The Text God: Text and You Shall Receive ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  As we laugh, I realize how good it feels to share this little moment with someone who loves me unconditionally. I don’t spend nearly enough time with my sister, and I need to fix that.

  “Say, this little mid-life crisis wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain waitress Mom just hired, would it?” she asks.

  “No … no,” I say, shaking my head firmly, then I slow it down and add, “Please, I’m hardly going to jump from a relationship with Alexis into something with Jen.”

  “Why not? According to Mom, the sun rises and sets out of this woman’s eyes—and I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that used to be your spot.”

  “Jen is great, but the truth is, I hardly know her. And honestly, she’s not the reason any of this happened.” Even as I say this, I realize there’s something about her that did start me wondering about what I’m doing with my life.

  “She may not be the reason that you and Alexis broke up or that you’re rethinking your life path, but it might not be accidental that she showed up in your life at this time. It could be a God thing, you know.” My sister is pretty religious and really does think that God answers prayers. I file that thought away for later, as I say, “At thirty-two, you’d think I’d have my …” Realizing there are young ears around, I swap my language for a word that would pass for a general rating. “Poop in a group.”

  “What makes you so special that you should be better put together than the rest of us? Nobody has it together. Nobody. People pretend they do, but that’s just … bull spit.”

  “Bull spit?” I ask. “That’s a new one.”

  She smiles proudly. “Thanks. I kind of like that one.” Her face grows serious again and she says, “Listen, the beauty of your situation is that you’re not tied to anything. It’s not like you have five mouths to feed and changing jobs would mean they’d go hungry. Date. Play the field. Have some fun. Figure out what kind of law you want to practice that’ll have you jumping out of bed every morning feeling really excited about your life. Then go for it. That’s what I’d do if I were you.”

  “That’s good solid advice, sis. Thank you.”

  “That’s why you came here,” she says with a wink.

  “You’re very wise.”

  “I’m a regular Dalai Lama,” she says, before screaming, “JOE! GET OFF YOUR BROTHER AND DON’T YOU DARE BITE HIS BUTT CHEEK!!!! I swear to all that is holy, your bottom will be as red as an apple if you do it!”

  Joe scrambles off Finn, and Ciara’s serene smile returns to her face. “What was I saying?”

  “That you’re a regular Dalai Lama.”

  “Right, that,” she says with a sideways grin. “Now, get out of here before you permanently make my yard smell like man sweat. Besides, I think there’s a woman you need to go see.”

  “It’s too soon for me to even think about dating again. Besides, I can’t have Mom thinking that she won.” I stand and ruffle her dark hair.

  She pushes my hand away and then walks me back into the house. “Please tell me you’re over your need to show our mother she doesn’t run your life. You’re not twelve.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t need to …” Dammit. My shoulders drop.

  “There you go, buddy,” she says in a soothing voice. “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

  “I have a lot of thinking to do.”

  “Glory hallelujah, the man’s finally talking sense!” Then, closing her eyes, she quickly genuflects and makes the sign of the cross. “Praise be to God.”

  “You’re a real corker, Ciara,” I tell her, imitating our grandad’s voice. “You’re also not as much of a pain in the rump as I thought you were. I’m going to come by more often from now on.”

  “Shower first next time.”

  I chuckle. “You let me know if you ever feel overwhelmed, okay? I’ll try to help.”

  “Thanks, Byrne. Are you free Monday through Friday from, say, seven a.m. until dinner time?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jen

  On my way back to my apartment from Audra’s, I stop at the Angels of Water sculpture at Bethesda Fountain. It’s my go-to spot when I’m in a funk. It usually works like a charm, but not so much today. Zay was right. I’m too naïve to make it in this city. Maybe I am just a human version of a dopey Labrador retriever. How could I possibly believe I was texting the real God? I guess maybe deep down I knew, but I just wanted to believe it so badly.

