by Becky Monson
Am I really going to tell her this? I guess I should tell someone. And if it has to be someone, Hannah is my safest space. She probably won’t have me committed. I hope.
“Okay, so remember how I asked my dad to keep my mom’s phone number? Just for a little while?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, giving me a confused look.
“Well, he didn’t.”
“What?” She pulls her chin inward, her face scrunched. “How could he?”
“Right?”
“Well, okay. I mean, I didn’t really get why you wanted to keep it, but I know Katherine Cooper’s phone meant something to you, so I didn’t question.”
“I can’t really explain it. It was like an extension of her. I know it was dumb.”
“Not dumb. You have to do whatever to cope,” Hannah says.
“Remember you said that, okay?”
Now Hannah looks concerned. “Tell me.”
“So … I didn’t know that my dad had turned off her number, and I knew no one was looking at her phone. So I started texting her.”
“You were … texting your mom.”
“Yes. And it became sort of a journal thing. Or a venting thing. I texted a lot of feelings.”
“You were texting your recently deceased mother’s phone about your feelings.”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
“I know, it sounds a little crazy.”
“I love you, but it sounds a lot crazy.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen—it just did.”
“Weren’t you worried about your dad or someone seeing them?”
“Of course. But as time went on and no one did, I just got more confident,” I say with a shrug.
“Right. So … I’m still not understanding how this is about this Chase person.”
I will her with my eyes to see where this is going without me having to say it.
“My mom’s number is no longer hers.”
“I know,” she says.
“It belongs to someone else now,” I say, nodding my head slowly as if to nudge her along.
Hannah looks confused, but I decide I’m just going to let her lawyerly brain put the puzzle pieces together.
I see the moment she realizes. Her eyes practically bug out of her head. “The texts you were sending to your mom were going to this Chase guy?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling suddenly relieved that this secret is no longer mine alone. It’s almost like a weight I didn’t realize was there has been lifted off my shoulders.
“What in the … the entire time?” I’m not sure her eyebrows can go any higher at this point.
“No, only for the last two weeks of it. It took him that long to tell me. I think he thought they would just go away, and when they didn’t … he finally texted me back to tell me.”
“And now you’re what? Texting buddies?” Her voice gets more shrill with every question.
“Sort of?”
Hannah stares at me. Her facial expressions vacillate between confusion and concern. She stands up and starts pacing the dining room, back and forth, and back and forth.
She finally stops in front of me.
“So you’ve been texting a stranger? Like, how often?”
I take in a breath. “Here’s where it gets weird.”
Her eyebrows shoot up again. “It gets more weird than this?”
“So he told me he had my mom’s number, and that was that. I stopped texting my mom, obviously, and deleted the number off her contact page.”
“Right,” Hannah says, sitting back down at the table.
“And one night a few weeks later, Chase texted me.”
“Creeper!” Hannah yells, and Halmoni says something to her from the kitchen.
“Mind your own business, woman!” she yells back at her.
“Go on,” she says to me.
“I was initially concerned about him contacting me … but he reached out because it turns out his mom died in a car accident.”
“Oh,” Hannah says, sitting back in her chair. “That’s so sad.”
“I know, and my heart just—”
“Wait, how do you know his mom died? How do you know he’s not catfishing you?”
“He’s not.”
“But how do you know? Have you seen pictures of him?”
“I’m getting to that,” I say, letting the impatience show in my tone.
“Oh my gosh, he sent you pictures? Please don’t tell me they were of his junk. Were they of his junk? The world is full of pervs. I just saw a case where this woman was catfished by this old dude and he stole a bunch of money from her. Has he asked for money? Please tell me you didn’t give him money. As your lawyer, I advise you against ever speaking to this guy again.”
“Are you done?” I say, holding up a hand to stop her rant.
“I have more to say.”
“Please hold your objections until the witness has finished.”
The corner of her mouth lifts up slightly. “Well played with the attempt at lawyer speak,” she says.
“He has not sent me pictures of his junk. I’ve only seen his Instagram page.”
Hannah lets out a breath.
“If he was going to ask for money, it would be an elaborate scheme, and it’s not like I’m some billionaire to make all the effort worth it. I’ve seen pictures of him, his family, and I even saw his mom’s obituary in the newspaper.”
After ending our texting yesterday, I did a bit more stalking. I found his sister’s Instagram page and she had posted the obituary. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe Chase; I just wanted to know more.
“Well, that makes me feel a little better, I guess.” She twists her mouth to the side. “But still … why would he text you like that?”
I shrug. “I guess he needed someone to talk to. Made sense since he knows that I’d just gone through the same thing.”
“Because of your texts to your mom.”
“Yes. Exactly. I know it’s … weird.”
She’s silent for a few seconds, looking around the room as she thinks. “Yes. I maintain that this whole thing is weird. I mean, I wouldn’t do that.”
“But you’re also heartless and dead on the inside.”
She points a finger at me. “Correct.”
