The Love of My Afterlife(75)

“Wanna shower?” Cooper asks, a wolfish grin on his face, holding out his hand for me to join him.

“Yes,” I say, slipping out of my dress. “Very much yes.”



* * *





I’m lying in Cooper’s bed, my head against his chest. He runs his forefinger up and down my arm. I sigh.

“What’s up?”

I turn onto my side to face him, propping my head on my hand. “When we were walking back from the station earlier, there was a group of people outside the pub. Singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to their friend.”

“I saw them.”

“I usually find the idea of parties and the like a full nightmare.”

“You do? Why?”

I blink. “Well…” Because no-one has ever thrown me a party, and I knew that no-one ever would throw me a party? “You know, all that performative jolliness. Yikes.”

“That’s a dark perspective on parties, Delphie.”

“Maybe I’m a dark-hearted person.”

“I see you. You’re not a dark-hearted person. God no. If your heart was a colour, it’d be yellow. The colour of a sunflower.”

I laugh. “That was so corny, Cooper. You sure you’re a writer?”

Cooper does a mock-wounded face. “I take it back. Your heart is hollow and grey like an old tin can.”

I laugh and sit up in the bed. “What I’m saying is that tonight I saw those people singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and I got it. Those guests, friends, family, whatever. They were witnesses to that guy’s life. The fact that they were there to see him change age—some arbitrary occasion—it marked it. It meant that it was remembered. That he will be remembered. Even when he’s gone. Because he had, you know, witnesses.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

I sigh again. “Mr. Yoon is fine, yes. But he’s old. And he might not be fine for much longer. For whatever reason he’s shut himself inside that flat for as long as I’ve known him—over twenty years. If he had died this morning, then who were his witnesses? Who would have been at his funeral? Me and you. And we don’t even really know him that well. And Jesus, soon I’ll be…”

“You’ll be what?”

I turn to Cooper. His dark-green eyes are twinkling and there’s a lazy half grin on his face. He actually seems to like me. Beyond the sex. I wonder once more how bothered he’d be if I was gone. Would he miss me? Surely not enough for me to halt all this for the next two days? I mean, maybe he’ll think about me for a week or so. But it wouldn’t be like when he lost Em—someone he actually knew and cared deeply about. I expect he’d get over me pretty quickly with the help of Lara and all the other women I’ve seen visiting him over the years.

“Mr. Yoon needs more witnesses,” I say eventually. “More people to know him. People who will remember him. Who will check in on him.”

“He has us.”

“It’s not enough.” I bite my lip. “There need to be, like, contingency people.”

I tap my hand against my knee and narrow my eyes as a plan starts to form.

“Contingency people?”

“Yeah…” I nod my head firmly and sit up straighter. “That’s it. I’m going to throw a party for Mr. Yoon. Nothing big. Nothing overwhelming. But just something to, you know, introduce him about a bit. To people.”

“Introduce him about a bit? He’s eighty-eight years old, and he seems to like being alone.”

“Eighty-six. And does he? Do we know that? I mean, I’ve pushed people away my whole life. I made that choice and now I…” My voice wobbles but I swallow it down. “Mr. Yoon, even if he wanted to have witnesses to his life, people to remember the important occasions, it’s got to be near impossible when you’re getting forgetful and you don’t speak and your body’s all creaky. He’s missed out on so much.”

“He’s always seemed pretty content to me.”

“I’m going to do it on Sunday.”

My last day on Earth.

Cooper laughs in disbelief. “You’re going to throw a party for our eighty-six-year-old neighbour the day after tomorrow. Why the rush?”

I take a deep breath. “Because life is too short to wait around on a good idea.”





37





The next morning, the doctor confirms that Mr. Yoon can come home, which is the very best news. I ask her if a gathering would be out of the question, and she tells me that if he is willing, it would be a nice thing—something to distract and uplift him. She warns me that in addition to taking a new medication to settle his stomach, Mr. Yoon must absolutely avoid any spicy or acidic food.

“No more giant fizzy cola bottles!” I chastise Mr. Yoon as I help him into the cab. “And the smoking really needs to stop.”

He snorts in response, shaking my shoulders a little as if I’m the one who needs to relax.

“I’m serious,” I say sternly. “I won’t always be here to look after you.”

After that Mr. Yoon stops chuckling, and though the ride continues in silence, we lean against each other the whole way home.