one. I reach up and touch the dash, running my hand over it. I clear my throat to give the spiel I’ve given so many times. “T
his here is a four-year-old Lamborghini Huracán,” I start, using an overexaggerated presenter’s voice. “It sports a mid-mounted five-point-two-liter V-ten engine. With six hundred and twenty horsepower, it can go from zero to sixty in two point nine seconds, with a top speed of two hundred and two miles per hour.”

  I look over at Chase who’s now slack-jawed. “I think I might be in love.”

  “With me or the car?”

  “Both,” he says.

  I smile and chuckle as I sit back in the bucket seat and watch him as he looks around the space. After a minute, Chase leans back, letting his head fall on his headrest. He turns to look at me.

  “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,” he says.

  I look out the front window of the car, which has a perfect view of the dance floor, and see Dawson and Natasha dancing together, their bodies practically fused they’re so close.

  I turn my head toward Chase. “It’s not so bad. At least now I know he’s back with Natasha and I can let this whole stupid crush go.”

  “Maybe he’s not?”

  We both turn our heads to see Natasha tip her face up and kiss Dawson, right smack on the lips. I feel a wave of nausea. Letting go of this crush may be harder than I thought.

  “I’m gonna say he is,” I say, turning my head back toward Chase.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, this is the first fun thing I’ve done since my mom died.”

  I reach over and curl my fingers around the top of his hand, and he curls his fingers around mine. It feels like a good thing to do. A right thing to do. “I’m glad,” I say.

  He takes a breath and then exhales through his nose. “Is it …”

  “What?”

  He starts and stops a few times before turning his head and looking at me. “I know it’s weird how we met.”

  I snort. “So weird.”

  “But what’s even more weird … is that it doesn’t feel all that weird anymore.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I know what you mean.”

  I do know what he means. I went from feeling so nervous that he was coming, to now sitting in this car, so grateful that he’s here. It’s not weird, and it probably should be.

  We sit in silence, feeling the heavy bass of a fast song start, watching more people get on the dance floor.

  “Can I ask you something?” Chase says.

  “Sure.”

  “I know I’m supposed to forget your texts—”

  “Guhhh,” I say, cutting him off. “You know, you still owe me some secrets.”

  “I do. But first, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you about.”

  “Okay?” I ask skeptically.

  “Are you really supposed to release your mom’s ashes jumping out of a plane?”

  I smile, looking down at my hands. “Those were her wishes.”

  He chuckles. “That’s … the craziest thing. My family … we don’t do any of that. We’re so boring.”

  “Well, my mom was the ringleader. The rest of us were along for the ride. And now she’s gone …”

  “And wants you to spread her ashes while diving out of a plane. Why?”

  I tell him the story about the jumpers she saw spreading their friend’s ashes that one time, how she told us afterward that’s what she wanted.

  “Wow,” he says. “She sounds like someone I’d have liked to meet.”

  I feel a little dip in my stomach, wondering if she’s somewhere out there and can see Chase and me sitting in Dad’s ridiculous car, me talking to the man that has her phone number. She’d love this. It would be like an adventure to her.

  “So, I have until May to get my crap together so we can honor those wishes.”

  “May?”

  “That’s the new date Chelsea’s chosen. May fifteenth, my mom’s birthday. A month and a half from now.” My gut sinks at that realization.

  “Don’t you get a say?”

  “No,” I say, not intending the word to come out as indignant as it does. But it’s my fate. Chelsea has spoken. And I can’t let my dad down again. I know he said it was fine and hasn’t said anything about it since, but there had to be some disappointment. I was disappointed in myself. This new anxiety that I’ve developed since my mom’s death is affecting all of us.

  “Right. Sounds like my sister,” Chase says. “So what happened … the last time?”

  I turn my head toward him, lifting my shoulders just once. “I choked.”

  “Why?”

  “I just …” I let out a breath. “It feels unsafe. I’ve told you that I’ve become a chicken since my mom died.”

  Chase nods his head. “But you’ve done it before … jumped out of a plane.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Lots of times. But it feels too risky now. Like, what if someone got hurt?”

  “You’ve already lost one person.”

  “Exactly.” There’s that connection again with Chase. He just gets this part of me. More than my family, more than Hannah.

  “Is it unsafe to jump, though?” he asks. “I mean, it sounds a little scary to me.”

