The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  I smile up at him. “I appreciate that.”

  Chapter 21

  “All in all, it was our best Drives for Dreams yet,” my dad tells the team at our weekly meeting.

  Devon starts clapping and the rest of us join in, with a couple adding whoops and cheers.

  It’s Monday, and we’re all gathered in the back of the shop, where 90 percent of the work we do at Cooper’s gets done. The whole company is here, all thirty-five of us. Behind the gathering sits a half-wrapped Corvette Stingray. The room smells of plastic from the vinyl and the faint hint of gasoline. Also, a distinct cheap cologne scent from someone standing not too far from me. My money is on Chad.

  “Let’s give a round of applause to the person who made this all happen,” my dad says after the clapping dies down. “Chelsea, come up here.” He waves Chelsea over from where she’s standing toward the side of the room.

  She walks up to the front and my dad puts an arm around her while we all clap. You can see the pride in his face as he looks at her, and Chelsea, although giving us her best trying-to-be-humble look, is loving every minute of this.

  “Chelsea worked so hard and I couldn’t be more proud of her.” He beams. One of those big fatherly smiles. “Drives for Dreams wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.”

  I’m halfway waiting for him to call her Chelsy-bells like he did when we were younger. Devon was Devonion. I’m the only one he still calls by a nickname—Magpie—on a fairly regular basis.

  “Yeah, Chelsea!” one of the shopworkers yells from the back of the room.

  “Stay up here for a second,” my dad says. “Actually, Devon and Maggie, come up here too.” Devon and I go to stand by our dad.

  I make eye contact with Dawson, who’s leaning up against the wall where all the shelving is. He smiles at me. It’s a dazzling smile … one that doesn’t make my heart skip quite as many beats as it used to. It’s like I can appreciate it without obsessing over it.

  My dad takes a breath. “We usually give the proceeds to a variety of charities, but this year I thought we’d do just one.” He turns and looks at us with a wobbly smile, and I feel my heart do a little dipping thing.

  He doesn’t even have to say it; I know what’s coming. I can feel the emotions building, tears pooling in my bottom lids, and that tickling sensation at the top of my nose as I try to fight it.

  I wrap an arm around Devon, who’s standing next to me, and can tell he’s also fighting back tears. He reciprocates, putting his arm around me. He’s got his other arm around Chelsea.

  “It’s a place that means a lot to us,” Dad continues, choking just a little bit on the words. “This year’s Drives for Dreams donation is going to the Holly Brain Tumor Center.”

  I’m unable to fight the emotion and the tears come hot and fast. I feel so much in this moment. Like my heart is breaking but also bursting with joy. All at the same time.

  The clapping starts up again, the whoops and cheers even louder as we all stand there, crying and smiling at everyone.

  After the meeting ends and I’m back in my office, still choking up when I think of my dad making that announcement, I hear a knock on the wall outside my door.

  “Hey,” Dawson says. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure,” I say on a breath. His presence still does weird things to me, but they feel dampened today. When I told Chase on Saturday that I was taking a break from my crush on Dawson, I didn’t think my body would listen. It usually acts of its own accord around him. But today it seems sort of numb to it all. Maybe it’s all the emotions I felt earlier and am still feeling.

  Dawson walks into my office, wearing those charcoal-gray coveralls again, Converse on his feet. He takes a seat in the black mesh guest chair opposite me. He leans back, weaving his fingers together and placing his hands in his lap.

  “I know you can probably guess why I’m here,” he says.

  Please don’t say Chad, please don’t say Chad.

  “Chad,” he says. He chuckles. Maybe he realizes that’s all we talk about too? Or maybe he’s just laughing at the fact that he has to keep constantly talking to me about the guy.

  “What did he do now?” Perhaps Dawson noticed Chad’s offensive cologne smell too.

  He looks down at his hands and then back up at me. “I’m letting him go … today,” he says.

  I give him a nod. “Okay, well, you’re the boss.”

