The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

Chase’s number pops up on my screen and suddenly my phone is vibrating in my hand.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “No one talks on the phone anymore.”

  “It was too long to text. I figured since we met in person already, it wouldn’t be that weird to talk on the phone.”

  “You couldn’t Marco Polo me like everyone else?”

  “Do you hate the phone that much? Fine,” he says. “I’ll send you a Polo.”

  “I’m kidding. But really, only old people talk on the phone.”

  “I’m an old soul.”

  “So … you want to jump out of a plane?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I’ve been thinking since I saw those pictures on your office wall. I haven’t done anything all that adventurous in my life.”

  “Well, then jump out of a plane.”

  “Yes, but my plan helps us both.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I don’t want to just jump out of a plane. I want to try other things too. Maybe start small and lead up to that.”

  “Okay,” I say, dragging out the word.

  “And you need to jump out of a plane in May.”

  I take a breath. I’m resigned to do it. It has to happen or Chelsea will probably wring my neck. Not probably—definitely.

  “I’m not following what this has to do with me.”

  “I want to do some other stuff before I take a big jump like that. And I think we should do it together. It might help you get your mojo back. Maybe you’ll remember your zest for it all. And then it might be easier to do the jump with your family.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know … I thought you might have some ideas,” Chase says. “Aren’t you the adventure expert?”

  “I mean … I did hike Machu Picchu.”

  “You’re so cool.”

  “I am,” I say. “Actually, it was the shortened version of the hike. But still.”

  “Aw, why did you have to tell me that? You just lost some cool points.”

  I laugh. I picture Chase talking to me while sitting on a couch in his place, his dog Oscar lying in his lap. I wonder what kind of home he has. Is it like a bachelor pad with sparse décor? No edible food in the refrigerator?

  “I don’t have time to hike Machu Picchu. Anything we can do locally?” he asks.

  “I mean, there’s plenty to do around here. I’m just not sure how this benefits us both.”

  “I told you: you need a reminder of all the fun you used to have. And you get to help me have some fun in the process.”

  Fun. That’s a novel idea.

  “You still there?” Chase asks.

  “I’m here. I’m just thinking.”

  “Well, how about this: at the very least, you could come with me. It’ll give you something else to do besides work and … whatever else you do.”

  “I work and I text you. That’s pretty much it.”

  He chuckles. “That’s sad. I’ve only been talking to you for a couple of weeks. What did you do before that?”

  “Work, I guess.”

  “Thank goodness I came along.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So what do you say?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about you just do it for me?”

  I take a breath. “Okay, fine. I’m in.”

  Chase whoops on the other end and I have to hold my phone back so it doesn’t blast my ear out.

  “This will be good,” he says.

  “Maybe,” I say. “What should we do first?”

  “I don’t know?”

  “Well, how about you figure that out and let me know.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Just be prepared to do something adventurous on Saturday. With me.”

  Chase asks about work, and I tell him about Chelsea grilling me about him, and then what Dawson said about Natasha.

  “Does he usually talk to you about Natasha?” he asks after I finish telling him what happened.

  “Never.”

  “Yeah, that’s … interesting. Are they together?”

  “He said, and I quote, ‘It’s complicated.’”

  “Yikes,” Chase says. “I hate that status.”

  “Me too.” I yawn into the phone.

  “Well, I’ll let you go to bed. I’m going to watch a movie.”

  “When do you work?” I ask him, wondering how we’ve gotten this far into our friendship and I have yet to hear about him going to work. Does he work from home? So many things I still don’t know about Chase.

  “I … haven’t been. I go back next Monday,” he says. “They gave me an extended bereavement period because I was supposed to be in London and they don’t have all that much for me to do here until I’ve been trained,” he says.

  “Oh, right.”

  “But I’m doing some virtual training on Monday. It’ll be good to get back to it. Something to keep my mind on … other than …”

  He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. It sounds nice on paper that the company he works for gave him so much time, but that much time without the normal daily grind might have made that first part even harder for me. We were all back at work a week after my mom passed. None of us wanted to sit home with our thoughts. It occurs to me that maybe this whole adventure thing might be Chase’s way of coping with that. It makes me want to do it even more. For him.

  I yawn again and Chase tells me to get some sleep. We hang up and I turn over on my side, now staring at the white wall in front of me.

  “Miss you, Mom,” I say. I wonder if she can hear me. I hope she can.

  Chapter 19

  On Saturday, Chase picks me up midmorning in his black Honda Accord for our first adventure. He did a bunch of research this week and made a decision. I told him to surprise me. The only hint I got was to wear jeans and a T-shirt I didn’t mind getting dirty.

  I had a lot of ideas about what it would be, but driving an ATV around the Sonoran Desert wasn’t one of them. Bonus is, I’ve never done this before. I’ve ridden in ATVs, but more of the buggy-style ones that seat more than one person and come with roofs. My dad or Devon always did the driving.

