The Accidental Text - Becky Monson Page 0,3

escapes and falls down my cheek. Devon reaches over and rubs my shoulder, proof that, while irritated by the scenario, he still loves me.

My dad wraps his arm around me, pulling me toward him, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “Take all the time you need,” he says. “Mom’s not going anywhere.” He holds the urn up as proof, a joking smile on his lips.

“Dad,” Chelsea chides, the corner of her lips curled upward. “That’s totally inappropriate.”

“It’s the truth, though,” he says, with a shrug that makes my head bob up and down on his shoulder.

Chelsea stands up from the bench. “I better go, then. I can salvage the rest of the day with Mark and the girls. He took the day off, you know.”

Her intentional jab is felt in my gut, but not enough for me to change my mind. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I’ll be ready the next time, okay?”

My dad stands up and offers his hand to help me up. “You let us know when that is, Magpie.”

Chapter 2

“You choked?” Hannah asks me, her dark-brown eyes wide with disbelief. Her nearly black, perfectly straight, long hair tossing back and forth as she shakes her head at me.

“I didn’t choke,” I say, my tone defensive. “I just … freaked out.”

“That’s choking,” she says, dipping her chin to her chest.

“Fine. I choked.”

We’re currently sitting at the oak dining room table at Hannah’s family home, a modern light fixture hanging above us, giving the room a warm yellow hue.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Hannah in person since the ill-fated ash spreading incident yesterday. She’s been extra busy at work and came home late last night after I was asleep and was gone this morning by the time I woke up.

We’re only two doors down from the house I grew up in, the house where my dad still lives. Even though we have our own apartment in downtown Scottsdale, you can regularly find us around here, in one of our childhood homes. We mostly hit up Hannah’s because her grandma likes to make us dinner and it’s a thousand times better than anything we could make on our own. Hannah and I both lack in the cooking department.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hannah asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Sorry?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve gone weird on me. The Maggie I know would’ve jumped out of that plane.”

I look down at the table, the soup Hannah’s grandma prepared in front of me.

I let out a breath. “I just … don’t feel like myself right now.”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean … my mom just died.”

“Of course.” She nods her head, her eyes crestfallen. “And we all miss Katherine Cooper very much.”

Hannah loves calling my mom by her first and last name. I’d once thought it was a Korean thing, but it turns out it’s because she enjoys the alliteration so much.

We’ve lived down the street from each other since I was six and Hannah was five. We bonded our first day of first grade, and the fact that we lived so close only sealed the deal. We were instant besties, always together, only separated during the summers when Hannah would go with her grandma to South Korea to visit family, and also during college, when Hannah went to Stanford and I stayed here and went to ASU.

After college and a year back at our parents’ houses, we finally got an apartment together, where we’ve been for the past four years. Hannah has a real job now, working at her mom’s law firm, and can no longer do a full summer trek to Korea, much to her grandma’s chagrin.

“What I mean is,” Hannah says, “the Maggie I know would have honored Katherine Cooper’s wishes, no matter what.”

“I know. That’s what I mean about not feeling like myself,” I say. It’s hard for me to get people to understand how I’m feeling when I don’t even understand it.

“How did Chelsea take it?” Hannah asks. She takes a sip of broth from the dumpling soup her grandma made us from leftover mandu she’d made for the Lunar New Year celebration last weekend.

“She was … annoyed.” I look away from Hannah and over toward the contemporary decor of the living room. The space has changed a lot since we were kids. Some pieces are still here from when we were younger, like the modern-looking grandfather clock in the corner and the painting that hangs over the fireplace. Hannah’s mom is very particular about keeping things