The Accidental Text - Becky Monson Page 0,2

mom needed a little more convincing. It didn’t take much, because they were married less than a year later.

All my life, I’ve had this movie in my mind of being walked down the aisle by my dad and looking over to see my mom crying tears of joy. I’ve dreamed of this since the day I decided boys were no longer gross and smelled like sweaty feet. Well, sometimes they still smell like sweaty feet—I’m just able to overlook it.

But my mom didn’t even get to see me in a long-term relationship. Not anything that went beyond six months. I’ve never really been in love, I’m pretty sure. At twenty-six, my dating history has been sparse, to say the least.

I realize I’m still young, and I hopefully have a lot of life ahead of me, but my wish to have what my parents had looks so far away, it seems unobtainable.

So far my parents’ relationship has only rubbed off on Chelsea, who, at nearly twenty-nine, is married and has two kids. The most adorable girls in the world, in my doting-aunt opinion.

Devon seems to be more on my track. Only he’s too big of a player to look for anything lasting. He’s a year and a half younger than me, so he’s old enough that it’s starting to be concerning.

“I don’t care about dates,” my dad says. “We can do this anytime.” He runs a hand up and down my back.

“I think we should just do it today,” Chelsea says. “We’re already here.”

“Not if Maggie isn’t feeling it.”

“Why’s everyone sitting here?” Devon asks, walking toward us, the top half of his jumpsuit unzipped and hanging around his hips, the arms swinging back and forth as he approaches. He’s got a white T-shirt on that shows off all the time he spends in the gym.

“Maggie doesn’t want to jump,” Chelsea says.

“I didn’t say that.” I whip my head toward her.

“Oh, sorry.” She purses her lips. Her eyes move to Devon. “She’s ‘not feeling it.’” She uses air quotes for the last part.

“I don’t sound like that,” I say, referring to her whiny imitation of me. “And only old people use air quotes.”

Chelsea’s mouth drops. “I’m not old!”

“Girls,” my dad says, his voice chastising.

“What’s going on, Mags?” Devon asks, his eyebrows pulled so low they hood his blue eyes. “Why are you freaking out? You were fine in the car on the way here.”

“I’m not freaking out,” I say defensively. “I’m just having second thoughts.”

“Why? We’ve jumped out of a plane plenty of times. You know what Mom says about jumping—”

“It’s safer to jump out of a plane than to get behind the wheel of a car,” I say, finishing the quote my mom pulled out when people couldn’t understand why this was a family pastime of ours. It wasn’t like a weekly thing or anything. But it was often enough that it caused concern for some people.

“Exactly,” Devon says, a smug smile on his lips.

“I know all that. I just … I can’t shake this feeling.” I look down at the floor.

“So we’ll wait,” Dad declares, his tone carrying a finality to it.

“No,” Chelsea protests loudly.

He holds out a hand to Chelsea. “If Maggie isn’t feeling like doing this now, then we’ll wait for another day when she is.” He picks up the urn in his hands, his eyes perusing it reverently.

Devon holds out a hand toward my dad. “We’re already here. If Mags doesn’t want to do it, I’ll do it. Give me Mom.” He flexes his fingers back and forth at my dad.

“No,” my dad says, pulling the urn in toward his chest in a protective stance. “We do this together. It’s what your mom wanted. We can wait.”

I want to tell them that we should just do it, that I can suck it up, but the relief I feel from the thought of not going up in that plane is so overwhelming, I can’t even bring myself to say it. I can’t fake it.

“When will we do it?” Chelsea asks, her obsessive need to have things planned out—to know all the details—making an appearance. When we were kids, she used to schedule time to play with me and our bubblegum-pink Barbie DreamHouse.

“When Maggie is up to it,” my dad says definitively.

Devon runs a hand down his face, his frustration evident. “Fine.”

“Sorry, guys,” I say, feeling tears building in my eyes. It’s from a little regret and a lot of relief. “I’ll get it together, I promise.” A tear