  But on this tour, I get to drive myself since we’re on single-person ATVs. They look more like a fat motorbike, with a bigger seat and four smaller, wider wheels. They don’t call it a quad for nothing. That’s what the tour guide, Gary, says. He’s had a lot of dad jokes up his sleeve.

  First thing we do is get all our equipment, then we are taught how to drive the ATVs and all the safety mumbo jumbo. Then we practice for a bit on a large flat dirt area, which is full of tire tracks from all the other people who’ve practiced here before. After that, it is time for some off-roading.

  Before we leave on our tour, I tell Chase about my mom’s tradition before we did something adventurous. She’d say, “Kiss for good luck?” and then give us a kiss. When we were little it was a kiss on the mouth, but as we got older it became a kiss on the cheek. And when Devon was a teen and thought he was too cool for school, she had to give him a kiss on the top of his head. But he never turned her down. None of us did.

  “A kiss for good luck? I remember you saying that in your texts,” Chase says after I finish explaining. He’s sitting on his ATV, holding his helmet in his hands, wearing a pair of dark faded jeans and a gray T-shirt.

  I put my hand on my hip and give him my best death stare. “You’re not supposed to remember my texts.”

  His lips pull into that little knowing smile he does. “I know. I can’t help my memory. I think we’ll have to bleach my brain.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  The other side of his lip pulls upward, his straight white teeth in full view.

  “How about that kiss?” he says, and then gives me a wink.

  “It’s on the cheek, creeper.”

  “I’d expect nothing more.”

  He turns his cheek and leans toward me, and I kiss him. Right on the ap
ple of his cheek, where facial hair doesn’t grow. His skin is soft and warm under my skin, and for a second I think about leaning in and kissing him again. Just because it wasn’t what I was expecting. But I hold myself back.

  The sunlight feels nice on my back as we travel through the Bradshaw Mountains, sagebrush and saguaro cacti on both sides of us. Flash floods have carved out most of the canyons in these mountains (another tidbit from Gary). We go slower through the most rugged parts but are able to go faster on the flatter parts of the trail.

  Chase is in front of me and he whoops and hollers when we pick up speed; he’s loving every second of this. I’m enjoying myself too. This would have been right up my mom’s alley. She would have loved driving herself, feeling the wind on her body, with no reason to have her phone out. Well, I’ve had mine out to take pictures and videos of Chase acting like he’s never been allowed to go outside in his life. To use against him later, of course.

  We stop at an overlook so our group of seven can get off and rest for a few minutes. I walk over to Chase, who’s just getting off his ATV. We’re both covered in dirt, except for our faces, which have been protected by our helmets and goggles.

  “You seem like you hate this,” I say as I take off my helmet. Chase has already taken his off.

  “Oh yeah, this is really roughing it.” He does that partial smile thing as he takes in the view around us.

  The sky is a dreamy shade of blue, not a cloud to be seen. It makes a perfect backdrop behind the mountain peaks.

  “My mom would have loved this,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Totally. I wish she could have experienced it.” I turn around in my spot, taking in a three-sixty of our surroundings. “Would your mom have liked something like this?”

  Chase’s smile drops and he lifts a shoulder. “She never wanted to do stuff like this.”

  “Did she ever try it?”

  “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Hey, look over there.” He points over to the hills across from us. “I see deer,” he says. He walks over to the edge to get a better look.

  A prickle of something moves its way into my gut. That’s the third time he’s changed the subject when I bring up his mom. I can understand having periods of not wanting to talk about it—heaven knows I’ve had my own moments of needing a break from it all. But, thinking back, I don’t know if Chase has spoken about his mom at all. Not since I saw her picture on Instagram. I only know her name because I stalked him and found her obituary. Heidi Beckett. That was her. She has lighter hair than Chase, but those same dark-brown eyes.

  Gary tells us to get back on our vehicles, and off we go. Chase back to his whooping. His excitement is contagious and I feel myself letting go of worry. It won’t do me any good up here anyway.

  Later, as we drive back to Scottsdale after getting burgers off the Happy Valley Road exit, Chase’s enthusiasm is still contagious. He’s almost giddy—the adrenaline is flowing through him. I know that feeling. I remember it. I even feel a little of it myself. Maybe this idea of Chase’s will help me somehow. I just don’t know exactly how that will be.

  “Thanks for going with me,” he says, a toothpick hanging out the side of his mouth. I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who actually uses toothpicks. With his aviator sunglasses on, he looks like a throwback to another time.

  “You’re welcome. Glad I went; it was nice to think about other things for a bit.”

  “For sure,” he says.

  I clear my throat after a few beats of silence. “It’s time,” I say. I reach up and turn down the top forty music station we’ve been listening to.

  “Time?” he asks, a quick glance over at me before his eyes go back to the road.

  “Yes, you promised me a list.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “You know too much about me. It’s time for you to talk.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  I contemplate asking him something about his mom to test my theory and see if he’d change the subject, but then realize that I don’t want to be a buzzkill. It’s none of my business, really. I guess I just find it odd. I want to talk about my mom pretty much all the time. Sure, there were times when I needed a break from talking about her or thinking about her being gone, but for the most part, talking about my mom has been part of my grieving process.

