Happy Deathday

Jonah stared at the lake. He’d been alternating between watching the colors of the sunset dance on the water and his countdown timer. Today was his deathday. He had less than an hour to live. He’d invited his friends and family to come help him watch the timer go to 0.0.00.00.

No takers.

They were afraid they’d compromise their own deathday clocks, that there would be a calamity making it their deathday as well. Jonah was healthy, so everyone, including his well-paid deathday consultant, assumed there would be an incident. People close to him with deathdays far in the future, wanted to keep it that way.

But his consultant had promised he wouldn’t be alone. In the event they could not change the timer, they were supposed to be there for comfort. The full-service package is what he’d paid for, but his consultant wasn’t there. They, she—Nora was MIA. He’d given her the location, and it was literally her job to know the date and time. She’d promised, and he’d believed her. But he’d also believed her when she’d said she could change his countdown clock.

“No problem,” she’d said with a beautiful, light-hearted smile. “You are young, wealthy, healthy, and handsome. You deserve to live a long, luxurious life.”

She had good references, too. Since two years prior, when timers had appeared instantaneously on everyone’s electronic devices, she’d changed or delayed the deaths of over seventy-two clients—that’s three a month.

And for the ones she couldn’t save, their families had left glowing reviews about how comforting she’d been. She was one of the best and most expensive. Money was not an issue, not where his life was concerned.

Jonah understood why no one, including Nora, was there, but it was hard. He’d not planned to die alone, sitting on a park bench, drinking wine from a Stanley tumbler while watching the sunset. He wondered what would happen.

Will a car veer off the road? Will I have an aneurism? Is the wine poisoned? Will it hurt?

He shook off the last question, trying to quell the fear in the pit of his stomach and failing. His foot bounced on the pavement. He looked at his phone again, checking for messages, checking the timer. It still cascaded toward the zeros.

Jonah had tried to alter his timer but couldn’t. With Nora’s help, he’d changed his lifestyle, his morality. He’d prayed to various gods, made big donations to charitable organizations, and even tried leaving town. Nothing changed the days ticking to hours, now to minutes.

He knew one thing that would change the clock: walking into the lake and letting the water take him down.

Will I still be able to see the sunset from under the water?

So many people ended their lives on their own terms instead of letting the damned timer determine their deathday. He could be one of them, except that he was still waiting, hoping.

Jonah was peeled away from his downward spiral by a squeal in the distance.

“I’m here, babe. I didn’t bail.”

Nora was jogging down the trail leading to Jonah’s bench in a pink velvet tracksuit, carrying an oversized backpack.

He stood, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. Relief washed over him with the realization that he wasn’t alone. She was there.

“I thought…” he said with a stammer once she was close enough to hear.

“What? Thought I took your money and ran?”

Even though she feigned offense, she laughed at him. But he could tell she’d been crying, eyes pink, cheeks ruddy.

“No way, babe. I parked further away and jogged in, just in case. But the trail went all around…” She waved towards everywhere. “You know what? Never mind, I’m here.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him off the bench and into a hug.

Her lips brushed across his, as if she wanted to kiss him but was afraid it would break her cheerful facade. Instead, she pushed away and started spreading out a picnic blanket on the nearby grass. Nora gestured for Jonah to join her, which he did and helped her pull little boxes of cheeses and olives, pastries and pâtés from the backpack.

“Last meal?” asked Jonah.

“Yeah, all the bad stuff you couldn’t eat when we were trying to make you healthier,” she said, popping an olive into her mouth. He loved that she’d never shied away from his dark humor.

“Add this to your bill,” he said, grinning. “Along with the cottage and the travel, and the meals and….” he trailed off, smirking and bumping shoulders with her.

“In my defense, I thought leaving the continent would work. It did the trick with most of my other clients. I mean, after lifestyle changes, running away to Europe was a home run. Well, except with the elderly. I’m good, not magic.”

“Maybe it didn’t work because you came with me. I keep saying you’ll be the death of me. Still, it was worth it—great vacation. You were quite the tour guide.”

Of course, he’d insisted she accompany him. She’d been his constant companion, on his arm and later in his bed. She’d become more than his consultant; she’d become his world. They were both surprised that purchasing a cottage in southern Italy hadn’t changed his clock by even a second. Nora had been inconsolable.

“It feels wrong taking the cottage. We were supposed to live there together. I feel like I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.” Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you. After this, I’m quitting. I can’t handle it, losing someone I love—losing you.”

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. You can sprinkle my ashes on the shore of the Mediterranean, and we’ll still be together in some small way.”

“I don’t want some small way. I want you,” she said with a hiccup, tears spilling across her cheeks.

He held her as she ugly sobbed into his chest for a few minutes, rubbing her back.

“Shh, these last minutes should be sweet. I want you to remember us laughing.”

“I don’t want memories.”

“How about this?” he said, holding her tighter. “What if we say it’s enough, and you just head home? No picnic. Just take the wine and the food and go. Besides, if there’s some sort of accident, I don’t want you caught in it.”

He was serious. They’d been lovers, and he could see how this hurt her. It was too great an ask, having her sit there and watch him die, even if she were contractually obligated. He looked at his phone to confirm they were coming down to the last half hour, plenty of time for her to get away.

The timer had stopped. He looked at her and back to his phone.

“No. I’m a professional,” she said, knuckling tears from her eyes, not noticing his shock. “And I want to be here with you. I want us to smile, drink wine, and eat pâté.”

Jonah tested the situation.

“Sweetheart, don’t be brave for me. This is too much. And you’re right, the cottage will be too hard alone. We can let my relatives take care of it. Just leave now, before anything happens,” he said, staring as the timer started whirring backwards, adding years to his life.

Was it that simple?

He wanted to show her but thought better of it, wondering which part of the picnic would have killed him.

“No, I insist. I will be by your side until the end.”

The last light of sunset caught on her new Rolex as she poured champagne and held out the flute in his direction.

“Then eat and drink all of this alone.” His voice void of emotion as he stood to leave.

“What?” she asked, looking up at him. Her eyes still red from crying. “I don’t understand. Are you worried about me? I’ll be fine if you’ll please stay with me and have one glass of champagne.”

He walked toward the parking lot, Nora calling after him. Part of him—the part no longer dying—didn’t want this to be true. He loved her and wanted to believe she loved him. Maybe she bought something spoiled by accident, innocent and well meaning. He turned back to tell her about the clock, tell her he’s going to live.

Two steps towards her, and his clock began racing towards death. His suspicion confirmed, he spun on his heel and jogged to his car.

He laughed, tears welling up in his eyes. She would have been the death of him.