Page 11 of The Accidental Text

“Are you … is everything okay?” Dawson asks.

“Ya-yeah,” I finally choke out. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Well, what were you wondering?” he asks.

“You know”—I shake my head and then give him the first excuse that comes to my mind—“I forgot,” I say, and then laugh awkwardly.

Dawson’s mouth moves as if he’s going to say something, opening and closing, and then all he says is, “Okay,” and with a wave and a smile, he walks out of the room.

Chapter 4

“Oh, my gosh,” Hannah says after an exaggerated gasp. “You choked again.”

“I totally did,” I say, putting a hand to my forehead.

“What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know,” I whine, letting my hand drop to my side as dramatically as possible. “I mean, he was right there, it was the perfect timing. And … I couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t even come out of my mouth.”

“So what did you do?”

I let my face fall. “I pretended that I forgot what I was asking.”

“You didn’t.” Hannah shakes her head, looking utterly disappointed. She’s sitting with me on the tan upholstered couch in our apartment. Remnants of the curls she put in her hair before work hang loosely over her shoulders. She’s still got on her work attire: a white flowy blouse and a black pencil skirt. Even after a full day of work, Hannah is stunning.

I’m not so stunning myself right now in a pair of cotton shorts I threw on after getting home from work. I paired it with a pink tank top that still has a pizza stain on it, right smack-dab in the center of my chest. I wanted my outsides to match my insides. Messy.

I had to drag myself up the three flights of stairs to get to our apartment, and it about did me in. I feel so drained.

“I totally did,” I say, repeating myself. I do a full body sag, letting everything droop. I’m grateful we’re not at Hannah’s place right now so I can do this without another Halmoni lecture.

“Is this part of you not feeling like yourself?” Hannah asks.

Tears prick behind my eyes. “I don’t like this new me.”

Hannah reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. It’s almost farcical the way she does it. Like she’s patting a piece of paper. Comfort does not come easily for Hannah. She tries, like right now as she taps me with a mostly rigid hand as if to say,There, there.

My mom was the best at offering comfort. She gave the best hugs of anyone I’ve ever known. They were tight and warm and protective. She felt 100 percent present when she hugged, like you were all that mattered in that moment—the most important thing in her life. It wasn’t just me who felt that way. At her funeral, many people commented on how they would miss her hugs.

If she were here right now, she’d be hugging me and comforting me with words of wisdom and encouragement. Giving me a kiss on the cheek for good luck. Instead, I’ve got Vulcan-like Hannah patting my shoulder.There, there.

Of course, if my mom were still here, I don’t think I’d be experiencing all these new feelings. I hate how different I feel in my own skin since she died. I’m sure anyone who loses a parent does. I don’t know how you couldnotbe changed by something like that. But what I wasn’t expecting was my confidence waning. Like my mom’s death put a large crack in its shiny veneer. It doesn’t make any sense, really.

Hannah gives me a warm smile. “I think you’re making thisall too hard on yourself. Maybe you just need to dumb it down.”

I pull the bottom of my tank top up and wipe my eyes and nose with it. “How’s that?”

She points an index finger at me. “Take all the formality out of it. You walk up to Dawson, grab him by those sexy coveralls he wears, and just plant one on him.”

I give her my best side-eyed glare. “I may have recently lost some of my confidence, but even when I had it I wouldn’t have done that.”

Hannah purses her lips in thought. “Hmm … that does sound more like something I’d do. At least before I swore off the species.”

Hannah swore off men last spring when she broke up with her ex, Ben. He did a number on her. She doesn’t call him the “Cheating Douchewaffle” for nothing.

“Well, if you have any better ideas, let me know,” I say, and then rub a hand over my face.

Hannah sighs. “Listen, KFC—I might start calling you that—I know you’re sad. And I know you’re still in the midst of your grief. But you’ve got to pull yourself together. That boy will not stay single for long. Men like that don’t.”

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