Page 99 of The Accidental Text

His eyebrows go upward. “Oh … really?”

There’s a lot of insinuation in that “really.”

“He’s been really great. It almost feels … meant to be. That sounds dumb to say out loud.”

“It’s not dumb,” he says. “Didn’t he lose his mom too?”

I look down at my hands. My fingers are intertwined, my thumbs twiddling. “He did; it was a car accident.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes. Sort of makes you appreciate that at least we got to say goodbye.”

“I do appreciate that. And that we also got to tell her how much we loved her.”

The lump is back.Hello, old friend. “That too.”

“How old was she?”

“Fifty-nine.”

“Too young to go.”

“Yes, it is.” I look down at my lap again. “Does June talk about her husband?”

“Oh, sure … sure. We talk a lot about our spouses. She’s been doing this much longer, though. But she has a lot of stories to tell about Roger. He was a great man.”

I have vague memories of Roger. I’d see him jogging around our neighborhood—that’s how I remember him the most. He was so healthy, a heart attack at the age of fifty was such a shock to the neighborhood.

“So, how does dating in your fifties work?”

“We do a lot of texting,” he says.

“Sounds familiar.”

“In fact, she sent me one today.” He reaches over to the arm of the chair and grabs his phone, which is perched there.

He pulls up the app and clicks on her name. I’m reminded of Devon, Chelsea, and me snooping on his phone, finding their song. I wonder if it still is.

“She said: ‘I’ve got a lot to think about. I hope you do too.’” He looks to me after reading me the text. “What do you think she meant by that?”

I tilt my head to the side, eyeing him. Is my father asking me to break down a text with him?

“I don’t really understand the context,” I say.

“Neither do I,” he says with a chuckle.

So the reality is, dating is the same no matter what age you are. That’s … disheartening. I tell my dad this.

“Well, it’s not as hard as it was when I was your age. There’s not a lot of figuring out what the future holds, like how we’d raise a family, or stay on a budget, and whatnot. It’s mostly about companionship. Having someone around.”

“But doesn’t it feel strange? To be talking and sharing feelings with someone that’s not Mom?”

“Not really,” he says. “No one will ever top your mom; I married up with her.” He smiles in that way that makes his eyes do that endearing crinkling thing. “I’d like to think that if it was me that went first, that your mom would have found some way to be happy, however that was.”

I nod my head. She would have. But it may not have been in the same way. Or maybe it would have been. I’ll never know the answer to that. But I do know she would have been happy. She used to tell me that it was my job to make myself happy. No one else can do that. I think I understand that more, now that I’m older.

“Do you think you’ll marry her?”

---