The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  He punches a fist into his hand. “Tell me where to go.”

  We both smile at each other now.

  “There’s clearly more here than you’re telling me, which my ADD appreciates, but just so you know, I think whichever guy finally gets you is going to be pretty lucky.”

  I blink rapidly again. “Thanks, Dev.”

  “No problem.”

  “You’re a pretty great brother. And I guess a pretty great guy too.”

  He shrugs. “I try.”

  “Hannah’s still off-limits.”

  “Damn,” he says, looking to the side.

  “So’s Robin,” I say.

  “You ruin all my fun.”

  I wink at him. “Now you sound like the brother I know.”

  ~*~

  Later that night as I’m lying in my bed, my phone beeps. I grab it and look at it. It’s Chase. It’s been so long since I last heard from him, I’d thought maybe that was it. That he’d given up. No such luck.

  I look at the text because I feel like I’m in a mood to torture myself. Can’t wait to see which version of Can we talk? he decided to send.

  Chase: You were right

  Well, that’s new. You were right. I go to text back, but then, what could I say? Yes, of course I’m right or just Duh. I could send him one of those emojis with the eyes rolling.

  My phone beeps again.

  Chase: I’m sorry.

  I don’t know what he has to be sorry for. It’s his own feelings he was avoiding. He needs to apologize to himself. Or maybe he realizes that I was also part of his subconscious plan to avoid his emotions. I guess he could apologize for that. Or worse yet, he’s apologizing because he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.

  Maybe he’s sorry for telling me that I was avoiding my feelings. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about that … and he could be right. It does seem like the anxiety surrounding the jump is shielding me from feeling something else. The problem is, I don’t know what it is.

  I could text him back that I’m sorry too, but I’m not sorry. Well, I’m sorry that I told him how I feel, and that I got so many things wrong with that.

  The truth is, I’m still not ready to talk to him. Maybe I’ll get over all these emotions I’m having right now. Maybe when the dust settles I’ll want him back in my life. As a friend, of course. But I’d have to be okay with that, and I just don’t know how long that will take.

  Chapter 31

  On Thursday morning I wake up to six texts from Chase. Now I am starting to feel a little annoyed. Come on, Chase, you’re a smart guy.

  I open my app anyway and click on his name.

  Chase: Hi, Mom. A wise person once told me that writing out your feelings can be therapeutic, so I’m going to give it a shot. I’m not exactly sure how to do this, but here goes. I … miss you. You left so unexpectedly. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’ve never felt so hurt, or heartbroken. I’ve never felt so sad about anything in my life.

  I’ve been avoiding my feelings, trying anything to just not feel. Don’t worry, I’ve stayed away from the wrong stuff. But I’ve still been avoiding. I’ve been coping in other ways. You’d be impressed by the list of adventurous things I’ve tried … I’ve become a bit of an adrenaline junkie.

  Or maybe you wouldn’t. You never got into that stuff.

  I just want to say that I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save you. I felt so helpless in that hospital room, seeing all those machines hooked up to you. I’m just so sorry.

  This is really hard. Feeling my feelings.

  Chase: Hi, Mom. Dad is not doing well. I’m sure that’s to be expected, but I don’t know how to handle it. And what I’ve been doing so far—ignoring it all and hoping things will change—is not working. He hardly ever talks to me or Kenzie. He just sits in that house, in his robe, watching TV. Kenzie has been checking on him. I need to.

  Speaking of Kenzie (I don’t want to be a tattle, but), she didn’t want to get married after you died. She wanted to cancel it. But Trevor talked her around. I’m glad she has him. Someone she can talk to. The wedding is still happening in February, by the way. So all that prep you did was worth it. Kenzie is happy that you were there when she picked out her dress. But we both agree it won’t be the same without you. None of this life is the same without you. I hate that feeling.

  You’re the glue, Mom. You’re what kept us together. Without you, it feels like we’re all a little lost. I know I am.

