Page 59 of The Accidental Text

I smile, looking down at my hands. “Those were her wishes.”

He chuckles. “That’s … the craziest thing. My family … we don’t do any of that. We’re so boring.”

“Well, my mom was the ringleader. The rest of us were along for the ride. And now she’s gone …”

“And wants you to spread her ashes while diving out of a plane. Why?”

I tell him the story about the jumpers she saw spreading their friend’s ashes that one time, how she told us afterward that’s what she wanted.

“Wow,” he says. “She sounds like someone I’d have liked to meet.”

I feel a little dip in my stomach, wondering if she’s somewhere out there and can see Chase and me sitting in Dad’s ridiculous car, me talking to the man that has her phone number. She’d love this. It would be like an adventure to her.

“So, I have until May to get my crap together so we can honor those wishes.”

“May?”

“That’s the new date Chelsea’s chosen. May fifteenth, my mom’s birthday. A month and a half from now.” My gut sinks at that realization.

“Don’t you get a say?”

“No,” I say, not intending the word to come out as indignant as it does. But it’s my fate. Chelsea has spoken. And I can’t let my dad down again. I know he said it was fine and hasn’t said anything about it since, but there had to be some disappointment. I was disappointed in myself. This new anxiety that I’ve developed since my mom’s death is affecting all of us.

“Right. Sounds like my sister,” Chase says. “So what happened … the last time?”

I turn my head toward him, lifting my shoulders just once. “I choked.”

“Why?”

“I just …” I let out a breath. “It feels unsafe. I’ve told you that I’ve become a chicken since my mom died.”

Chase nods his head. “But you’ve done it before … jumped out of a plane.”

“Yes,” I say. “Lots of times. But it feels too risky now. Like, what if someone got hurt?”

“You’ve already lost one person.”

“Exactly.” There’s that connection again with Chase. He just gets this part of me. More than my family, more than Hannah.

“Is it unsafe to jump, though?” he asks. “I mean, it sounds a little scary to me.”

“It’s actually more dangerous to get behind the wheel of a car than it is to skydive,” I say, echoing my mom’s canned answer.

“But knowing that isn’t enough.”

“Yep. And my family doesn’t get it. I don’t even get it, honestly.”

“Is it the chicken thing? The anxious feeling?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The truth is, none of the stuff we used to do together sounds appealing. I’ve lost my desire to do any of it.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

“Does it make you … feel too much?” He asks this quietly, like he’s tiptoeing toward me with his voice.

“I don’t think so,” I say, looking forward, out the window of the car. “I’ve just lost my zest for things, you know?”

---