This is Hannah’s MO. But the truth is, she’s a big softy. I just let her believe she’s cold and hardened, even though it’s not true.
“So now you’re like, what? Friends with this guy?”
“Not really; I hardly know him. It’s been nice to talk to him, though.”
“What does he look like?”
“I can show you,” I say, grabbing my phone from the table and pulling up the Instagram app. I type in his name and pull up his page.
Hannah takes my phone away and studies his picture. She moves the phone to the side and looks at me for a second, a questioning glare, and then brings the phone back to her face. I watch as she clicks out of the picture and studies the other ones in his feed.
“So”—she hands the phone back to me—“you should have started with ‘I’ve been texting this random hot guy.’ I would have had no problems with that.”
I laugh. “Liar. What about the catfishing?”
“That’s real, and you have to be careful. But like, that guy is super hot.”
“Well, I mean, he’s no Dawson,” I say.
“Does he have a girlfriend? That Chase guy?”
“I believe he’s single.”
“How do you know? What if he’s married?”
“Did you see anything in his Instagram feed that would make you think that? And besides, so what if he is? It’s not like something is happening between him and me. He’s actually been giving me advice about Dawson.”
Hannah pulls her face back, looking confused. “How would he know about Dawson?”
Crap. I didn’t mean to go there. “I … may have been texting my mom about Dawson.”
Hannah swipes a hand down her f
ace. “So, to recap. You’ve been texting your life issues to Katherine Cooper’s phone, only her number is now owned by some dude named Chase, who also lost his mom, and now the two of you are like besties and he’s giving you men advice?”
“When you put it like that …”
She lets out a breath, slowly, through her nose. “Mags, this whole thing is above my pay grade.”
“I know.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What did he say about Dawson?”
I smile. “He said that men are dumb.”
“He gets points for that.”
“And that I have to spell it out for him … if I ever get another opportunity.”
“Right,” Hannah says. “He’s right. I’m gonna get the scoop on Saturday; I’m ready to be your wingwoman.”
“Well, it will probably be pointless.”
“Or I’ll be right and I get to rub it in your face.”
“We’ll see.”
We sit there in silence, doused in the warm yellow hue from the light hanging over the dining room table. I pick at my nails while Hannah twists her faux-diamond earring around in her ear.
“I just want to know,” she says after a bit. “Just for my own personal knowledge.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you … was I not …” She takes a breath. “Was I not there for you enough? Is that why you were texting your mom’s phone?”
I feel my stomach fall. “Han, no,” I say, reaching over and touching her arm. “I just … I was feeling so many things, and there really wasn’t anyone I could talk to about it, you know? Not even my family.”
“I guess,” she says. “I just want you to know that I’m here, any time you need to talk. I may be cold and heartless, but not when it comes to you.”
“I know that,” I say, rubbing her arm. “I love that about you.”
She gives me a small smile. “Come on. Let’s go raid my mom’s closet.”
I feel my stomach fill with warmth. As different as my life has become, some things never change.
Chapter 13
Chase: Distract me
It’s Friday evening and I’m sitting in my office; most of the staff has gone home already. Only one day until the big party, and I’ve spent most of it being ordered around by Chelsea. Long story short, she’s about to have a panic attack.
It’s because she wants the whole thing to be perfect. Our dad has high expectations, and rather than just realizing that those expectations can never be met—which is how I think of it—she’s doing everything in her power to meet them. The thing is, no one actually knows what my dad’s hoping for; he’s only said he wants it to be fun. And that maybe we should have a clown. That part is definitely not happening—Chelsea has her limits.
I also think the three of us are a little on edge because June is coming. It’s adding a big dose of awkward to the whole experience.
Maggie: Distract how?
Chase: I have no idea. I was just considering distracting myself with some alcohol and thought I would text my old friend Maggie instead.
Maggie: Old friend?
Chase: Well, early 40s is kinda old.
Maggie: Goodbye
Chase: Wait! I’m kidding. Don’t leave.
He sends me a GIF of a dog with sad eyes.
Maggie: We’ve moved to GIFS now?
Chase: I got desperate
Chase: Tell me what you’re doing.
Maggie: Finishing stuff up for the party tomorrow.
Chase: How’s that going?
Maggie: Well, Chelsea is freaking out.
Chase: And Devon is probably doing nothing.
I stare at my phone. What did I text my mom to make him think that? I mean, he’s not wrong. Chelsea has been running around like her hair is on fire, and I’ve been doing her bidding while Devon has contributed a big pile of nothing.
He did come into my office earlier and tell me that he’s not bringing anyone. Which means I’ll also be on babysitting duty tomorrow, to keep him away from Robin. Hannah can fend for herself.
Although, if I let Devon go after Robin, then maybe whatever is going on with Dawson … Nope. No. I can’t do that.
Chase: Crap. Supposed to be not remembering.
Maggie: That’s right. Curious, though, how did you figure that out? What did I say?