  Chase: Hey, Mom. Remember that time when Kenz and I were younger and you came home from work to find the paint peeled off that kitchen cabinet? And no one would admit to it? It was me. I’d found a piece of paint that had gotten wet in the corner, and it just … peeled off. It was really fun. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I guess you probably knew. So thanks for not calling me out on it.

  Also, that goat in the lunchroom my senior year? Also me. I know you found that funny, but maybe you wouldn’t have if you’d known who did it.

  I have more. SO much more. Maybe you don’t want to know. It feels good to tell you, though.

  Chase: Hi, Mom. I just called Dad. We talked for 30 minutes. It was good to hear his voice. I should have been talking to him more. I hate that I avoided him so much. It hurts to admit that—to write it to you. I have to face it, though. I have to own it.

  I can see you looking down on me now, shaking your head the way you used to when you disapproved of something I’d done. I deserve the disapproval. I’ll make it right, Mom. I promise.

  Anyway, it was good to talk to Dad. He … he sounded better as the conversation went on. We talked about you, and about Kenzie, and about me leaving for London. I promised I would go over there tomorrow and see him before I left.

  I also told him he should come visit me in London, and for the first time, I heard a bit of lightness in his voice. Maybe? Like that thought—him coming to see me—made his day a little lighter. I hope he does come to see me.

  Chase: Hey, Mom. I saw Dad today. Kenzie came too. It’s one of the few times we’ve been together since the funeral. It was horrible to realize that. I’ve been selfish. I’m trying not to beat myself up about it. What good would it do? That’s what you would tell me—what good would it do? I can still hear your voice in my head. So perfectly.

  We talked about you a lot … and cried. It was good. It was good to talk about you with the people who love you the most in this world.

  You are missed, Mom. So much.

  Chase: I’ve been writing these in my notes app on my phone for the past few days. Thought you might want to read them. Or maybe you don’t. But either way, you were right … it feels like therapy.

  I stare at my phone, feeling so many things in this moment. I’ve been crying as I’ve read his words, the tears flowing freely down my face. I feel all this—everything that he’s written. I know exactly where he’s coming from.

  I send him back a text.

  Maggie: I’m glad it helped.

  Then I send a heart emoji.

  ~*~

  “What are you going to do?” Hannah asks that night over gamjatang that Halmoni made us. It’s a spicy soup with pork and potatoes, and it’s amazing. I’m on my second bowl, which got a pat of approval on my head from Halmoni.

  I’ve just told Hannah about Chase’s texts. I didn’t let her read them—it felt like betraying a trust to do that. I just gave her general information.

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “You could … talk to him?” She tilts her head to the side, giving me her best sardonic glare.

  “I could,” I say. “But what do I say?”

  She doubles down on the glare. This time with a touch of annoyance. “I don’t know, maybe tell him your feelings?”

  I pull my face back. “I did that, remember? I got shot down. Why would I want to do that again?”

  “He’s clearly telling you all this for a reason.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “He’s just showing me t
hat I was right about him avoiding his feelings. That’s all. It’s not like he was declaring his love for me or anything.”

  “That’s true,” she says, swirling her soup with her spoon.

  “He’s leaving for London tomorrow anyway.”

  “Also true,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll hear from him again, though.”

  “I’m sure,” I say.

  “And maybe when he gets back …”

  I wave her insinuating words away. “I can’t think like that, Han. I’ll make myself crazy if I do. Too many what-ifs.”

  “I guess,” she says. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

  I give her a sad smile. “Me too.”

  Chapter 32

  “Who are you texting?”

  I look up to see Chelsea standing in front of me, a paper cup of coffee in her hand, wearing her white jumpsuit. The one with the black-and-pink detailing.

  I chuckle to myself. So many familiar things with this scene. I’m sitting on the same bench, tasked once again with watching our rigs, in the same hangar, in the same jumpsuit I was wearing three months ago. And my sister is, like last time, snooping.