  Urgh. Not only was I not texting the real God, but the guy I was texting just cut me off until further notice. How am I going to make things right for Audra now?

  Positive Me says, Hey, you, so you made a mistake—okay a few—and they were big. Your heart was in the right place. It’s good to have faith in people.

  Negative Me counters with, Are you friggin’ kidding? You are mucking up your entire life. You got fired twice this week. Do you know how much of a loser you have to be to do that?

  Positive Me steps back in with: That’s just rude. I’m not going to let you talk to me that way. Yes, I messed up, but I am going to fix it. As soon as I figure out how.

  Negative Me: I’m still in disbelief about you letting that little old man scam you. You fell for the oldest trick in the book.

  Positive Me: You know what? Shut up. I’m not talking to you anymore.

  On the way back to my place, I start to wonder what in the heck is going on with Zay. I want to stop by and see him, but there is no way I want to risk another Shelby incident.

  Speak of the devil, walking through the front door of the building, I run into my friend, who’s at his mailbox.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey, yourself,” he replies. “Next time you want to break in, why don’t you call first?”

  “You don’t have to sound so mad,” I tell him. “I was worried about you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot like he’s impatient with me. “It was just really awkward.”

  “But Shelby?” I have to know. “How did that happen?”

  He shuts the mailbox and pockets his key, then we start to walk up the stairs together. “It’s hard to explain. We just had a major chemical reaction to each other. And before you point out how much taller she is than me, I’ve decided that there’s nothing I can do about my height so I might as well accept it.”

  “I would have never mentioned her height.” (Which, for the record, had to be a good foot taller than my friend). “What kind of insensitive person do you take me for?”

  “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I’m embarrassed that you saw me like that,” he says as he glances down.

  “Would you feel better if I let you see me naked to even the playing field?”

  “Please, no! There’s already enough weirdness between us.” He’s making some righteous jazz hands while his face contorts.

  His expression makes me laugh. “Okay, but if you change your mind …”

  “Oh, I get it, one look at me naked and you want a piece of this, huh?” The humor on his face assures me that any weirdness between us has passed.

  “You know me, Zay. I’m a letch,” I say as we reach the fourth floor.

  “Total letch,” he says, leading the way down the hall. “Listen, I know it’s a little weird that I’m … doing whatever I’m doing with someone I previously couldn’t stand. I know I said some awful things about her, but she’s actually really nice when you get to know her.”

  “I’m not judging you. Find your happiness wherever you can, my friend,” I tell him. Then, talking out of the side of my mouth, I mutter, “If it happens to be with a woman you once said is the spawn of Satan herself, that’s cool.”

  Zay raises an eyebrow as we stop in front of my door. “So much for not judging.”

  “Sorry, but you know I have to tease you a little, right?” I ask with a mock apologetic expression. “It’s just too good to pass up.”

&nbs
p; He chuckles and shakes his head, then a look of confusion crosses his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the hotel right now?”

  “Oh, yeah, about that ... I’m not there anymore. As it turns out, you can’t let people con you out of the hotel’s money.” My face heats up at my admission.

  Sighing, Zay says, “Oh, Jenny-Jen-Jen.”

  “Do you have time for coffee? I have so much to tell you.”

  “Sure, come over to my place. I should be there in case anyone from work tries to reach me.”

  He unlocks his door and gestures for me to go in, but I pause. “There won’t be any naked women in there, right?”

  Smirking, he says, “Not for another …”—he checks his watch, then continues—”six hours.”

  After we pour ourselves coffees and add the fixings—my friend makes enough money for fancy flavored creamers—we sit at his kitchen table that doubles as his desk. “Spill it. What else has happened since our last weekly round-up?”

  I launch into the entire story starting with meeting Byrne. I use my best adjectives—fun, kind, captivating, and sexy. Then I tell my friend how Byrne bought my big lily painting. I mention that he has a girlfriend which means there is no justice in this world; I gloss over getting a job at The Salty Nuts; I confess that God wasn’t really texting me; then I top it off with the cherry on the sundae—getting fired by Audra.