The thing about thought dumping is it’s just that: thought dumps. There’s no rhyme or reason to them. I said things that I would say in a journal, never expecting anyone to read it. I don’t recall all the things I texted to my mom. Or how many times I wrote to her. I couldn’t remember unless I went and looked back through the texts … and I don’t like doing that. It brings up too many feelings, too many memories. It’s a hard thing for me to do.
Chase: Wasn’t those exact words.
Maggie: What was it, then?
Chase: I feel like I’m in trouble.
Maggie: You are.
Maggie: Fine. It’s not your fault you happen to own the number I was sending texts to as a form of therapy.
Chase: Now that I’m on the other side … I get it.
Maggie: Do you?
Chase: It’s not something I’d do … but it makes sense to me now.
Maggie: So what did I say about Devon?
Chase: It was a combo of things you wrote, I guess. I just picked up on it. You said something about a Chad that he hired and then didn’t bother training.
Maggie: Are you sure you deleted my texts?
Chase: I did. Scout’s honor.
Maggie: Are you a scout?
Chase: No
I snort laugh at my phone, shaking my head.
Maggie: You still owe me some gossip about you. I feel like you know all this stuff about me and I still don’t know much about you.
Chase: I’m working on it. I will get you some dirty stuff.
Maggie: Please don’t make it dirty.
I send him a gagging emoji.
Maggie: How about we start with some basics. Where do you work?
Chase: How do you know I have a job?
Maggie: I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.
Chase: I’m in the FBI
Maggie: I don’t believe you
Chase: CIA?
Maggie: Try again
Chase: I work for SurveyWave
I’ve heard of that company. Kind of a big deal around here. They have a lot of employees. A few of my friends from college went on to work there.
Maggie: And what does SurveyWave do?
Chase: Online survey tools
Maggie: Right. I mean, I should have gathered that from the name.
Chase: Ever taken a survey online? Or when you were at school?
Maggie: Of course
Chase: We design and implement those. Where did you go to college?
Maggie: ASU
Chase: Chances are you used our surveys.
Maggie: What do you do there?
Chase: Sales. Just got promoted, actually.
Maggie: Congrats!
I send him one of those confetti emojis. And then feel stupid for sending it.
Chase: Thanks. Not as cool as your job.
Maggie: My job sounds cooler than it is.
Chase: I don’t know … all those fancy cars?
Maggie: I’m not into cars all that much.
Chase: You should just keep that to yourself. Especially at the party tomorrow.
Maggie: Yes, I’m fully prepared to talk about torque, camber, horsepower, and all that other car mumbo jumbo.
Chase: I am so turned on right now.
Maggie: Shut up
I laugh out loud, then look up and realize where I am, seeing the epoxy floors of my office, and the walls filled with pictures of my family and some of the adventures we’ve had. It’s weird when I’m texting Chase. It’s like I’m transferred to another place.
My phone beeps and I look down at it. But then I hear a sort of choking, strangled noise, and I look up to find a raging Chelsea standing in the
doorway of my office.
“ARE YOU FOR REAL RIGHT NOW?”
The messy bun on top of her head has flopped over to the side, and her face looks as if it could catch on fire at any moment. Very Miss Trunchbull.
The panic attack has officially begun.
“I was just texting Hannah,” I say. I set my phone on my desk, feeling like I’m about to be put in the Chokey.
I’m not about to tell her who I’m really texting. I don’t think I’ll ever tell her about Chase and how that all came to be.
She inhales slowly and calculatedly, her face reddening even more. “I can’t do this; it’s too much. I have mom brain, and I’m so tired, and no one is helping me, and nothing is working out. And once this is done, I still have Drives for Dreams, and I can’t do it all.” This comes out through gritted teeth. My ears appreciate the lower decibel, but it feels a bit more sinister.
“Chels, it’s going to be fine,” I say, trying to calm her.
At those words, Chelsea bursts into tears.
I walk over to her and guide her into my office, shutting the door behind her so anyone that might still be here can’t hear the breakdown happening right now. I walk her over to my chair and help her sit down.
“It’s not fine,” she says through her tears. “It’s a big dumpster fire.”
“What’s going on?”
She takes a few moments to gather herself, the tears streaming down her face. “The caterer we hired had to change one of the sandwich orders from beef to chicken.”
This sets off more tears. She’s basically now blubbering in my office chair, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
I know it’s not the chicken that’s the problem. The sandwiches are just the finger food that surpassed Chelsea’s limit. This is a new thing, and I’m assuming a side effect from losing our mom. While high strung, Chelsea was always a champ with knowing where her limits lie. Since our mom died, I think she forgot where to draw the line.
I rub the upper part of her back in slow circles. “Chels, I think you need to go home and get some rest.”
The crying stops instantly and she pulls her face away from her hands and looks at me. “Are you on drugs? I can’t rest—I have so much to do!”
That was clearly not the right thing to say. I’m for sure getting put in the Chokey.
“Okay,” I say softly, like I’m trying to calm a raging monster. “What’s left to do?”