  “I guess I’ll need all the paperwork and formal stuff from you.”

  “Right,” I say. “I’ll get on that.”

  I should say something funny right now like, What will we have to talk about now? Or, Let’s not let Devon hire any more friends, mmkay? But I’m not really in a joking mood.

  I think he’s going to leave—at least it feels like this is the point in the conversation when it would seem appropriate for him to make his departure—but he just sits there. Half of a grin on his face. It’s kind of like Chase’s half-grin. But I like Chase’s way more.

  He opens his mouth to talk and then stops himself. And then does it again. Open and close. “I saw that Chase guy at Drives for Dreams,” he says, finally. “The one from the party?”

  So he noticed that. Interesting. “Yeah,” I say. “Uh … Devon gave him a ride in the Lamborghini.”

  “Right,” Dawson says, nodding his head. “I heard he threw up.”

  I picture poor Chase on the asphalt of the track, releasing everything he’d eaten before he got there. I feel bad that word got around about that, though I doubt he would care. “Yeah, he did.”

  Dawson reaches up and rubs his jaw, chuckling. He looks to the side, toward the wall with all my pictures of my family. The one that semi-inspired Chase to follow his adventurous dreams.

  “I saw Natasha,” I say.

  She showed up toward the end. This time in a short jean skirt, a tight tube top, and platform sandals. She looked like she was going clubbing rather than hanging out at a racetrack. She kept taking selfies with all the cars, doing this pout thing with her lips.

  “Yeah,” says Dawson.

  “That must have been … fun.” It’s so hard for me to fake it when it comes to her.

  He takes a deep breath in through his teeth. “Yeah, you won’t be seeing much of her anymore.”

  “No?”

  “We’re officially done.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry?”

  He smiles, and I think it’s because I said that in the form of a question. “Thanks,” he says. Then he stands up. “Well, I guess I should get to it.”

  “Good luck,” I say.

  I watch as he walks away. I may be feeling a little numb toward him, but I can’t help a quick glance at his retreating form. Just before he goes out my office door, he looks back over his shoulder at me and smiles.

  ~*~

  “Oh, sister, he wanted you to know that,” Hannah says, pointing her chopsticks at me.

  We’re back at Hannah’s childhood home, eating food made by Halmoni, and I’ve just told her all about my day. Halmoni made my favorite noodles tonight. She also lectured me—through Hannah—about my split ends. I really am overdue for a trim.

  “Chase said the same thing.”

  Hannah freezes, noodles dangling in front of her mouth. “You told Chase before me?”

  “You didn’t answer your phone,” I say defensively. The truth is that I told Chase first, on purpose, without even thinking about it, but she doesn’t need to know this.

  “This annoys me.”

  “Sorry. You know I love you best.”

  “I’m starting to wonder.”

  I ignore her and focus on my noodles.

  After a quiet bit while we eat and Halmoni can be heard cleaning in the kitchen, I say, “Is it weird that I’m kind of meh about it … about Dawson?”

  “A little,” she says, after taking a bite. “But maybe you’re like hormonal or something. Or just emotionally spent.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “What would you
know about being emotionally spent?”

  She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “I read about it somewhere.”

  We smile at each other, both knowing that Hannah is a lot more emotional than she lets on. I love that we can have full conversations with just a smile.

  “So what are you going to do with this information?”

  I reach up and tug on my necklace. “I think I’ll just wait.”

  “Wait?”

  “Maybe I’m just tired today. Maybe I’ll feel different tomorrow.”

  “You aren’t going all KFC on me again, are you?”

  “No,” I protest. “At least … I don’t think I am.”

  “Well, don’t wait too long.”

  “I know, I know.”

  After dinner, I walk down to my dad’s house and use my key to let myself in through the front door. I thought I’d pop over and see how he’s doing. His announcement about where the money from Drives for Dreams was going affected me throughout the day. And if I felt a bit drained from it, I know he did too.

