My blood type exactly matched Gordon’s, right down to the protein markers.  I knew it would.  It was meant to be that Gordon and I should be part of each other.  He protested at first, claiming that he couldn’t ask me to do something so drastic.  But I soon overcame any objections by pointing out that it was only a portion of my liver, that I had always been in perfect health, and that even the doctors told him he would never find a better match.  It was Fate.

We cleared it with the insurance company and the HR people.  It seemed I had nearly endless sick and personal time coming to me, and Gordon would be eligible for disability.  We did the procedure two weeks later and the surgery went well.

Gordon did great and the rejection complications were minimal.  My recovery didn’t go quite as well.  I developed an infection and was actually in the hospital longer than Gordon.  But within a few weeks we were both returned to work.  Soon after that, we were back to our routine of movies, dinner and walks.  We attended the company’s annual spring dinner dance and Gordon was well enough to dance quite a bit.  He was unpracticed but enthusiastic and soon had the basics down.  He and I danced several sets, then he had a turn with each of the women from his department – just to be polite, as he said.  But we danced the last dance, rode home together in a company car, this time taking a little longer in saying our goodbyes. 

Everything was going satisfactorily – if a little slower than I’d anticipated.  Still, I appreciated his gentle rhythm and lack of aggression.  I’d been hit on in every way from crude to humorous to cloyingly romantic over the years and this slow courtship was a novel change for me.  And I knew eventually Gordon and I would be together.  It was meant to be.