Page 25 of The Accidental Text

Maggie:I understand

(480)555-1058:The funeral was yesterday. Everything feels so final.

I nibble on my bottom lip, not sure what to say next.

My mom’s funeral was a blur for me. I remember parts of it so strongly. Like some of the people that were there. And some of the things her friends told me about my mom, things that I didn’t know but wanted to remember—to tuck away for a rainy day. My most vivid memory is my oldest niece, Alice, with her arms wrapped around her dad’s legs, saying “No, Nana, no” with tears streaming down her face. I won’t be able to forget that.

But most of it is bits and pieces put together in my mind. A fuzzy puzzle. The day, as a whole, felt like one big dream. Like I was having an out-of-body experience.

I text Chase back.

Maggie:How was the funeral?

(480)555-1058:It was sad but nice, I guess. Small. How she would have wanted it.

Tired of seeing my mom’s number in my face, I click on the edit button and change the contact name to Chase’s. It feels weird to do it since I don’t know Chase, but it’s better than seeing the number that used to belong to my mom.

I stare at my phone, wondering how I should respond. Or if I should. My phone beeps before I have a chance.

Chase:How are you?

Maggie:Pretty good

Chase:That’s what I like to hear. Pretty good. It means there’s hope. I haven’t felt any kind of good in nearly a week.

Do I tell him that I cried in the shower this morning? Better not.

Maggie:It takes time

Chase:How long would you say?

Maggie:I’m on month four

Chase:And how has month four been?

I look up from my phone, at my dresser with my mom’s jewelry box sitting on it. How has month four been? I don’t really know. I’m still getting over not texting my mom’s phone anymore. That part’s been hard. It was helping, more than I think I realized.

But if I look back to the first month and how difficult that was and compare it to now, I’m definitely better. I don’t feel like myself still, and I’m starting to wonder if this is the new me. That thought scares me. I don’t want to be this new anxious/chicken me. I miss my old self.

My phone beeps and I look down at my screen.

Chase:That bad, huh?

I smile at my phone.

Maggie:I’m definitely better. Less of the super tough moments. But I still don’t feel like . . . me.

Chase:I get that. What is it for you that makes you not feel like yourself?

I look up from my screen, wondering how to answer this. I don’t want to go into details with this stranger. But also, what have I got to lose?

Maggie:I guess I’m more anxious than I used to be.

Chase:Like something else will go wrong.

I take in a quick breath. This is exactly how I feel. I keep wondering … what could be next? What other piece of bad news will come my way? And this time, will I survive? Will it crush me into tiny bits until I’m just a pile of pebbles?

Maggie:Yes! I can’t shake it.

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