9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Maggie: How are you doing?
I t took me twenty minutes of going back and forth to decide to text Chase. I kept buffering with a game on my phone. I’m not sure why I want to. It feels … weird. But I do it anyway. His last texts still haunt me. I have this need to know how he is.
I’m sitting in my room the next Monday night, after sharing pizza with Hannah and then telling her I was going to go lie down after eating too much.
It wasn’t a lie—I really did eat too much. But I also wanted to text Chase. And I had to do it in secret, because I know how Hannah is. She has to know everything. Anytime I’m texting someone in her presence, she asks who it is. She just needs to know. She can’t help herself. I’ve even had to turn off my phone’s lock screen text preview because of her snooping ways. It’s also why I never texted my mom’s phone in front of her. I’d usually escape to my room, like I am right now.
I would totally tell her about Chase, but I’d have to explain the story behind it, and I’m not ready to tell anyone. I don’t know if I ever will be. Every version I come up with in my head ends with me sounding like a crazy person.
The three dots show up on my phone and I feel my pulse pick up from the strangeness of this entire thing .
(480)555-1058: I’ve been better
So much context in that one message. I feel that ache in my heart again.
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.
Chase: I’ve been on edge myself, worried about that. So this is a long-term side effect, then. Good to know.
Maggie: I’m pretty sure it’s different for everyone.
Chase: Pretty sure I’m not bouncing back from this anytime soon.
Now is the time to text back something cliché like, Of course you’ll bounce back ! Or Time heals all wounds , and then add a heart emoji for good measure . But those are the kind of answers someone who doesn’t get what you’re going through says.
I know. I know what he’s experiencing. The what-ifs. The why-mes. The if-onlys. I know them all.
Maggie: I’m starting to wonder if you ever fully do.
Chase: But it does get better ?
Maggie: That’s how it is for me. I feel … better. Not all the time, and not with everything. But I’m not huddled in the corner of my room anymore.
Chase: How did you know that’s where I am?
Chase: Are you stalking me?
Chase’s ability to make a joke, even this small one, surprises me. Like the funeral, the first week after my mom died is a blur. But unlike the funeral, I don’t really remember much of anything. No bits and pieces to tie together. I remember the day it happened—everything about that day is clear in my head. But for the next week, I don’t have much memory of it. Maybe I did make jokes. Maybe I did laugh. But I just don’t remember.
I text him back.
Maggie: You caught me
Chase: You’re a terrible stalker, then. Totally gave it away.
Maggie: Is this your expertise?
Chase: I’ve never tried. How does one start?
Maggie: I can’t give away my secrets.
Chase: Damn
I smile at my phone. This was not what I was expecting or hoping for when I checked up on Chase. I didn’t really have expectations. Just that I wanted to make sure he was okay.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Chase: Thanks for checking up on me. It made this day better.
Maggie: You’re welcome
I lay the phone down next to me and stare up at the ceiling again, feeling … lighter. There’s no real reason. No one thing I can pinpoint. Maybe it was just reaching out to Chase. I didn’t set out to make his day better; I just wanted to check in on him.
My mom would sometimes tell us, when we were having a hard time with something, to look outside ourselves for answers. I never quite got what she meant until right now. Being there for someone else … well, it sort of feels like a balm on my soul.
Is that what I’ve been missing? Have I been spending all this time worried about trying to find myself when I should have been looking outward?
It felt so good to check up on Chase, to do something for someone else. Maybe that’s been my problem all along. I’m having one of those moments where I feel like I’ve solved all the world’s mysteries. Like I want to share it with everyone. I could write a book. I might be asked to do a TED talk.
Or … maybe I shouldn’t put the cart before the wagon. Or before the horse … or is it the horse before the wagon? Whatever that saying is. I should probably test out this theory a little more.
I look at that heart on my ceiling. “You were right, Mom,” I tell it.
I don’t think that heart showed up only after my mom died. I’m not fanciful like that. I think it was there all along, but I was never compelled to look for it until she was gone. Maybe she wanted me to find it? Maybe she wanted me to see that she was still here, watching over me. Or maybe it’s just from a texturizing gun and there’s no significance whatsoever. But for now, I’m going to choose to think there’s a reason, that it was on purpose, and that there are no coincidences.