  “Do you have any friends?”

  He snort laughs. “Yeah, I have friends.”

  I fold my arms and stare at him.

  “What?” he says, quickly looking over and seeing my glare.

  “Tell me about them.”

  He moves the toothpick over to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. It’s captivating to watch the toothpick nestled between his lips. Chase has lovely lips. Full bottom, thinner top.

  “So, my closest friend is Xavier. But he goes by Z. I’ve known him since we were kids. We met in the sixth grade.”

  “I got you beat. I’ve known Hannah since we were six.”

  “That’s cool,” he says, doing a little head bob thing.

  “It is. And now I have to keep her around forever. She knows too much.”

  “Like me? Do you plan on keeping me around?” That half-smile is back as he darts another look in my direction.

  I smirk. “The jury is still out. Right now I’m just trying to make things more fair. So spill.”

  “What else is there to tell?”

  I curl my lip. Did he really think that telling me his best friend’s name and how long they’ve known each other is good information about him?

  “Men are so bad at this,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Bad at what?”

  “Sharing things.”

  He lets his jaw drop, the toothpick miraculously staying in his mouth. “That’s generalizing.”

  “Fine. You’re bad at this.”

  “Ah, you got me figured out.”

  “Okay, fine. If I were to ask Z about you, what would he say?”

  Chase thinks about this for a second. “That’s an interesting question. I’m not sure. I guess he’d probably tell you about the mischief we got into in high school.”

  I rub my hands together. “Now we’re onto something. Tell me about that.”

  He thinks about this for a minute. “I mean, nothing really stands out. We did a lot of stupid stuff. One time we put a goat in the lunchroom.”

  I smile. “Did you get in trouble?”

  “Never got caught.”

  “Well done.”

  “I guess there’s one thing that not a lot of people know about,” Chase says after a few beats of silence.

  “Give it to me.”

  “I wanted to ask Jennifer Hunt to homecoming, junior year. She was probably the prettiest girl in school. I was more gangly back then, but I had some game.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you had so much game,” I say, teasing him.

  He probably did. I imagine younger Chase, with that half-smile of his and his dark-brown hair. Gangly or not, the girls were probably into him. I wonder what I would have thought of him if we’d gone to the same high school.

  One thing’s for sure, gangly would not be a description used for Chase now. I look over at his extended arm, his hand on the steering wheel, the sleeve of his gray T-shirt pulled taut over his large bicep.

  “Z knew where her locker was, so I put a big sign on it asking her and decorated it with balloons.”

  “Aren’t you cute,” I say.

  “Well, my mom and sister helped.”

  Chase pauses, the toothpick stilling in his mouth. I’m quiet, moving my eyes to the dashboard of his car. I know these moments well—the realization that she’s gone. It’s so easy to forget sometimes. I’m nearly five months in and sometimes it still hits me.

  I wonder if I should put a hand on him. Just on his arm, to let him know I’m here and I get it. But something holds me back. I get a feeling that might be too much for Chase. I just need to let him have his moment.

 
He clears his throat and swallows. “I … I didn’t put Jennifer’s name on it because it was her locker and I was going to pop out right after she saw it. My mom and sister didn’t know her name, and when they asked me—or really, grilled me—I didn’t offer much. It’s embarrassing to talk about girls with your family when you’re in high school.”

  Funny, that was not the case for me. Devon was rather open about the women in his life. He still is. I sort of wish he’d been a little more like Chase in that way.

  “So,” Chase continues, “the next day at school, Z and I hide near the locker and wait for her to show up. You can see where this is going, right?”

  “Oh, yes … wrong locker.”

  “Yep.”

  “So whose was it?”

  He takes in a breath. “Her name was Kelli.”

  “And what was Kelli like?”

  “Kelli … well, at the time, no one knew much about her. She’d just moved to Phoenix from Denver. She had alopecia. Completely bald, no eyebrows.”

  “Ah, got it. So what happened?” I fist my hand, feeling my nails dig into my palm, worried what might come next. I asked him to share things with me, and he’s doing that now … but what if what he tells me makes me change my opinion of him? It shouldn’t, really; I know that. This was younger Chase. People change and grow.

  “I took her to homecoming.”

  “Kelli?”

  “Yep,” he says. “And it was one of the better dances I went to. Kelli’s hilarious. I’m still good friends with her.”

  I look over at him and smile.

  “The only person who knew that Kelli wasn’t the girl I meant to ask was Z. And I guess, now you.”

  “Well,” I say, putting my hands on my heart. “I’m honored. However …”

  “What?”

  “That was a good story about you. Not a juicy one.”

  Chase chuckles. “I’m no saint. I thought of everything I could to get out of that dance. I even considered faking sick or something. I got made fun of by some of my so-called friends. Even Z told me I should ditch her. Up until the night of the dance, even when I was driving to her house to pick her up, I was still trying to get out of it. But then I just sucked it up and went.”

  “And look what you would have missed out on had you not gone.”