Three days left until my heart transplant.

I had spent another twenty-four hours indoors with Fiona as if under house arrest. Our love kept going since my legs were no longer swollen. She promised to find me a good mechanic job a month after my heart treatment, and meanwhile she treated me the same way she would treat a bed ridden patient: feed me, play me a guitar, massage me, and wash me, regardless of how strong I was during lovemaking.

I had messed her hair so badly that I could see how curly her hair looked like cooked spaghetti. I had also taken down her once glorious ponytail yet she didn’t bother, she only laughed at me in revenge. She had been baking in the kitchen that morning of the day of the week I didn’t know about. Only one sure thing—she was baking my favourite butter cake. She showed up in a too-tight red bikini, holding a glass of wine.

“Babe, morning,” I said, putting on sunflower shorts she bought me from Gucci store.

“You keep saying that, third time you say it.” Fiona giggled.

“I blame your beauty.” I giggled too, safe to say I was very fine.

“I happily take the blame,” said Fiona, offering me a glass of wine after she sipped it, or I would say she tested it if it was fine for me. Her adorable blue eyes were hard to ignore, I snatched the glass and gulped wine to impress her. However, she turned her attention to the wardrobe and pulled out a white dress in a hurry. I dropped the glass on the desk.

“Going somewhere?” I asked, my eyes stuck on her unzipped back.

“Dr. McCain and your mom are here,” said Fiona after she pulled on her dress fully. “I’m under fire,” she added.

“For what?” I was almost talking to myself as she was already out of the bedroom. I followed her downstairs.

“I come with his mother,” said Dr. McCain directly to Fiona.

“You want my son to die, don’t you?” asked Diana, glaring at Fiona.

“No, ma’am…it’s not what you think,” replied Fiona under pressure.

I horned in on. “Mom, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Diana sighed—I held her hand as we walked past the bewildered Dr. McCain, onto the veranda to have mother-and-son conversation. I closed the glass door behind us.

“Mom, I’m totally okay here. Imagine, Fiona is also the one raising money for my heart transplant,” I said, “she’s going to be a great wife. In fact, I’ll go for a heart transplant when that day comes. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

Diana tossed her scarf over her shoulders and folded her arms. I disliked her old opposing look. “I’ll thank Fiona for raising the money for your treatment, but it’s too risky for you to be out of the hospital…and to be honest, Bettie is perfect fit for you; I loved how she took care of you in the hospital.”

I was devastated to hear those words from my mother. “I’ll go back to the hospital on the day of the heart transplant. See you in three days.” I concluded, and went back inside.

I rushed into the bedroom and peered through the curtains: Dr. McCain and my mother drove away in a white Lexus as Fiona watched.