Chapter 3

When I step into the kitchen, I notice my grandmother standing in front of the stove. My grandfather remodeled this kitchen for her many years ago, claiming that she spent so much time in it that she deserved a lovely one. It wasn't even horrible before; I simply think he wanted to do something special for her, and he knew how much she enjoyed cooking.

For her, he upgraded the refrigerator and stove. If you don't want a complete tour of her restaurant-style oven, don't even bring it up. She jerked her oxygen tank as she reached for the bowl of sliced strawberries and poured them onto the skillet.

"You should be laying down, Grandma." I tell her quietly, a scowl on my lips forming as I wrapped my arm around her and hugged her.

"Ava, every morning, you tell me that, and I tell you the same thing. I'd be better off dead if I stayed in bed all day. Let me look after you while I'm still here, okay?" She whispers sweetly, encircling me with one arm and caressing me back as the other holds the spachuler in the pan.

I blink my tears away fast because I don't want her to see me cry. I rest my head on her shoulder and inhale her aroma softly. She has a chocolate and pererment odor. Every day, my grandmother goes through a bag of perperments. Her coughing is getting worse, and perperments are the only thing that keeps her throat from becoming irritated.

"I know. I'm just worried. You already know how much I love you. I promise one day I will have enough money." I mumbled, almost paralyzed by the terror of losing my grandmother.

I'm not going to let her go. My grandfather has already passed away. I can't afford to lose both of them. I would be left with no family, or at least no family, that I am close to.

"I understand, darling. I love you as well, yet it breaks my heart to see you killing yourself from working all the time. You are still young, you should be having fun with your friends. I told you I will be ready when the time comes. I'll get to see my Donald again." She sighs and kisses the top of my head as she moves her head towards me. "You're putting your body through its paces, Ava. How much weight have you lost?"

When I start to win the little debates we have over my work and her much-needed surgery, she likes to comment on my weight.

I do what I always do.

I lie to her.

"Grandma! I haven't even lost any weight. What happened to your glasses? Have you lost them?" I laughed as I raised my head to stare at her unimpressed scold.

"Ava Renee. I know you. Do not stand here and lie to me. I've noticed your weight dropping. In the last few months, you've lost at least ten pounds." For daring to lie to her, she became agitated and lightly smacked the top of my hand.

Oh my, I really am in trouble

She only refers to me as Macy Renee when she is upset and I am in trouble.

"I'm just busy, grandma. I run in the evenings to stay in shape. Remember?" I tell her, feigning a smile on my face.

She is unaware of my late-night work schedule. She believes I get off work at 5 p.m. and then go for a run near the park. The truth is that after working fourteen hours a day, I am just too weary to run at all.

When I discovered I was starting to lose weight, I had to concoct that little white lie. I didn't want her to be concerned and blame her health on my overwork.

"Maybe you should slow down a little, sweetheart. You should not drop a lot of weight in a short period of time. It's not good for you." She fusses softly. Oh my gosh, my stomach makes a loud growling noise at the lovely fragrance, as she flipped the waffles onto a platter.

"I'm going to take it easy. I'll keep my word. Don't worry about me. Im good. I promise." I kissed her on the cheek and hurriedly grabbed my plate.

"You're my grandchild. Until the day I die, I will always be worried about you. It's part of the job." She cracked a joke. As I look up at her, my fork comes to a halt halfway to my mouth as I stare at her, getting lost in my thoughts.

She knows that I dislike it when she brings up the subject of her death. It could happen at any time; I may return home to find her already dead, and just thinking about it makes my eyes well up with tears.

"You know how much I hate it when you say something like that. Grandma, I'll get the money. I will save you. I'm not going to lose you if I can help it, okay?" I whispered, quickly bringing my hands to my face and wiping away the tears. I don't want to get her upset.

"I understand. I am sorry, darling. It was a terrible joke. I'm not going to make it again. Eat as much as you can. I'm going to lay down. Have a good day at work, and don't overwork yourself." She sighs gently and walks out of the kitchen, her oxygen tank trailing behind her.

Slowly pouring the syrup over my waffles, I recall a recent conversation I had with one of my friends. She claims to make a lot of money on the website Onlyfans. She exhibits her feet to old guys, who pay her in the same way as sugar daddies do.

I didn't want to resort to that; my grandfather would turn over in his grave, and my grandmother's heart would most likely fail before her lungs. It is, nonetheless, incredibly appealing. I might just have to check into it.

I'll do whatever it takes to get my grandmother the surgery she needs.

My boss first refused to offer me so many hours. If anyone found out that he was letting me work more than forty hours a week, he may get in trouble and lose his clinic. He consented only after he was spotted by looking for a job stripping. Yeah, you heard me stripping weeks later. He claimed it wasn't safe and that if he and I could keep it a secret, he'd pay me in cash for the rest of my hours so the government wouldn't know.

That was exceedingly kind of him to do that for me, especially because he didn't even know who I was at the time. With the situation I'm in, I guess he feels I'm trustworthy. I've never told anyone about our little secret. I work seventeen hours a day, six days a week, and earn roughly $500 every week.

That works up to about $2,000 each month.

It seems like a lot, doesn't it?

Wrong.

Her health insurance does not cover the majority of her medications. We obtained Medicare for her, but even that government-funded health plan doesn't cover all of her medications. One of them, which helps her lungs, costs $500, and I have to pick it up every two weeks.

I make every effort to deposit at least $500 per month into the glass jar labeled Saving Grandma. It's stashed under my bed in my grandfather's small safe, just in case someone tries to break in. If someone took all of that money, I'd have a heart attack. I believe I have roughly $13,000 in that jar. It's not much, which is why I'm thinking about doing the onlyfans thing.

If I go ahead with it, I'll have to make sure my grandma doesn't find out. She'd just refuse the money because she knew how I acquired it in the first place. That is something I will never allow to happen. She needs this procedure. All I need is to be able to provide my half of the amount in order for her to have the lungs when the time comes.

I ate my waffles fast, savoring the chocolate and strawberries that burst into taste buds, and drank my glass of milk that my grandma had laid on the table for me.

She is really the best grandma I could ever ask for. Hell, she is more like a mom to me than anything else.

I peered inside the little brown bag after grabbing my lunch from the kitchen counter. She packed me leftover pasta from the night before. My boss bought us a vending machine a few months ago as a treat for constantly going above and beyond for our animals, and he gives us each a few bucks for snacks every day.

"Bye Grandma, I love you!" Before heading out of the house.

Please do not let it rain I begged as I ran to my car in the driveway. My grandmother sold her and my grandpa's cars because she thought I needed a reliable vehicle to drive. I take her to all of her appointments, even if I'm working that day; I'll leave work and drive her there, then return to work.

I slide behind the wheel after pressing the unlock button on my keys. This car means so much to me. It's not brand new or anything; in fact, it's a few years old, but it came from my grandpa and grandpa, and I'll always treasure it.

I check the time on my dash and see that it is 6:45 a.m. and that the drive to work will take around ten minutes. I have a few minutes to relax and enjoy some music, so I let the music push inside my head, releasing all of my stress while I sing along.

I need to come up with a better strategy to help my grandmother; $1000 each month isn't going to cut it. Even if they phone me next year to say they've found a match, I won't be able to save her. If it happens, I'm not sure what I'll do. I know I'll never be able to forgive myself if I can't come up with the money before that happens.

I will go to any length to save my grandmother. Perhaps I should seriously consider pursuing a career as a stripper. I joked with my grandmother about it before, and she warned me that if she ever found out that was how I gotten the money for her surgery, she would refuse the lungs.

But something has to give soon.