Blake steered Krista around the harried medical staff and the loudly complaining injured in the waiting area of the emergency room. After escorting her to a chair, he sat on the adjoining hard plastic seat and pulled her close.
Krista gazed over his shoulder to his parents, who he knew were ambling away to get some coffee. “Your Ma and Da are wonderful. What should I call them?”
Blake was stumped for an answer. He knew Filipinos could not bring themselves to address people who were older than them by their given name. They always had to use an honorific to show respect. He was invited to call Krista’s parents Tito Arsen and Tita Marissa, and though he had used the Filipino words for uncle and aunt occasionally, he was more comfortable addressing them as Sir and Ma’am.
Scratching his head, he met his girlfriend’s enquiring gaze, then the answer came to him. Of course. “You can call them Ma and Da, like I do.”
Krista’s eyes shone. “Oh, Blake. Truly?”
“Yes. I want you to treat them like they’re your parents, too.”
“Blake, you’re home!” Beneath his hand, Krista’s spine straightened at the overfamiliarity in the female voice. He rubbed her back in reassurance before rising to greet the most important Filipina in his life prior to meeting Krista.
“Tita Belen.” He stepped forward to give his honorary aunt a hug. “How are you holding up?” he asked when they parted.
His aunt seemed thinner than the last time he saw her, a year ago. For a cook, she was unusually skinny. Today she appeared gaunt, brittle. And older, too. Lines stretched over her forehead; they bracketed both sides of her eyes and mouth. He held both of her hands in his. Her eyes were watery. Panic seized him. “Is Uncle Jack—”
“Oh, Blake! John is in a coma.” Tears fell, seemingly unnoticed, down her face. “The doctor said he ... lost a lot of blood, not just from the ... stabbing, but also from the head injury he got when he ... fell.” The last word came out in a hiccup. He caught her in his arms as she collapsed.
He sent a helpless glance to Krista. She stood and inclined her head towards the chair, suggesting he set his aunt down.
“Tita Belen, why don’t we—” He’d kept his tone low and gentle. Maybe a bit too gentle. She clung to him tighter, as if by getting closer she could absorb some of his strength. He awkwardly patted her back.
“Mrs. O’Connor.” Krista spoke softly, one hand resting lightly on Belen’s shoulder. She held a pack of tissues in the other hand.
His aunt’s head came up sharply from its place on his chest, and a mask of astonishment wreathed her features when she caught sight of the speaker. Krista spoke perfect English, if slightly accented. The way she pronounced the short “i” as the long “e” sound and kept the “o”s instead of making it sound like “er” betrayed her Filipino roots.
“Maire?” Tita Belen staggered backward and plopped down with a thud, her eyes never leaving Krista’s face. She shook her head as if to deny the vision in front of her. Brows knotted, eyes narrowed, she asked, “You’re not— Who are you?”
Bothered by the sharp tone in his aunt’s voice, Blake draped his arm across Krista’s waist. “Tita Belen, I would like you to meet Krista, my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? How come you never told me about her?”
Huh? They were close, but he and his aunt didn’t have the kind of relationship that would have him seek her out to update her about his life. He left those kinds of catching-up activities for when they met in person, usually during their annual reunion at Christmas. “I figured Ma would tell you.”
“Oh, my dear Belen!” Speaking of the devil, his parents had returned from their coffee run. “What did the doctor say?”
His father waved him to a seat adjacent to where Tita Belen and Ma sat. He led Krista there and accepted the coffee from his dad. The tail-end of his aunt’s update to his mother about Uncle Jack’s condition caught his attention.
“... blood donors.”
“Does Uncle Jack need a transfusion? I can donate. I’m O negative, the universal donor.”
“Thank you, Blake. I’m sure the hospital can use that, but the doctor said he needs B negative. The boys and I are all O negative. John is the only one with a different blood type.”
Krista gasped. Her hand, which rested on Blake’s leg, gripped his jeans, and her nails dug into the denim cloth. With voice just above a whisper, as if talking more to herself, she said, “I’m B negative.” Uttered low, only he heard it.
Krista and Uncle Jack had the same blood type? What an odd coincidence. But could she even donate?
Leaning close to her so that nobody else could hear, he said, “But, baby, you just got a tattoo.”
“So?”
“They might not accept your blood because you got your ink overseas. That tattoo parlor is not licensed according to US standards.”
“I want to try. You saw how sterile the artist kept her equipment, how clean the studio was. She used new needles and fresh ink. I’m certain my blood will pass the test.”
Facing her, he caressed her cheek. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She glanced at Tita Belen for a few seconds before nodding. “Yes, I want to help. Please don’t tell your aunt.”
It disappointed Blake that Tita Belen hadn’t taken to Krista as well as he’d thought she would. He’d expected their shared Filipino heritage would make them bond. Instead, his aunt was cold, bordering on hostile. He didn’t know what caused it, but now wasn't the time to find out. Perhaps Krista was right to keep her donation a secret until they knew that the gift would be appreciated.
He brushed a kiss on Krista’s forehead and said, “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see what I can do. Will you wait here? I’ll check what the process is.” At her nod, he moved to tell his father where he was going and to ask him to watch over Krista. He didn’t want to leave her by herself, but they couldn’t afford to waste time.
If Uncle Jack urgently needed Krista’s blood as his wife had said, Blake would make sure he’d receive it.