Chapter 36

Jack was AB negative and I was type O negative. The holy grail of blood. Coming down one morning, we decided we should donate. It seemed the logical thing to do after a bender of self-indulgent debauchery.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.

Jack opened the passenger door for me. “Don’t be silly.”

It smelled of summer: floral, grassy, still, and dry. My skin was buzzing. We hadn’t slept at all. I stared out the window as we drove, watching the trees blink by. The world was blurred and unbearably loud. Mufflers growled and garbage trucks grinded and beeped.

My ears were blocked, so I plugged my nose and swallowed.

Jack killed the engine. “You ready, my little bloodlover?”

My ears popped as I shifted my jaw from left to right. “Yeah.”

We climbed out of the car, entering the sterile building and making our way to reception.

A woman sat behind the desk, wearing thick-rimmed black glasses. Her hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail. “Hello, do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Jack approached the desk, resting his elbows on it. “Do we need one?”

“You do not. First time donating?” She blinked at us.

“No,” we said in unison.

“Alrighty, I’ll need you both to fill out these forms.” She slid two pieces of paper across the counter using her index finger, as if she were discreetly offering us a pay increase.

The form consisted of a series of yes/no questions. Jack and I began circling our responses, lying where necessary without hesitation.

Are you exhibiting flu-like symptoms?

Do you have diabetes?

Have you had dental work in the past three days?

Have you ever tested positive for HIV/AIDS?

Have you travelled outside the country in the past year?

Have you used cocaine in the last year?

Have you had sex with a man who in the last year had sex with another man?

Have you been in contact with or exchanged bodily fluids with a monkey?

Snickering, I slid my finished sheet back to the woman.

I watched as Jack answered the last few questions. “Didn’t you just have sex with that monkey last week?” I tapped my long, manicured fingernail on the desk, soothed by its clacking. “I thought you guys made a cute couple.” I turned to the receptionist and smiled charmingly.

“She’s kidding.” Jack handed over the form.

The receptionist was unamused. “Have a seat in the waiting area. They’ll call your names when they’re ready.”

Jack and I settled on the padded grey chairs. The majority of people in the room were young, in their thirties and forties. A red-haired man in a blue suit sat across from us, reading a magazine. He reminded me of William for some reason. Maybe it was the freckles, or the way his brow was furrowed. I missed him; he had been offshore for the past few months.

Most people were alone, so there wasn’t much chatter aside from the receptionist’s hushed voice as she answered the ringing phone.

I rested my head on Jack’s shoulder and shut my eyes, thinking of blood, of bodies, and of magic.

I straightened and scooted over, leaving an empty seat between us.

“Wanna see a trick?” I asked, pulling a deck of cards out of my purse.

“Sure.” Jack grinned.

I cut the deck. A woman wearing an orange sweater covered in pictures of cats shot me a look, as if to say this is not a place to play. I maintained eye contact as I shuffled until she backed down.

“Pick a card, any card,” I said in my best announcer’s voice.

Carefully, Jack selected one, eyeing me to make sure I wasn’t peeking. I separated the deck into three piles on the chair between us.

“Place your card on top of one of the piles, please, sir.”

He placed it on the middle stack. I began counting, laying them into more piles. Then, I reassembled the deck.

“Is this your card?” I asked, fully aware that it was not.

“No.” His eyebrow cocked, assuming I had messed up.

“Oh, shoot. Can you tell me your card?”

“It was the queen of hearts.”

“Okay. I’m going to spell it out for you.”

“Q.” I flipped a card, placing it face-up.

“U.” A second card.

“E.” A third card. All the while counting in my head.

I turned the cards until I reached the last letter: “S.” Flipping the final card, there it was: the queen of hearts.

“Aw, cute,” he said.

“Jack?” The nurse called from the doorway.

Jack stood and I followed, sliding the deck into my purse and grabbing his arm. The red-haired man glanced up from his magazine, smiling at me. I smiled sweetly.

“Can we go in together?” Jack asked.

“Sure,” the nurse agreed, turning for us to follow.

She pulled back a curtain, revealing chairs and empty blood bags hanging from hooks attached to moveable poles.

Jack and I sat side by side as the nurse pressed her index and middle finger into my forearm, trying to locate a vein.

“Can you make a fist for me, please?” she asked.

“Sure.” I clenched my fingers into my palm. “My veins are small, people usually have trouble finding them.”

The nurse cleansed the area with an antiseptic wipe, the clinical scent hitting my nostrils. I watched closely as the needle pierced my skin. A slight pinch, a sharp inhale, and that was it.

I’ve always loved needles. Even as a kid at school, when it came time for us to have our shots, while all the other children cried and feared the nurse, I excitedly offered to go first, staring as the metal tip entered me. I felt a sense of exhilaration, letting a stranger inside my body.

“This will take about ten minutes,” she explained.

Jack took out his phone, passing me an earbud, and pressing the other into his ear. We listened to The Cranberries as the clear bags that hung overhead slowly turned red, our free hands joined. I thought about growing old with Jack, and how I might have to watch him die, lying in a hospital bed hooked up to machinery, his skin sagging, his eyes clearing in preparation for the transition. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling.

After the needle came out, as we ate our cookies and drank our juice, I examined the bags of syrupy blood. No matter how long I stared, I couldn’t differentiate mine from Jack’s.