  But I’m a different person than I was three months ago when I was here last. I feel it. I’m … stronger. Not as strong as I need to be, but I’m definitely better in that area. I’m also not trying to hide anything anymore.

  I hold up my phone so she can see it. “Hannah,” I say.

  Chelsea glances at my phone and then back at me. “What are you telling her?”

  “That I’m still not feeling this,” I say, giving Chelsea a sad smile.

  She sags her upper body. “Again?”

  “Yes,” I say holding out a hand. “But this time, I’m not going to try to stop it. I’m doing this.”

  Chelsea takes a big breath. “Good, because I was going to throttle you.”

  I’d had a small hope that the weather would be my saving grace, but the sky is clear and the wind is perfect. It’s like all the stars are aligning. If only I could get myself to align. I just want to feel happy about this. I want to feel good.

  Chelsea sits next to me and puts an arm around me. “Love you,” she says.

  “I love you too.”

  “Fifteen minutes. We need to go queue up,” my dad says as he approaches us. He sits down on the other side of me. “You ready for this, Magpie?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Translation: nope.

  He holds up the cylinder urn, the one holding my mom’s ashes. “I guess it’s time, then.”

  My dad yells for Devon, who’s been flirting it up with some girls for the past fifteen minutes. He says goodbye to them, but not before one of them types her number into his phone. Devon, it would seem, hasn’t changed all that much in the last three months.

  We put our stuff in a locker, take our rigs, then head out of the hangar and stand with our group to wait for our plane.

  “Kiss for good luck?” Chelsea asks as we wait, her voice breaking on the last word. She gives us all a kiss on the cheek, and I think we’re all feeling so many emotions right now.

  I take a couple of cleansing breaths because I still feel anxious. But because I’m resigned to do this, I just push it away. It’s probably not my best move, but it’ll get me through.

  We load up on the plane, a group of ten going up, and buckle in. The most dangerous part of this entire thing is the takeoff. Before I can freak out or back out, we’re off, speeding down the runway. I wasn’t really going to back out. But I did entertain the thought for just a few seconds.

  We climb up into the sky. It takes about twelve minutes to get to thirteen thousand feet. I look out the window I’m sitting next to, watching the ground below us get farther and farther away.

  I realize something as I watch the buildings and the cars get smaller. The ashes that my dad is currently holding in his hand, in that white cylinder container, are all I have left of her. This is it. When my mom’s ashes go up into the sky, that’s my one last tether to her. My one last connection. I wonder if this has been my problem all along. Maybe I wasn’t really worried someone would get hurt—maybe I couldn’t deal with the finality of what we’re doing.

  I’m crying now—big fat tears. I look over at Chelsea and she’s crying too. I reach over and grab her gloved hand and squeeze it.

  About a thousand feet before we reach altitude, we start getting ready. Taking off our seat belts, putting on our helmets, doing a final gear check. Then we do this thing that everyone does before a jump; it’s like this little hand slap thing. It’s happened on every jump I’ve ever done. Like a good luck tradition.

  Once at thirteen thousand feet, the pilot gives the signal to open the door. We let the other group go before us so we can exit the way we need to link up.

  The feeling washes over me again. This final jump with my mom. This is all I have left. I want to stay on this plane and refuse to do it. But I know that I can’t. I have to do this for Devon, for Chelsea, and for my dad. I can’t let them down again.

  When it’s our turn, the four of us squeeze out the door together, our backs facing outward. We’re each holding on to the inside of the doorframe so we can jump at the same time, so we can do it just like we practiced with Mom. It feels almost like clockwork. If only I didn’t feel so empty right now. So … sad.

  Once we’re all leaning out of the plane and ready to go, my dad nods his head and we let go.

  And then we’re falling, though it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like you’re suspended in air. I’m close enough to Chelsea that I can grab on to her by her gripper. Devon has Dad by his, and we easily link up, Chelsea grabbing on to Devon. Just like we practiced. Mom—if she’s watching this—would be so proud.

