One Year Left Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  One Year Left

  J.C. ROBINSON

  Copyright © 2017 by J.C. Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  .

  CHAPTER 1

  Will

  The last year of my life had officially begun when I walked out the airport doors. I stood on the curb of the pickup zone, waiting for my ride, Daichi, to pick me up in our yet-to-be-named food truck. I spotted Daichi through a sea of taxis, leaning against what I assumed would be our truck. I wove through businessmen and vacationers, pulling my one measly suitcase behind me as I made my way over to him. To be honest, the truck looked as if it would fall apart at any second.

  “I’m not spending eight hours a day in that hunk of junk,” I teased as I closed within hearing distance.

  He looked up and beamed, walking over to embrace me in a tight bear hug.

  “Welcome to Portland, the best place to spend your last year of life!” He finally let go, allowing me to breathe again.

  “Thanks for picking me up.” I opened the passenger side door and threw my suitcase on the floor.

  “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after being so behind schedule on the truck.”

  I hopped into the truck and shut the door behind me. I had left Daichi to do most of the planning while I was getting my move to Portland together, but now I had three hundred and sixty-five days left, and there was no use in wasting them by bemoaning a lack of planning. “Are you saying now I have to do more than just provide the credit card scanner app?” I asked. Despite the potential added work, it was good to be with Daichi.

  “Yeah, man. We still need a permit, a name. Do you even have the app? Also, the paint—”

  “Let me stop you there. Do you have something so I can write this down?” I asked.

  “Yep!” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m not even worried—we’ll just start a week late.” I shrugged with a smile. “That’s the attitude!” Daichi said as he merged into airport traffic.

  The silence wasn’t long-lived as Daichi told me of his weekend.

  “So, have you ever had a goose honk at you? ’Cause they are terrifying...”

  I turned and looked to him. “Daichi... Were you sober?”

  My best friend placed one hand over his heart, “Well, I would never… William Patterson, how could you think such a thing?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe just that you haven’t been sober one weekend since you met Erin...” I said.

  “True enough.” Daichi nodded as his smile turned to an exaggerated frown. “True enough.”

  I could always rely on Daichi for a good story. It was part of the reason I had chosen to spend Operation One Year Left here in Portland, Oregon. I glanced to Daichi as he navigated through traffic. Whether I’d be partaking in his less-than-legal shenanigans, I doubted it. But hey, I didn’t know how I’d be feeling when those three hundred and sixty-five days dwindled down to double digits.

  “Did you ever talk to your roommate?” Daichi asked, snapping me out of my daydream.

  “I haven’t. I actually just agreed with the landlord for the place this morning. On the tarmac, actually.” My last-minute stunt earned a side-eye from him. I knew I had pushed the risk factor too far when Daichi gave me weird looks.

  He pulled the truck into a parking lot and brought us to a stop. “We’re here!”

  I looked out the window and saw a rundown storefront with a sign barely hanging—if it even was a storefront. The sign was unreadable, and the inside looked empty. I couldn’t even imagine what we’d be picking up from this place.

  “Where is ‘here’?” I asked, skeptical we’d want anything to do with supplies from “here.”

  Daichi lowered his head. “Erin wanted me to pick something up…”

  “Oh, go ahead.” I waved him off.

  He returned shortly, stuffing something into his jean jacket as he jumped into the driver’s seat.

  The next stop for equipment wasn’t far off. Although I had no idea what the machine did. Daichi was the chef. My cooking skills only extended to Easy Mac and Pop-Tarts. My responsibility was the payment app, and I already had that.

  While hauling miscellaneous cooking machine number two into the truck, Daichi restarted the conversation.

  “So besides this lovely truck, what do you have planned for the next twelve months?”

  “Like four doctor appointments,” I said, after brief contemplation.

  He stared at me. “Is that it…?”

  It was. Beyond moving here to work on the truck and have my occasional doctor’s visit to get me through the last twelve months, I had nothing planned. Maybe a dentist appointment and a few dates, but beyond that, I was stumped. I changed the subject.

  “What do you have planned?” I asked.

  He shrugged as much as he could while struggling to place the machine inside the truck. “I don’t know, but I’ve got like twenty-three whole years to figure it out.”

  “Twenty-three?”

  “Yep, I know Erin will get me into something I won’t make it out of. So I’ll probably only make it to fiftyish.”

  It was my turn to stare. Our conversations were certainly bleak lately. What did I have to look forward to? I had to create an opportunity so I didn’t waste these twelve months. I wouldn’t spend my last year the way I had the previous twenty-six.

  With the machinery in the truck, Daichi and I called it a day, stopping by his place to hang out. We played Mario Tennis, watched random TV, and just generally messed around until my introversion wanted me home.

  Daichi drove in relative silence on the way to dropping me off at my new beginning. I hated beginnings. I didn’t have great luck with them, especially when it came to people. As a result, I sat with my head against the glass as the truck bumped along the road, thinking of where it truly all began. Thinking about what had set me down the path of moving almost three thousand miles from everything I knew.