  “It’s actually more dangerous to get behind the wheel of a car than it is to skydive,” I say, echoing my mom’s canned answer.

  “But knowing that isn’t enough.”

  “Yep. And my family doesn’t get it. I don’t even get it, honestly.”

  “Is it the chicken thing? The anxious feeling?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “The truth is, none of the stuff we used to do together sounds appealing. I’ve lost my desire to do any of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Does it make you … feel too much?” He asks this quietly, like he’s tiptoeing toward me with his voice.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, looking forward, out the window of the car. “I’ve just lost my zest for things, you know?”

  “I do,” he says.

  I sigh. “But the jumping … there’s real fear there. I don’t know how to face it. I have to, though. I don’t have long to do it. I don’t like this new anxious me.”

  I turn my face toward Chase, and he turns toward me. We’re both leaning back on our headrests, looking at each other.

  “I was anxious about meeting you tonight,” I say.

  “I think that’s normal anxiety. Anyone would feel that way.”

  “Did you?”

  He gives me the tiniest of shrugs. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Anxious now?”

  “Not even a bit.”

  “Me either,” I say, and we both smile.

  Once Chase has had his fill of the Lamborghini, we get out and return to the party. In truth, I had to bribe him to get out, promising that he could come back and see it during the day. I knew if I stayed in there any longer, Chelsea would get suspicious.

  We enter back into the fray. Even more people are dancing now, and the volume of the music seems louder. I’m not sure if it’s because the party is ramping up or if it’s just such a contrast from the quiet of being in the car with Chase.

  “Where have you been?” a voice I recognize says over the noise.

  I look to my left, a few feet away toward the bar, to see a very annoyed Hannah. She’s in a dark-purple pencil dress with spaghetti straps, one of the ones we stole from her mom’s closet. She looks amazing. Devon is next to her and gives me a double eyebrow raise when I approach. He thinks he’s one-upped me somehow. I roll my eyes at him.

  I walk over to her and Devon, Chase trailing behind me.

  “I was …” what do I tell her? I decide to turn the question back on her. “When did you get here?”

  “Like twenty minutes ago,” she says, her lips puckering like she’s sucked on something sour. She leans to the side a little to see Chase standing behind me. She makes eye contact with me and points a finger at him. “Um, who’s this tall drink of hotness?”

  It’s at this point I realize that I never expected Hannah to show up tonight and so I never thought I
’d have to explain anything to her. I would have told her tomorrow, of course. I wouldn’t have been able to keep something this big from her. But I have nothing prepared to say to her right now. I also can’t explain everything in front of Devon. He would not understand.

  “I’m Chase,” Chase says, coming out from behind me. He leans in toward her, holding out a hand to shake hers. “You must be Hannah.”

  Hannah side-eyes Chase while shaking his hand, her face oozing skepticism. I see the lawyer in her coming out, and that means the questions are about to begin. Which means I need to get her away from Devon as soon as possible.

  Devon shoots Chase a quick wave. “Hey, man,” he says.

  Hannah looks to me and then looks to Chase and then back to me. I watch as the wheels in her head churn, until her eyebrows lift high on her head and I know that everything has clicked into place.

  “You’re … you?” She points again at Chase. “And … you!” She points at me, but it’s more of an accusatory pointing.

  I open my eyes wide and shake my head in tiny little movements. Devon can’t find out who Chase really is.

  “Who’s who?” Devon asks. He’s leaning his body against the bar, a glass of something in his hand.

  “Nobody is who,” I say, loudly. Giving Hannah another warning glare.

  Devon pulls his brows inward.

  Before Devon can ask another question, I grab Hannah by the hand and drag her away from Devon, who starts to protest my taking her away from him.

  “Never going to happen, Devon,” I say to him as we walk away.

  Hannah lets me guide her inside the shop and to my office, Chase following us.

  “What’s going on?” Hannah asks once the door is shut.

  I take a breath. “Stop freaking out. Everything’s fine.”

  “I’ll decide that once I get an explanation.”

  “You ditched me. And I needed a wingman.” I decide to take a blaming approach. Even if it never works with Hannah. Neither does sympathy.

  “So because of that, you invited the stranger who now has your mom’s number? That seemed like a good idea?”

  “Well, we’re not total strangers,” Chase interjects.

  Hannah holds up a finger to Chase. “You don’t get to talk right now.”