  There’s not a lot of light in the house as I enter, but I can see a dim one coming from the living room, and hear soft music playing. So I walk toward it, not calling for my dad in case he’s asleep on the couch in front of the television. I don’t want to scare him. I’ve done that before.

  I hear low, mumbling chatter as I approach, the soft music getting more distinct. I can make out my dad’s voice for sure. So maybe not asleep. Is he on the phone? But then I hear June’s distinct laugh. I could pick it out from any crowd. It’s higher pitched, with notes of warmth. This time, though, there’s a definite hint of flirtation. I stop in my tracks, right at the entrance to the living room.

  The lights are dimmed, the sounds of Michael Bublé crooning in the background. My dad and June, ever so close on the couch.

  I should back out. I should just go as softly as I can, and then I can go home and pretend I never saw this … this intimacy. This perfect picture of two people who are clearly into each other. Which would not be a big deal if one of them wasn’t my recently widowed father. Well, it’s been five months. Is that considered recent?

  I start to leave but end up turning more swiftly than I intended, and the keys I’d tucked in my pocket fall out and hit the floor with a loud clank.

  “Hello?” I hear my dad say.

  The light in the room gets brighter—I’d forgotten that he’d recently converted the house to a smart home and all the lighting and everything was now run by remote control.

  “Maggie?” he says, when I finally stand up and turn around so he can see me. I’d briefly thought I could grab my keys and just crawl away.

  “Dad,” I say. Then I turn my head. “June.”

  “Hello, my dear,” June says. She’s calm and has a serene smile on her face as she sits back on the couch, a wineglass in her hand.

  My dad, on the other hand, looks as if he’s a teenager that’s just been caught doing naughty things on the couch with his girlfriend.

  My, how the tables have turned. I believe my dad caught Devon doing some naughty things with a girl on this very couch he’s been snuggling up to June on.

  Actually, no. My parents sold that couch not long after. Smart move.

  “What are you doing here?” my dad asks, his face vacillating between shock and confusion.

  He might be mirroring my facial expressions. But, in truth, I’m not as shocked as I should be. While this is disturbing for sure, it’s not wholly unexpected. I’ve seen the texts. I know there’s something more going on here than my dad is letting on.

  “I just stopped by to say hi. I was eating dinner at Hannah’s.”

  “Right,” my dad says. “Well, come have a seat.” He gestures toward the sofa.

  “Yes,” June says. “Come and sit.”

  I look at June and then at my dad. He’s got a sort of sheepish grin on his face. Like he can’t decide how he should be reacting. There’s a lot of nostril flaring going on.

  I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “No,” June says, patting the spot next to her.

  “You are definitely not interrupting,” my dad says, his voice sounding very over the top and not at all convincing.

  “Well, I can only stay for a minute.”

  I walk into the large open living room and my dad takes a seat on the sofa across from June, as if to say, See? Nothing is happening here. I decide that I’ll just take a seat in one of the leather contemporary armchairs rather than sit next to either of them.

  “So,” my dad says, his hand fidgeting with the smart home remote.

  “So,” I say.

  “What did Young-Hee make for dinner?” asks June.

  I look at June and for a split second I forget that Young-Hee is Halmoni’s actual name. But of course June would know that, since we’ve all lived in the same neighborhood for decades.

  “She made my favorite noodles,” I say.

  “I love her cooking.”

  Silence lands on the already-stilted conversation. Michael Bublé sings about feeling good, and my dad is still messing with the remote control.

  “How was work today?” June asks, obviously feeling like she needs to keep up the conversation.

  “It was pretty good,” I say.

  “Your dad told me about the charity he picked.” She smiles warmly.

  I will myself not to think of it, because every time I picture him, with tears in his eyes, making that announcement, I get choked up.

  One thing, though, is clear: my dad talks to June about my mom. I don’t know why, but I’d wondered if he did. Or if it was like a past relationship that you don’t bring up with your new relationship—if that’s what’s even happening here. Is this a relationship? I’m not ready to ask.