  * * *

  It was seventh grade, and I had just received a message from Liz on AIM. Liz was the girl who had a quiet, bashful smile and blonde hair that ran halfway down her back. She had just agreed to go out with me. I could imagine her beautiful blue eyes sparkling on the other end of the computer. Back then, that was essentially dating without the dates, I think... It was never completely clear to me, which maybe explained why I failed so miserably with her.

  Having read the message, I released my white-knuckle grip on my desk, jumped with delight, and sprinted around the house like a lunatic.

  Once I returned from my victory lap, I continued chatting with her online for the rest of the night. The next school day I went in and alerted my friends. Yeah, that’s right—I’ve got my first girlfriend, Liz, a girl I actually had a crush on. Usually crushes never worked for me, outside of my daydreams. I was painfully shy. I could squeeze out my charm online, but in person, I was not charming. And by not charming, I mean terrified of speaking to the oppos
ite sex.

  Had I mentioned I hadn’t spoken to Liz in person yet? Yeah… But! I was looking to remedy that after school. Instead of taking the bus, Liz and I were going to walk home together.

  The day passed easy enough; I like to think I kept my nerves relatively under control. Even when the final bell rang, I calmly walked to the front of the building. However, once I saw her, I think that must have been the turning point. I approached her, wringing my hands and rehearsing my first words. To be honest, I don’t know how those words came out, but I found myself walking home with her and Sara, her best friend. Still not having exchanged any words, we crossed the first street. The three of us reached a sidewalk, and the two of them conversed. I fell behind, hands tightly gripping my backpack straps. Every step added to my anxiety—I was blowing it. One tree passed, two trees, and then three. My eyes went between Liz and Sara, my teeth grinding behind my tight-lipped frown. Four trees in, and my frustration reached its boiling point. So I kicked the poor tree. Both girls looked back. Nothing else from that evening exists in my memory. I don’t remember how I got home, or what I did after.

  The next memory I have is receiving an email from Liz the next day after school. Of course, it was her breaking up with me. So forget my first kiss; I was still working on my first in-person chat. Although, I had knocked off “obtain first girlfriend” from my bucket list. Still lagging behind, but it was something. I still counted it despite a ratio of ninety-six percent online interaction to four percent in person. For years, I remembered being the happiest guy alive with a grin so wide that it hugged the back of my head.

  Despite the failure, I would always be reminded of the happiness and the ensuing tears on my keyboard as it ended. Maybe these reminders were what made it so painful as I started down the road of personal connection failures.

  * * *

  Jessica played soccer and wore the number 15 for our JV team. I can recall speaking to her on AIM into the early hours of the morning. I imagine that online I was as charming as I am now, but this did not translate to the halls of my high school. (Sense a pattern?) I was still just as terrified of saying hi as I was in seventh grade. I failed time and time again when attempting to greet her. We would always get back home and she’d ask why I hadn’t returned her wave or met her gaze during school. I told her that it was a challenge for me, and that one day I’d get it. But I never did, at least not in time for her to take me seriously as a romantic interest. The most words I said at one time to her was the one time she had taken my phone, playing the Mariah Carey ringtone I had downloaded. I didn’t have a tenth of the confidence I do today—I was a completely different person.

  The second half of the high school crushing equation was Kerry. She was and will remain one of the biggest crushes I’ve had. Unfortunately, with Kerry, the best I did was accidentally flipping her shirt up while playing basketball, or the time I swatted her shot back to the opposite baseline. At one point, Ryan and my group of friends were going through a “bros before hoes” phase. I use that phrase in quotes with a great deal of reluctance for many reasons I shall not dive into now, but just keep that in mind. Anyway, I was walking with her toward her house, and we were passing one of my friend’s houses. I remembered I had promised to order a pizza with the guys and with the current theme of “Guys Rule!” I let her walk home alone and went in to get my snack on. I regretted that decision for some time, after my pride of choosing “right” faded. But nonetheless, being older and wiser, I know that would not have made a difference. A guy can dream, though...

  Now that I think of it, Kerry might have been the creation of the quintessential model of the type that I would come to know and chase so often. The brown- or black-haired girl with a contrasting pale or slightly tan complexion. An easy charm to their smile, but dark eyes that went well with brooding. I think the relaxed, sensual look is what gets me. That and the contrasting glowing smile. I suppose Andrea from English 101 at the University of Maryland and many others owe my undying crushes to Kerry in that way.

  .

  CHAPTER 2

  Kristen

  Twelve words. Albeit twelve beautifully crafted words, but twelve, nonetheless. I stared at the assignment for my government and politics class. Meanwhile, in a different browser window, I had almost a hundred thousand words written of the adventure novel I’d been meticulously creating for the better part of two years.

  “Hey, Kristen. What’s for dinner?” Cooper called from the bed behind me. I switched back over to the homework document in case he glanced over.

