Chapter 2 Devon
Devon
I shouldn’t have dropped that like a grenade into the middle of our conversation. All the color drained from Kit’s face, and he sounded slightly choked when he whispered, “My god. You’re dying?”
“No, sorry. I’m perfectly fine.”
“But you just said you have less than three months to live.”
“Right.”
“I don’t understand.”
I wished I hadn’t brought this up, but there was no chance of back-pedaling at this point, so I said, “I won’t make it to thirty. My birthday is February first, and we’re already in late November. That gives me less than three months.”
“But you said you’re fine.”
“I am.”
“So, why do you think you’re dying?”
“Not dying, going to die. There’s a difference.”
“Going to die, then.”
“It’s a long story.” He was going to think I was nuts.
“I have time.”
It was too bad I was about to alienate Kit. He was incredibly cute, with his wavy, purple-black hair and big, dark doe eyes. I would have loved it if we could have become friends—ideally with benefits.
But he was waiting for an explanation, so I said, “When I was twenty-six, a psychic told me I wouldn’t live to see thirty.”
His expression changed in an instant, from worried to incredulous. “And you believed her?”
“Well, yeah, because there was more to it than that. She knew all this stuff about my family.”
“Sure, because that’s part of their scam!
They ask leading questions, then act like they came up with it on their own.
They’ll say, ‘I see someone with an S in their name,’ because that’s a really common letter.
Then when you say, ‘my college roommate’s brother’s cousin was named Steve,’ they act like they had this big revelation. ”
“I know that. It’s not like I’m the most gullible person on earth.” He was staring at me like that was exactly what he thought. “She knew all the men on my dad’s side of the family died before the age of thirty.”
“That’s terrible. Is it a genetic medical condition?”
“No, it happened in different ways. In my dad’s case, it was a car accident when he was twenty-eight. My grandfather died of pneumonia at twenty-six, and my great-grandfather was twenty-seven when he was shot in a robbery.”
Kit was still staring. “That’s a tragic history, and I’m really sorry for your loss. But you can’t possibly think it’s anything more than a coincidence.”
“I used to think that, until the psychic explained it’s a curse. I’m not sure who pissed off the wrong person, but they brought this on every man in our family, through the generations.”
“There’s no such thing as a curse, or a psychic, for that matter.”
I asked, “Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s impossible, according to the laws of science and plain old common sense.”
“But there’s so much that can’t be explained, like luck, and serendipity, and karma! There has to be more to this world than science can explain away, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Kit said. “If it’s something you truly believe, then that’s your business. I just hope this idea that you’re doomed doesn’t get in the way of living your life.”
“It’s done the opposite, by reminding me to live every day to its fullest. When I met that psychic, I was spending sixty hours a week at a job that made me miserable.
But when I found out about the curse, I quit and bought a plane ticket.
Then I spent the next several months backpacking through Asia—something I’d always dreamed of doing.
I’ve taken several more incredible trips since then and have met all kinds of interesting people, while chipping away at my bucket list, one item at a time. ”
“That’s cool, but what if the psychic was wrong?”
“Then I’d get to plan a future, have more adventures, and visit even more amazing places.
But I have no regrets, Kit. For the past three years, I’ve lived, really, truly lived, and I’ve had a great time doing it.
And here’s the thing—no one knows how much time we’ll be allotted.
Curse or no curse, my dad died at twenty-eight.
He was younger than I am now! Whether I live to twenty-nine or ninety-nine, this ride comes to an end for all of us. Why not enjoy it while we can?”
He studied me as he fidgeted with his cocktail napkin. “Since you believe in that curse, have you really accepted your fate? You seem awfully calm for someone who thinks they have less than three months to live.”
“I’ve worked my way through the entire grieving process—anger, bargaining, and so on. Sometimes I backslide into depression, but mostly, I’ve accepted my fate.”
“So, if you wake up on your thirtieth birthday and realize there never was a curse—”
“If that happened, I’d throw a huge party and add a bunch of new stuff to my bucket list.”
“Okay, but would you settle down? Find a steady job and put down roots somewhere?”
“Why would I do that?”
