Page 32 of The Accidental Text

Chase:Yep. Oscar. Best dog ever.

I click out of the picture of him and Oscar and scan over the other ones on his page, looking for more clues about him. I see one of a family and click on it. It’s his family. It has to be—theyall look like they’re related. Same color hair, smiles that look like they go together.

I let my eyes focus on his mom. She looks so young for her age … if this was taken recently. She’s beautiful, with shoulder-length brown hair, curled in waves. She’s wearing a red sweater and jeans with knee-high black boots and standing next to a man that’s probably what future Chase will look like—it’s definitely his dad. Tall, like Chase, but lots of gray in that nice head of hair.

There’s a woman standing next to Chase—his sister, I’m assuming. It’s not hard to assume, they look so much alike.

Maggie:Your mom is beautiful

Chase:She is

Maggie:How old are you in that picture?

Chase:28. We took it last year.

Maggie:Your sister? Older or younger?

Chase:Kenzie. She’s older by two years. She’s getting married next February.

Maggie:Oh wow. How is she doing?

Chase:About the same as me

He sends another poop emoji.

Maggie:My last name is Cooper

Chase:Let the REAL stalking begin!

Maggie:I’m the one in the pink baseball hat.

In my profile picture I’m wearing a Cooper’s hat, and it was my mom who took the photo. I’d just bought my Jeep and she snapped a picture of me through the open driver’s sidewindow. The future felt big and bright then, my smile full and wide. I found it on her phone after she died and made it my profile picture.

I go back to Instagram and pull up my page, feeling slightly nervous now about what he’ll see on there. Not so nervous about the pictures of myself, because like all people my age, I tend to post only the best ones. I go minimal on the filters, but there are pictures in there that I took ten times (or more) before I got the one I felt was good enough to post.

I definitely post a lot more than Chase does, but not gratuitously. No pictures of my food or oversharing of my life. I post a lot about the shop, and pictures of my family and the things we do together, orusedto do together. Going on jumps—so many pictures of that. But also zip-lining, bungee jumping, snorkeling. We did so many things together. My mom loved to try new experiences and would remind us constantly how lucky we were to be able to do all the things we did.

My heart does a little twisting thing when I think of those jumping pictures. It was my mom’s favorite thing to do. She said she felt so free, so light up there. It still doesn’t sound appealing to me. In fact, I don’t much feel like doing any of the things we used to do together.

There are also a lot of pictures of my mom. Some of just her and me, some of the family, some with only her in them. I posted a lot about her after she died. It felt cathartic, in a way. I’ve hardly posted anything else since. It’s all been her. Of course, it doesn’t feel like much has happened since that November day. Nothing Instagram worthy, at least.

Except that right now a stranger I met because he has my mom’s phone number is currently looking at my Instagram. That’s not Instagram worthy, but itistherapist worthy.

My phone beeps.

Chase:I like all the pictures of your mom. She’s very pretty.

Maggie:Thanks. I posted a lot. It was … therapeutic.

Chase:I thought sending her texts was your therapy.

He adds a winking face. If we were in person, I would throw my well-worn flip-flop at his head.

Maggie:We shall never speak of that again.

Chase:Lips are sealed

Chase:Oh wow. Whose Lambo is that?

---