“Because you were always so enthusiastic and bursting with ideas. Meanwhile, I was so worried about trying to land a good job after graduation that I could barely produce anything. I finally managed to let that go and have fun with my senior project, but up until that point, it was a struggle.”
“I think that’s where I ended up after graduation,” I said. “When I was in school, I gave myself permission to have fun and do whatever I wanted. But over the last few months, I’d been feeling all this pressure to launch my design business. The work just wasn’t coming in, so I started to doubt myself, which had a huge impact on my creativity.”
Hal indicated the stack of sketches I’d just produced. “It looks like you found your way past that.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to find my groove again, thanks to Devon and this road trip. I think he knew how much I needed a change of scenery. I just wonder…”
When I left that open-ended, Hal asked, “What were you going to say?”
“It occurred to me that I might be Devon’s next bucket list item. He believes the rest of his life can be measured in days or weeks, and this is how he’s choosing to spend it—by helping me.” I met my friend’s gaze and asked, “Am I just another check mark on his list, a final good deed?”
“He truly cares about you, Kit. You have to see that.”
“I do.”
“So then, does it matter what prompted him to take you on this road trip in the first place? The end result is the same—you two are together, and you’re both having a wonderful time. He’s obviously getting as much out of this as you are.”
I nodded, but an insecure little part of me had to wonder—would a man like Devon even be interested in me under normal circumstances? He was pretty far out of my league. And would he still choose to be with me once he realized he had his whole life ahead of him?
I kept these thoughts to myself though, because I knew they sounded pathetic.
Devon and Ryder were absolutely giddy when they returned from their tank adventure. They’d gone for the deluxe package, which included a junky car to crush with the tank, a chance to blow up a fake munitions bunker, and a session with a flame thrower.
As Hal and I looked at the photos on Ryder’s phone, I shook my head and muttered, “I can’t believe this is legal.”
“Me, neither,” Devon said, with a huge grin on his face. “It sure was fun, though.”
They’d brought home Chinese take-out, which was a big deal to Hal and Ryder. That made sense, though. It wasn’t like they were getting restaurant deliveries way out here in the country.
While Ryder and Devon went to clean up, Hal and I reheated the various dishes, which of course had gotten cold on the long drive home. They’d brought enough to feed ten people, and when I pointed that out, Hal said, “It’d be great if we ended up with leftovers, but Ryder might end up eating all of this.”
It seemed unlikely that anyone could eat that much, until we sat down for dinner and Ryder loaded his plate and cleaned it—four times. Apparently spending the day doing super butch shit worked up a huge appetite.
At one point during dinner, Hal asked Devon if the tank had been everything he’d hoped for. “Honestly, it was even better,” Devon said. “I figured it’d be a rush, and I was right. But really, that was for teenage me, the kid who read the ‘Tank Girl’ comics about a hundred times.”
I asked, “That’s why you wanted to drive a tank? Because of a comic?”
“Well, yeah.” Devon grinned and added, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m actually a massive dork.”
From the day we met, he and I had spent a huge amount of time together. We’d basically gotten a crash course in each other’s lives, and I thought I knew him pretty well. But now, as I listened to him talking about one of his obsessions, I realized I’d barely scratched the surface. It could take years, a lifetime, to learn everything there was to know about Devon Hughes.
A terrible thought came to me without warning—what if I never got that chance?
No. I refused to think that way. He wasn’t cursed, and he was going to live a long, happy life. It was way too upsetting, not to mention totally illogical, to even consider the idea that he might be right.
That night, Devon sat cross-legged on the bed in the guest room and rooted through his backpack. I took a seat beside him as he pulled out his journal and flipped through the many pages that made up his bucket list. I read a few checked off items—learn tojuggle, visit an active volcano, go ice fishing—and watched as he drew a checkmark next to “drive a tank.”
He was almost done, except for a handful of things. I pulled the Rubik’s Cube from his backpack and asked, “Want me to show you how this is done?”
“Might as well. I’m ready to admit I’m never going to get it on my own.”
I showed him the method I’d learned, then jumbled the pattern again and handed it over. Within the hour, he’d solved it himself. He held it up triumphantly, and then he threw it in the waste bin, grinning as he muttered, “Thank god that’s over and I never have to do it again.”
I retrieved it from the empty can and stuck it in the nightstand as I said, “We should leave it here for future generations.”
“True. They deserve to be tortured just like we were.” Devon checked off the item on his list and put away his journal and the backpack. Then he turned to me and said, “Hey, I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
