Page 100 of The Accidental Text

“June?” he asks, his eyes going out of focus as he contemplates what I’ve just asked.

“Yeah,” I say. I picture us coming over here for dinner, June running things. It feels … strange. Even worse, would my dad sell this house and move in with her? What would I do if I lost the home I’ve known for most of my life? The place where most of my memories were made? I’m not sure I want to think about this right now.

“I don’t know. I’ve just started dating. Maybe I want to play the field a little more,” he says, giving me a mischievous grin.

“Dad,” I say, whacking him on the arm. Now I’m having defensive feelings on June’s behalf. He can’t do that to her.

He chuckles. “Life is short, this I do know. You have to find happiness where you can. That’s all we really have in the end.”

Chapter 28

“Okay, I feel bad for saying Phoenix is boring,” says Chase.

He should feel bad. Chase and I are back in the Sonoran Desert, this time in the dark of night. Stars everywhere. You can barely see city lights on the horizon. No sounds of the city, only the light wind through the brush can be heard.

“It’s pretty amazing,” I say.

He’s standing close to me, our arms touching. If I just stretched out my fingers, I could reach his. I feel mine flexing, like they want to, like it’s the natural thing to do.

For our last adventure, Chase took me on a night desert tour on fat bikes, which are bicycles with fatter tires that help with balance and give you the ability to go over uneven terrain. We’re wearing helmets with bright headlights so we can see the trail.

It’s a perfect night, temperature-wise, and the cloudless sky is putting on an excellent show, the stars twinkling above us and the moon bright. I think of all the things we’ve done, this might be my favorite.

It’s quiet out here and it feels like we’re separated from the world. There’s just our guide, Jeff, and two other people here. We take breaks now and then for water and snacks.

We’re on a break right now as Chase and I stand near our bikes, our headlamps off, taking it all in. My mom would have absolutely loved this, and I feel a tinge of sadness that this wassomething she missed out on, that she never got to do. Still, I can picture her standing near me, her head tilted upward as she enjoys the experience. She’d probably tell me about how big and small this makes her feel. Big because she’s part of something so huge, and small because she’s just one person in this grand universe. It was something she’d told me once when we were standing at the top of Diamond Head in Hawaii, looking over the ocean that went as far as our eyes could see. She was known for her deep thoughts while we adventured. We used to tease her about it.

I might be loving this, but there’s also a weight in my gut. Chase is leaving in less than a week. I want to tell him how I feel before he goes. I don’t know why, but I need him to know. I just do. And unlike how I felt with Dawson, where it was so hard to say anything, the words I want to say to Chase are there, at the tip of my tongue, waiting to come out. I just need a good segue. Some kind of opening. I don’t want to just blurt it out.

The thing with Chase is, I know there’s something there. He didn’t steal a kiss tonight when I gave him a peck on the cheek for good luck, but there have been other signs. I also just feel it. Like there’s something between us, and there’s supposed to be something between us. I’m supposed to know Chase. It doesn’t feel like coincidence to me.

Right now is not the time to say anything, though, as Jeff just told us the break is up and we get back on our bikes and back on the trail, the quiet, dark desert all around.

I’ve been keeping my eye out for critters, but we’ve unfortunately not seen many. There was a jackrabbit, a few scorpions, and one snake off to the side of the path that I got to see the tail end of before it slithered its way back in the sagebrush. We searched out the scorpions. Jeff brought a blacklight to find them and they looked otherworldly under the purple-blue hue.

The light breeze whips through my hair as we ride. I can hear Chase behind me, his tires moving along the dirt trail in tandem with mine. I feel free in this moment. In this dark, quiet desert.

“That was my favorite adventure,” I declare as we get into Chase’s car after returning our equipment and trying to dust ourselves off from all the trail dirt. I pull the sun visor down on the passenger side and look at myself in the lighted mirror. I try to brush my fingers through my wind-whipped brown hair and then give up and twist it into a low-hanging bun.

“Really?” Chase asks while putting his seat belt on.

“Did you not like it?”

“Loved it,” he says. “I think the Crack was my favorite, though.”

“If it wasn’t for the cold water.”

“I kept you warm,” he says. I feel his head turn to look at me; there’s a flirty tone to his voice and I feel my stomach do a flipflop.

The conversation is light as we travel the hour back to my place, where he’d picked me up earlier today. We talk about all the things he has to do to get ready for his trip, and, surprisingly, he’s yet to do many of them. He’s usually so prepared for things.

“I guess I won’t see much of you next week,” I say, my tone conveying my disappointment.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve got to get ready.”

“You can always come over and help,” he says.

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