  Taking a deep breath, I hurry to add, “You don’t have to say you told me so because I get it now. I’m going to stop trusting strangers … and possibly people, even the ones I know—present company excluded. I’ve learned my lesson. I shall forevermore be Jen the Jaded, most skeptical of all skeptics. The bitterest grapefruit on the tree.”

  Zay stares at me for a second, then says, “I might have been wrong about all that stuff.”

  “What?” I ask him, wanting to check my ears for obstructions.

  “About the whole ‘trust no one’ thing and that nothing good ever happens so don’t bother praying for it.”

  I open my mouth, then clamp it shut. I finally say, “But, I got conned. And fired. Twice. And God turned out to be a lawyer, of all things. I should have asked Byrne if he knew him.” I end my sad story with, “Nothing is real! I’m a sorry excuse for a human being all around.”

  “Not so! You sold a painting, and you got a job you sound pretty stoked about, so …”

  “So, what?”

  “Maybe things do happen for a reason. If you hadn’t gotten the text, you never would have met this Byrne guy and he never would have bought your painting. Oh, and you wouldn’t have gotten the job at the pub,” he says, before checking his email and typing an answer in the IT Help Chat Box: Have you tried turning it off and back on again?

  He waits for a reply, which is one word: No.

  Try that, then get back to me.

  Zay turns to me again. “That ought to buy us a couple minutes. Anyway, you never know what’s coming your way, Jen. If Shelby hadn’t convinced our boss to make me come in, I wouldn’t be having the greatest ‘time’ of my life.” He does air quotes around time which is clearly a replacement word for sex. As if I didn’t practically see them in the act or something.

  “Just because things worked out for you doesn’t mean I’m not a total failure.”

  “Things happen for a reason, Jen. Sometimes it just takes a while to find out what that reason is. I was wrong to try to talk you out of trusting people or … the Universe or whatever’s out there.”

  “No, you were right. I am too trusting and if I don’t cut that out, I’m going to get really hurt someday. This whole thing was a warning and I’m going to take it seriously.”

  Zay’s phone rings and I see Shelby’s name come across the screen. He grins and picks it up. “Hey, babe, what’s shaking at the office?”

  He pauses, then laughs. “No, I miss you more.” Pause. “No, I do.”

  I stand before patting him on the shoulder and mouthing, “I’m going to go.” He gives me the thumbs up, then tells Shelby, “Not possible. I miss you more.” Putting his hand over the phone, he whispers, “Don’t lose faith, Jen. Happiness could be right around the corner.”

  I nod and offer him a smile I don’t mean. As I walk out, I hear him say, “Jen popped over for a coffee.”

  I shut the door behind me and let my shoulders drop, feeling all discombobulated. Who is this happy, optimistic guy in Zay’s body? And why did he have to show up right at the moment I was joining team Eeyore?

  Chapter Twenty

  Gabe

  Three Days Later…

  Email from Intern255@MurphyNorrisGoldstein.com

  Subject: Hope You’re All Right

  Hi, Gabe-

  Just writing to wish you well. The word around the office is you had to have an emergency appendectomy. Sounds really serious and I hope you’re okay. I finished researching the precedent for the Keigler file, but Jane said not to send you any work while you’re recovering, so it’ll be waiting when you get back.

  Take care and let me know if you need anything at all,

  Edward Ling

  Intern at Murphy, Norris, and Goldstein, Attorneys at Law

  ***

  Voicemail from Jane: Hi Gabe, Just checking in. We’re all rooting for you down here at the office. Some of the staff have pooled together a little money and we ordered a fruit basket to be delivered in about an hour, so I hope someone is there to answer the door for you. Stay in bed, rest up, and don’t even think about work. I’ve got everything under control, okay? Bye.

