Page 22 of The Accidental Text

I don’t know how to even respond to that. I know what Ican’t say. Things like:She’s in a better place, orIt was God’s time, orEverything happens for a reason.

We heard so many clichéd comments after my mom passed. It became a running joke with me, Chelsea, and Devon.Sorry for your loss … Her body is whole now … Sending hugs and prayersand/orthoughts.

I get it. It’s hard to know what to say. I still don’t know what’s right, to be honest. A simple “I’m sorry” seemed to do the trick for me.

I text that to Chase. And I am truly sorry. A car accident that takes your parent away suddenly sounds like such a terrible thing. I got a long goodbye with my mom. I got to tell her how much I loved her so many times before she died. I’m grateful for that.

(480)555-1058:What about your mom?

Maggie:Brain tumor. Fast acting. She was gone six months from diagnosis.

(480)555-1058:Wow. I’m sorry.

Maggie:Thank you

(480)555-1058:I appreciate you texting me. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing.

Maggie:You’re welcome

Maggie:Have to go to work

I look down at my phone, chewing my bottom lip. Not sure if I should type next what I want to type.

Maggie:If you ever need to talk, I’m here.

I hit send before I can overthink it. He’ll probably never text me again. Maybe in a few weeks, I can check up on him. It’s notlike I’ll forget his number. I’ll probably never forget that number.

My phone beeps.

(480)555-1058:Thanks

Chapter 8

“But is it going to be fun?” my dad asks as he sits at his big, ancient, oak work desk. “We need some fun.”

It’s Wednesday and Chelsea, Devon, and I are all standing around my dad’s desk in his office at the shop, discussing the upcoming party we’re having to celebrate the anniversary of Cooper’s.

I’ve had a hard time getting Chase off my mind since we texted yesterday. I never heard from him again. There were quite a few times throughout the day that I found myself picking up my phone to text him back, but I stopped myself. It would be one thing if Chase were a long-lost friend of mine or even an acquaintance. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who now has my mom’s phone number. That’s our only connection. That and now I guess the fact that we’ve both lost our moms.

My mind keeps going back to him, though. Back to his texts. It’s hard to keep myself in the present.

But I need to because I can see that today my dad is antsy. He seems jittery … possibly hopped up on caffeine? And Chelsea looks like her head might pop off at any minute.

Which means everything is going as expected.

My dad’s office is just down the hall from mine. But, unlike mine, his has papers all over his desk and also a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in plastic that I’m pretty sure was fromyesterday. Thank goodness there’s plastic on it. This is Arizona, for crap’s sake. Ants are a continuous problem.

My mom used to clean up his desk, stating how symbiotic they were. Dad, with his constant stream of thinking and the clutter that comes with it (he might be a tad ADHD), and Mom, with her organization and planning skills. Chelsea is like our mom, I’m a mix of the two, and we’re not surewhatDevon is.

It’s been twenty-five years since Cooper’s opened. My dad started the shop when Chelsea was four and I was barely a year old. It’s been a part of my life since I can remember. I took my first steps in the front room of the small building my dad rented when he was getting things started.

As I grew up, so did the shop. We went from just my dad doing all of the work to a staff of thirty-five. Devon, Chelsea, and I run the day-to-day now, and my dad can just sit back and watch the well-oiled machine he built from the ground up do its thing.

If only that were the case.

Our dad is supposed to be traveling the world right now with Mom, visiting all the things they’d planned to see. Fulfilling so many lifelong wishes. But a large wrench was chucked into those plans when my mom got her diagnosis. They stopped looking toward the future and instead had to react to the present. Hospital visits, specialist calls, hours of research. There were lots of ups and downs and some promising outcomes that then turned out to not be promising. When they both realized that this was their future—and how little time was left—it became more about time, comfort, and long bouts of just being together.

Luckily, my dad had this totally organized business that stayed afloat during those times. Even Chelsea, Devon, and Iwere able to spend more time away from the shop and with our mom during the last part.

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