Page 80 of The Accidental Text

I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“No,” June says, patting the spot next to her.

“You are definitely not interrupting,” my dad says, his voice sounding very over the top and not at all convincing.

“Well, I can only stay for a minute.”

I walk into the large open living room and my dad takes a seat on the sofa across from June, as if to say,See? Nothing is happening here.I decide that I’ll just take a seat in one of theleather contemporary armchairs rather than sit next to either of them.

“So,” my dad says, his hand fidgeting with the smart home remote.

“So,” I say.

“What did Young-Hee make for dinner?” asks June.

I look at June and for a split second I forget that Young-Hee is Halmoni’s actual name. But of course June would know that, since we’ve all lived in the same neighborhood for decades.

“She made my favorite noodles,” I say.

“I love her cooking.”

Silence lands on the already-stilted conversation. Michael Bublé sings about feeling good, and my dad is still messing with the remote control.

“How was work today?” June asks, obviously feeling like she needs to keep up the conversation.

“It was pretty good,” I say.

“Your dad told me about the charity he picked.” She smiles warmly.

I will myself not to think of it, because every time I picture him, with tears in his eyes, making that announcement, I get choked up.

One thing, though, is clear: my dad talks to June about my mom. I don’t know why, but I’d wondered if he did. Or if it was like a past relationship that you don’t bring up with your new relationship—if that’s what’s even happening here. Is this a relationship? I’m not ready to ask.

“Well,” I say leaning forward in my chair. “I guess I better get going. I probably should head home.”

“Are you sure, Magpie?” my dad asks, finally piping in. It’s one of those questions you ask someone as a formality. I don’tget the idea that he’d like me to stay. Not necessarily because I’ve interrupted something, but because he’s not ready to be open about this. If he were, we’d all already know.

“Yeah,” I say as I stand up. “It was good to see you, June.” I walk over to my dad, who’s getting up from his chair, and give him a hug.

“Love you, Magpie,” he says in my ear, with his arms tightly around me. “So much.”

Chapter 22

Things may never happen with Dawson, but at least I’ll have Oscar—Chase’s dog—to fall back on as a companion.

“I think my dog likes you more than me,” Chase says, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

After a long day we ended up back at Chase’s house, which is a three-bedroom townhome near Tempe Town Lake. It’s more modern looking than I would’ve thought Chase would pick. I guess I never gave much thought to Chase’s style, but now that I’m here, it fits. I like the straight lines and stainless steel detailing. It’s definitely got that bachelor pad feel.

There’s almost a sterile feeling to his place—a lack of decor. If this were my house, there would be art on the walls and pictures of my family andwaymore color. It’s mostly blacks and grays throughout. Not much personality, not a lot of personal touches. Except for one framed family picture, a five by seven, sitting on the kitchen counter.

It’s the perfect location for a dog, though, with all the trails and the lake nearby. I can picture Chase and Oscar making good use of all the amenities.

I’m currently sitting at one end of a black leather sectional couch, Chase on the other end, his legs sprawled out, with a very fluffy golden retriever’s head in my lap. Oscar’s tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as I rub his head. He’s been next to me since the minute Chase introduced us.

“Well, if he wants to come home with me, I’m okay with that.” Oscar’s eyes open and I start scratching under his chin. “Do you want to live with me, Oscar? Do you?” I say, using that voice everyone uses when talking to dogs.

Chase scowls at me. “He may have fallen in love with you, but he’s not going anywhere. Sorry, boy.”

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