  ***

  Email from GloriaJones@MurphyNorrisGoldstein.com

  Subject: Checking In

  Hey Gabriel, Heard about your accident. How the hell did you puncture your spleen in the shower? Sounds painful. Anyway, we’re rooting for you around here. Let us know if you need anything.

  G

  Gloria Jones, Senior Associate, Murphy, Norris, and Goldstein, Attorneys at Law

  ***

  Voicemail from Dick Norris, Senior Partner, Murphy, Norris, and Goldstein, Attorneys at Law:

  Yeah, Gabriel, It’s Dick here. I wanted to talk to you about that little dust-up between you and Phillip. He’s a bit of a hothead, I know, but he speaks for all of us when he said we want you back here Monday. You’ll have to change course on the Bulgari case when you come back, so be ready to play ball, okay? Just trying to help you out here, pal.

  ***

  “Oh, for …” My gut tightens and I put my phone down on the kitchen counter. Jane called on Tuesday to check on me since I hadn’t come in and during the call, I mentioned that I had a pain in my side (which at the time was true because I’d just gone out for a run and had a stitch). So I guess from that, she must have diagnosed me as having appendicitis which has morphed into emergency surgery. Either that or a ruptured spleen?

  The intercom buzzes. “That’ll be my fruit basket,” I tell my ficus plant. I let the delivery man up before hurrying to throw on a T-shirt and some sweats to spare him the sight of a super scruffy guy in his boxers. After he leaves, I hold the enormous basket up and stare at it, guilt invading every cell of my body. The staff pitched in for this thinking I’m recovering from surgery when I’m really on a paid holiday that ends on Monday when I will officially get fired.

  I unpack the basket, depositing most of it in the fridge, before bagging the gouda cheese, water crackers, English tea, and pear jelly to take to my parents. I force myself to change into jeans but can’t screw up the will to shave today. They’re my parents. They have to love me no matter what I look like.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into the quiet tavern. There’s always a lull between two and five, so the nearly empty tables suit me perfectly. My mom looks up and grins, before her smile fades. “Sweet Jaysus, look at the state of ye!”

  I give her a nod. “I’m vacation Byrne today.” Holding up the bag, I add, “I come bearing gifts.”

  Eyeing me carefully, she pats
the stool at the bar she’s standing next to. “Come and sit. Tell your ma all about how that awful harpy broke your heart.”

  I stop in my tracks and sigh. “I take it you heard from Ciara.”

  She nods and pats the stool again. “Don’t be mad at her. She was just looking out for you.”

  “Right. What exactly did she tell you?” I ask, settling myself on the stool next to the one she suggested in a not-so-subtle act of defiance.

  “Just that you finally got your head out of your arse and admitted the two of you weren’t a good match.” Narrowing her eyes, she says, “Why? Is there something more to the story?” Oh, she knows everything I told my sister, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of confirming anything.

  “Nope, you got the gist of it,” I tell her. “Anyway, I’m fine. It’s all for the best and I’m moving on with my life, so there’s no need to talk about it again. You were right, so you don’t have to say it. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t.”

  “I would never say I told you so! ‘I told you so’ aren’t even words that pop into my mind. I. Told. You. So. What kind of mother would say such a thing when her child is hurting?” Mom nods and places her small hand over mine. “I won’t mention another word about it, and for what it’s worth, I am sorry. Not that you two finally broke up—because that means eight years’-worth of rosaries finally paid off—but I’m sorry you’re upset.”

  Shaking my head, I chuckle a little. “That’s the funny thing, I’m not upset. I should be after all this time, but I’m not.”

  “Then what are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday looking like shite?” she asks, pouring a cup of water for me.

  I’m not quite ready to tell her about my career situation, so I take the coward’s path and put it off a bit longer. “I’ve taken a mental health week,” I say, then immediately wish I hadn’t phrased it that way.

  My mom’s mouth hangs down, before she calls, “Joe! You best get out here. Our boy’s in more trouble than we thought.”