She’s suddenly grateful, in a small way, that she only has five bucks left. She can’t go to the LC and buy anything real. And for tonight there’s still tequila left, plus whatever will be at the party—plus, she won’t be alone. It’ll all be fine.

She calls the clinic and makes an appointment to talk with the doctor in a couple days. At Coffee Culture, she’d tried looking up ferritin, but had that been an expedition gone tits up. High ferritin didn’t seem good, but it could be related to a bunch of things for a bunch of reasons, and ferritin levels “differed by gender,” so what the hell did that mean for Gemma anyway? Whatever. She’s probably fine, but she’ll be responsible; she’ll talk to the doctor.

She peers into the old SAAN store, an empty building up for lease beside a spanking new Shoppers. Could she imagine having gone in there to try on, like, a skirt or something? That would’ve been a hoot, thinks Gemma. That would’ve been just a hoot.

Gemma is on the couch when Ava gets home. It’s raining again. Gemma faces the window with the shade raised, idly on her phone in front of an ocean of water and clouds.

Ava bends forward over the couch’s back and lets her hair fall down Gemma’s shoulders. She kisses Gemma on the top of her head, holds her by her sunburned arms.

“Hi,” Ava whispers.

Gemma leans back and closes her eyes. “Is the party still on?” she murmurs.

“The rain’s supposed to let up.”

It’s nice that Ava’s returned with warmth. Gemma hasn’t welcomed a lover home from work in a long time. She’d forgotten she liked that feeling.

They make a box of KD and bring it to the bedroom. Ava lights a joint. The A/C has been shit today, and they sit and eat, sweaty in their underwear. Ava wears a heather-grey T-shirt, the saucepan resting on her stomach. They watch a comedy show about a team of caterers. This episode’s plot turns on a failed sweet sixteen yacht party for the daughter of a famous film director played by J.K. Simmons.

Ava leans over to stub out the roach. “Do you remember the first party you ever went to? Like a real party.”

Gemma’d been six. Her mom had just left. Her dad decided to go to a house party in the city. Gemma had to come with. Gemma’s only memory was of lying on a blanket in a dark room while the party raged, and when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a man who came silently through the door. When she sat up and kneeled in fright, the man shot her in the head.

But Gemma knows that’s not what Ava’s asking. “I was in grade eight. These girls had a birthday party in their basement. Don’t know why they invited me; they all had boyfriends. It was, like, seven people, but there was beer, music. I guess it was a party. One of the girls dyed her hair pink in the bathroom and one of the boys bragged he had Family Values Tour tickets. Maybe that gives you a picture.”