Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“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.”