  “Well,” I say leaning forward in my chair. “I guess I better get going. I probably should head home.”

  “Are you sure, Magpie?” my dad asks, finally piping in. It’s one of those questions you ask someone as a formality. I don’t get the idea that he’d like me to stay. Not necessarily because I’ve interrupted something, but because he’s not ready to be open about this. If he were, we’d all already know.

  “Yeah,” I say as I stand up. “It was good to see you, June.” I walk over to my dad, who’s getting up from his chair, and give him a hug.

  “Love you, Magpie,” he says in my ear, with his arms tightly around me. “So much.”

  Chapter 22

  Things may never happen with Dawson, but at least I’ll have Oscar—Chase’s dog—to fall back on as a companion.

  “I think my dog likes you more than me,” Chase says, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

  After a long day we ended up back at Chase’s house, which is a three-bedroom townhome near Tempe Town Lake. It’s more modern looking than I would’ve thought Chase would pick. I guess I never gave much thought to Chase’s style, but now that I’m here, it fits. I like the straight lines and stainless steel detailing. It’s definitely got that bachelor pad feel.

  There’s almost a sterile feeling to his place—a lack of decor. If this were my house, there would be art on the walls and pictures of my family and way more color. It’s mostly blacks and grays throughout. Not much personality, not a lot of personal touches. Except for one framed family picture, a five by seven, sitting on the kitchen counter.

  It’s the perfect location for a dog, though, with all the trails and the lake nearby. I can picture Chase and Oscar making good use of all the amenities.

  I’m currently sitting at one end of a black leather sectional couch, Chase on the other end, his legs sprawled out, with a very fluffy golden retriever’s head in my lap. Oscar’s tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as I rub his head. He’s been next to me since the minute Chase introduced us.

  “Well, if he wants to come home with me, I’m okay with that.” Oscar’s eyes open and I start scratching under his chin. “Do you want to live with me, Oscar? Do you?�
� I say, using that voice everyone uses when talking to dogs.

  Chase scowls at me. “He may have fallen in love with you, but he’s not going anywhere. Sorry, boy.”

  “What can I say? I just have this effect on all men.” I bat my eyelashes at Chase. “It’s a curse.”

  “I believe it,” he says, giving me that signature half-smile of his.

  I look down at the scrape on my arm as I scratch behind Oscar’s ears. It’s a good three inches and looks like long thin tire tracks. All in the name of adventure.

  Chase notices me looking at it. “We should probably put something on that,” he says.

  I feel like a mess right now, dusty and tired and crampy. There are muscles aching on my body that I didn’t even know I had. The scratch doesn’t even hurt; or if it does, I have too many other aches and pains to realize it. I lean my head back on the couch, thinking about the day.

  Chase got me up early this morning and we drove nearly two hours to Oracle, where we tried our hand at zip-lining. Well, this was Chase’s first time. It was never top of my parents’ list for adventure, but I’ve done it a few times.

  There were five different zip lines, so we worked our way up to the longest one, which was around fifteen hundred feet. It was a beautiful day, the wind whipping through my hair as we rode. The sky was a bright shade of blue and the desert below us seemed to go on forever.

  Chase loved it. He hollered and yelled every time, full of energy and adrenaline that kept him pepped up all the way home.

  Even knowing that this wasn’t my mom’s favorite thing to do, adventure-wise, I couldn’t help but picture her acting much like Chase, whooping and laughing, her hair whipping out from under her helmet, a big smile on her face.

  Before we left, we found this cave nearby that you can explore without a tour guide. I’d been spelunking before, but Chase never had.

  We had to rent headlamps from an older man at a sporting goods store in the small town of Oracle. He was wearing a fishing hat and a pair of worn-out tan coveralls that were nothing like the ones that Dawson wears to work. Or maybe he just didn’t wear the coveralls like Dawson does. He warned us many times about the dangers of the cave. Claustrophobia being the biggest one. Also, there’s no cell reception inside the cave, so we couldn’t call anyone to save us if we ran into trouble.