  We all look to my dad and he nods his head just once. Then he opens the top of the cylinder urn, and we watch as my mom’s ashes fly into the sky. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and we did exactly what she wanted us to. I feel happiness that we were able to pull it off, but also such sadness. It’s over. That was it. The tether is gone.

  My dad gives us a thumbs-up and we drop away, giving each other enough space to deploy our parachutes. I let mine go first and feel the tug as my drop slows. I watch as the rest of my family’s chutes deploy.

  I’m by myself now, just me canopying through the sky, the world coming closer to me by the second. I guide myself toward the landing.

  “Love you, Mom,” I say. I can’t help but feel close to her right now, up here in the sky. I can picture her, in her favorite teal jumpsuit with white detailing. Her grin wide as she flies through the sky, giving me a thumbs-up as she does one of the things she loved most.

  And then an overwhelming realization comes to me. It’s a ton of information at once, but I feel it in my bones, like I’ve known it all along. I haven’t wanted to do this because of the finality of it all. But … it isn’t over.

  I’ve been such a fool.

  This is the tether. It’s still here. I can feel her right now, flying beside me. Smiling at me. Cheering me on. She’s been there when I was ATVing, zip-lining, cliff diving, and riding a bike through a quiet desert night. She’s there in every hug from my family, every kiss for good luck, every time I touch the necklace with her initial on it. The connection isn’t gone; she’ll always be with me.

  She will always be with me.

  I smile at this realization. I smile, and I laugh, and I cry.

  After our landing, when we’ve gathered up our chutes, my dad pulls us into a family hug. I’m sobbing as we hold each other. We all are.

  “We did it,” Dad says, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I love you all so much. Your mom loved you all so much.”

  We hug each other. There are tears and laughter, and it’s just how she’d have wanted it.

  Once we’ve pulled ourselves together, we go inside and drop off our rigs to be repacked. Devon grabs our stuff from the locker and brings it to us while we wait for our gear.

  My cheeks hurt from
smiling, and my nose feels raw from crying. I feel happy and tired and grateful. What a day it’s been. And it’s only nine thirty in the morning. But I feel like I’ve experienced so much, so many feelings in the past hour, that it feels like it should be the end of the day, like the sun should be going down.

  Devon hands me my phone and the first thing I see is that I have a text from Chase. I smile. Despite everything that’s happened between us this past week, I’m grateful for him. For remembering today.

  I picture him sitting at a café in London. Or maybe he’s at a pub. He’s got that signature half-smile on his face. I miss him. I miss texting him, miss talking to him. Maybe I can get over all these feelings and we could be just friends. I hope.

  I open my text app and click on his name.

  Chase: Hi, Mom. I’ve been wishing you could have met someone. Her name is Maggie. And she’s pretty amazing. I think you would have liked her … I know you would have.

  I could really use your help right now—maybe you could send me some guidance. See, I think I’m falling for Maggie, and I’m not sure how to tell her. I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while, but I didn’t realize it fully. I’ve been keeping myself from feeling a lot of things lately.

  I wanted to tell her before I left, but I felt selfish. I didn’t want to ask her to wait for me while I’m in London. But I don’t care that it’s selfish. I just want her to know. I need her to.

  Chase: Oh, by the way, I’m waiting by her car right now. So, I’m planning to tell her this in person. Wish me luck, Mom.

  My breath hitches and I look up from my phone. Is this for real?

  “Where are you going?” Chelsea asks as I make a mad dash for the parking lot.

  “I’ll be right back,” I yell back at her.

  I exit the hangar and run toward my car. I don’t remember where I parked—it was so early when we got here, and I was feeling so many things. Now I’m frantic to remember; I need to know he’s really here.

  And then I see my car, and there’s Chase standing by it. He’s looking down at his phone, wearing shorts and a charcoal-gray T-shirt.