Page 86 of The Accidental Text

“I hate that saying. Who puts a cat in a bag?”

“Fine, the pig is in the poke?”

“Try again.”

He lets out a breath. “You can’t take it back. It’s out there.”

“I could find a witch and have her cast a spell?”

“Excellent idea.”

I sigh. “I swear my dad looked at me differently afterward.”

I caught my dad giving me sad smiles while we were eating pie. Or maybe I was just being overly sensitive about it. Devon was okay with it, or at least he seemed to be. After having taken so long to put the pieces together, I thought for sure he’d be annoyed with me, especially for lying to him like I did. But he seemed fine.

Later, when we were cleaning up and Chelsea pried me with more questions, Devon even came to my rescue, telling her itwasn’t a big deal and to leave me alone. I doubt that will keep Chelsea away. If only.

“Why do you think he looked at you differently?”

“He probably thinks I need therapy.”

Chase chuckles again. “At least he cares. I’ve barely said two words to my dad since the funeral.”

I turn my head to the side and tilt it upward to see him looking at my ceiling. It’s the first time he’s said much of anything about his dad.

“Why do you think that is?” I ask.

I feel his shrug. “He’s not really been talking to me or Kenzie. Not more than one- or two-word sentences.”

“That … must be hard. How is Kenzie handling everything?”

“I haven’t talked to her in a few days. She’s busy planning a wedding.”

“Right,” I say. “How’s that going?”

“It’s going,” he says.

We fall into silence, only the sound of the cars on the street below my open window filling the quiet. I leave the conversation open for Chase to say more, wanting him to talk to me more about how he’s feeling. He seems so open when we talk about other things, but shuts down when we talk about his family.

“There’s a heart on your ceiling,” Chase says, pointing toward the spot near my fan.

“You see that?”

“Totally. It’s a perfect-shaped one. A rare find on a ceiling,” he says. “I’ve found a pretty good Batman shape in my room.”

I turn my head toward him again, feeling so much kinship with this man lying on my bed, his hand now rubbing lazypatterns on my arm. It’s a dumb thing, really. How many millions of people look for shapes in clouds? Certainly a ceiling with accidental patterns from a texture gun is not much different.

“There’s two-thirds of a shamrock on my bathroom wall,” I say.

Another chuckle. “I’m pretty sure I can see my grandpa’s profile in my kitchen. I sometimes say hi to it.”

This time it’s my turn to giggle. “I think I might miss you when you go to London.”

He gives my arm a squeeze. “Might?” he says.

“Well, I’ll for sure miss Oscar.”

“He’ll miss you,” Chase says. “And I’ll probably miss you. Maybe.”

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