He knit his dark brows, still studying me carefully. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because everything I said still applies. Sure, it would be a huge relief to actually make it to thirty and realize I had more time. But I’d go on living each day like it might be my last, and fully appreciating the time I’d been given.”
He didn’t say anything, so I pressed ahead with, “I spent the first part of my twenties doing stuff that made me unhappy, and I never want to revert back to that. I tried going to college because it was what my mom wanted for me, but I hated it. I dropped out and went back and dropped out again before finally admitting it was wrong for me. I wanted to learn by doing, not by passively sitting in a classroom, being spoon-fed information.”
The condensation dripped off my glass when I picked it up.
After I took a drink, I continued, “After my college attempts, I spent over four years working in my stepdad’s company.
They manufacture and sell vinyl siding. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and take over the business when he retired.
I really tried to stick with it, but it was sucking the life out of me.
As much as I hated to disappoint him, I couldn’t stand working in an airless office and pretending to care about such a boring product, day in and day out. ”
“Maybe that’s why you wanted to believe the psychic’s prediction,” Kit said, “because it gave you an excuse to leave a job you hated.”
“I was going to quit anyway. It just gave me a push to do it sooner.”
He murmured, “I see,” even though I knew he really didn’t.
“I’ve had this same conversation with a lot of people over the last three years. Most of them thought I was nuts, so it’s fine if you do, too. I’m used to it.”
“I don’t think you’re nuts. I think you’re interesting.”
I smiled at him. “That’s good.”
“I’m curious about your bucket list. What’s on it?”
“All sorts of things. Some are huge and life-changing. Others are silly and fun. I’d show you, but it’s in the journal I’ve kept for the last three years, which is inside my backpack.”
“Maybe I can help you get it back,” he said.
“Your former landlord probably won’t expect you to come right back after threatening you with a sword.
What if I knock on his door and distract him while you break in again and grab the backpack?
Just the backpack though, so you can be in and out quickly. ”
“Really? You’d be willing to help me?”
“Sure, because your photos and journal are important. How did you get in last time?”
“I had to climb onto a dumpster, so I could reach the bottom of the fire escape and pull myself up. Then I used a credit card to jimmy the lock on the window of my former bedroom, but my stuff wasn’t in there.
It turned out he’d stuck it in the hall closet.
I’d just found it and was gathering it up when he came home and spotted me.
When he grabbed one of the swords off his wall, I panicked and ran. ”
“I wonder why he didn’t throw your stuff out.”
“He might have planned to sell it, since he’s a total opportunist,” I said. “I guess he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“When did he kick you out?”
“Yesterday. I spent last night in a hotel, and when I came back for my things in the morning, he yelled at me and slammed the door in my face. That was when I realized I’d have to break in if I wanted my stuff back.”
“How long do you need to get in again and grab your backpack?”
“The lock took me about five minutes last time, but now that I’ve had some practice I bet I can open it in under a minute.”
“I can keep him talking for a few minutes. I just need an excuse to knock on his door.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, and after clicking through to Craigslist, I showed Kit the screen. “His ad for a roommate is up again. Maybe you could call and ask to see the apartment.”
“Good idea.”
As he pulled his phone from the pocket of his pale blue cardigan, I had second thoughts. “You don’t have to help me, though. This guy’s not exactly rational, and downright scary when you factor in the medieval weaponry. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“How would I get hurt? I’m just going to go see the apartment, keep him talking for a few minutes, tell him I’ll think about it, and leave.
He’ll probably be on his best behavior, because he’ll be trying to get me to move in.
When you went to see the apartment for the first time, he seemed fine, right? ”
“Yeah. I just thought the swords and the squirrel meant he was eccentric. I had no idea he was a creep at that point.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“Not until last night, when he got me drunk and tried to force himself on me. As soon as I shot him down, he became irrationally angry. He grabbed my key off the table by the door and told me to get out. I was more than happy to go. The next morning when I came back for my stuff, he told me he was keeping it and my security deposit to teach me a lesson. He said it was what a tease like me deserved.”
Kit seemed horrified. “Gross.”
“I know.”
“Did you sign a lease? Maybe you can take him to small claims court for the deposit.”