  “I don’t know, Cooper.” I bemoaned his interruption. “I’ve really got to finish this.” The assignment was due soon, but I wasn’t working on it.

  “Should I order a pizza, then?”

  Damn it, Cooper. No other options? “I’ll cook.” I took a deep breath and closed my laptop a little too strongly.

  “Thanks, babe,” he said, eyes still glued to the TV.

  I didn’t bother to respond, he wouldn’t hear me, anyway. I took my time getting down the stairs and leaned against the counter once in the kitchen, rubbing my thumb and forefingers against my forehead.

  Was I overreacting? No, of course not. I felt my fists involuntarily clench. I had no idea why I had even begun to consider that I was in the wrong when he was at fault. He couldn’t respect my body or my wishes. Why did he act like he was incapable of doing so? I thought as my mind strayed. I guess this wasn’t about pizza.

  I pushed off the counter and turned to open the cabinet. I had almost forgotten that I came down here to cook after my anger-fueled daydreaming.

  “Whatcha gonna make?” I jumped as Cooper rounded the corner. How did I not hear him come down? Another angry daydream side effect.

  Time to activate the deep belly breathing I learned in yoga. I made a concerted effort to unclench my jaw, at least until I finished cooking for this big baby. “What do you want?” I swung around to face him, hands on my hips.

  “Jesus, I don’t know. You’re my little chef.”

  Not tonight, I’m not. “Why don’t you order that pizza, after all? I’m going to take a bath.” The bathroom. The only place I could relax before my new roommate showed up. I couldn’t allow myself to take out my frustrations on them.

  Five minutes later, I was climbing into the bath hoping Cooper would be gone when I got out. I would talk to him tomorrow. I leaned my head back on the edge of the tub, willing the bubbles to drown my frustrations. Instead, I found myself thinking more about Cooper and our relationship. He used to be nice. When was the turning point?

  Jeez, Kristen. Don’t ruin the bath. I let the bathwater and the scent of lavender wash over me. Good. Time to plan the next chapter in my novel.

  “Hey, babe. I think I’m gonna take off, all right?”

  I turned up my music.

  “Babe?”

  How loud do I have to make it?

  The floorboards creaked as he finally retreated down the stairs. I lowered the volume and heard the door shut in the distance.

  Half the nights with Cooper ended with me jumping out of the bath to get wine after I starved him out of the house. The sudden lack of tension in my muscles was sign enough that we were through.

  * * *

  I met Cooper on OkCupid. He had messaged me first, saying something dumb but catchy. I thought he was cute, so I responded. We messaged back and forth, and eventually began texting. He invited me to a few parties, but me being the person that I am, I declined. I’ve always preferred meeting somewhere I could actually hear someone. After turning down the first few offers, Cooper seemed to get impatient with my lack of interest in heading out to meet him at some mysterious party. I could feel myself losing his attention. End of story, right? Nope. I decided one day to just go for it.

  That night, I got in my Mazda and drove the forty-five minutes to the party. I arrived, parked, and walked into the house. It was gigantic. The host pointed me, mouth slackened, downstairs to where the guests partied, though partied mi
ght have been a bit generous. There were two or three other girls there and one guy besides Cooper. Needless to say, it was a bit awkward. What was I thinking?

  Long story short, after a couple of hours of doing who knows what, Cooper began making out with one of the other girls. He had invited me there and then made out. With someone else. Cue that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

  I left within the minute. Although, on the way out I did receive a sad puppy look from his friend and an obligatory “Sorry.” I began the drive home with some unnamed R&B in the background. The usual forty-five-minute drive took a little longer when I had to pull over and cry.

  Yet somehow, I ended up with that clown. Maybe because sadly, he’d been the best of the bunch so far.

  * * *

  My first boyfriend was Stephen. The only legacy he left behind was that I learned to stand up for myself. Oh, and he also left me with a lovely stomach scar. If not for him, I’d probably be running out of the bath for Cooper instead of the wine.

  I spent the summer after leaving him and the first semester of college isolating myself, especially away from romantic pursuits. I was forced out of my apartment eventually, though. I have my best friend, Chris, to thank for that. She dragged me out to a party one night, and I did my usual thing—sitting in the crowd but not really approaching anyone. I did meet a girl there that I ended up dating briefly, no more than a few weeks. Now that I think about it, she didn’t leave me with any emotional scars. Maybe if my incoming roommate was attractive, we could develop something. I don’t know why I continually ended up with the more brutish gender.

  Chris was so happy with her matchmaking success that she took me to another party shortly after I became available again. This is where I met Bobby. He was fairly off-putting at first, but he grew on me, somehow. I still had a deep-rooted fear that he would turn out to be a total ass, but he was pretty patient with me. We started dating, and after six long months, I decided to have sex with him. Fast forward three and a half years and we were still dating. We had moved in together, I had been working as a barista at the local coffee place and taking courses online. Things were solid.