Page 59 of You're so Bad

Leonard, who loves cats and hangs out with grandmothers and tries to take care of runaways.

Leonard, who fixed that broken mug I gave him the other day and left it out on his kitchen counter, like it was something worth saving.

Leonard, who can’t sleep at night for reasons I’d like to know.

Leonard, who watchedThe Sopranoswith me.

What it comes down to is that he’s not who I thought he was—or at least he’s notonlywho I thought he was.

I’ll be honest, Iwantedto think badly of him. It was so much safer to think badly of him. Because whatever else he has going for him, he’s also a self-admitted thief, gambler, and ladies’ man. It would be absurd of me to get attached to him.

It’s exactly the sort of thing I’m contrary enough to do, so I have to steel myself against it.

That’s not to say I intend to stay away from him. Because I’ve realized why Nana enjoys spending time with him. He makes me feel more alive. I think he does it for everyone he’s around, without even meaning to, maybe without even realizing it.

Finally, I go to sleep, only to have a reprisal of the sex dream. The neighbor lifts up her sign again, and again it’s a two point five. I give her the finger and she lifts up her sharpie and crosses out the point five.

When I get up on Saturday morning, Nana’s already made coffee, thank all that’s holy. Its scent fills the air like the promise of spring at the end of a brutal winter.

I check my phone. There are a couple of hungry messages from Delia and Mira, who want details I’m not ready to give them, and another check-in message from Rafe, who demands confirmation that I’m not dead. I give it. The last message is from Grandpa Fruckface:

It’s been thirty-three days.

When I come out, Nana’s sitting at the little round table in our yellow kitchen, doing a crossword puzzle. Bertie is lying at her feet on his ham and eggs bed.

A warm feeling fills me as I approach her. I have her—always have—and she saved me from making any big mistakes that would be difficult to walk back from. Leonard and Reese had only the wrong people, it sounds like.

My mind shifts to Grandpa Frank. I’m not ready to forgive and forget, but I have to admit that at least he’s trying. Trying with annoying-as-hell phishing messages, sure, but it’s something.

Nana looks up, sniffs, and says, “Good morning, dear. You look like one of the zombies in Leonard’s video game.”

So much for the warm fuzzies.

“You’ve been playing video games with him?” I ask.

She makes an affirmative noise, watching me as I get out my biggest monster mug. I feel a sort of reflexive fondness of them after Bianca spent all night bad-mouthing them.

For Leonard too. It’s sweet that he’s been introducing my eighty-two-year-old grandmother to the glories of gaming. I could have done that—I like gaming too, when the mood strikes. But it never occurred to me that it might be something she’d enjoy, probably because she never would have tried prior to my grandfather leaving.

I fix my coffee and join her at the table.

“Have fun at the Sten thing last night?” she asks.

“Sort of,” I admit. I pause, then say, “Nana, will you help me convince Leonard not to do something stupid?”

She jostles the mug she’d lifted for a sip, nearly soaking her crossword puzzle with coffee. My grandmother is and always has been very serious about her crossword puzzles, so I know I’ve rattled her. “What thing would that be? Has he challenged Colter to a duel? Because I’d very much like to see that. In fact, I’d invite all my friends. That boy never appreciated you, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that Leonard will make mincemeat of him.”

I roll my eyes, because she’s expecting it and I don’t want to disappoint her. “Nope, not happening.” I take a sip of my coffee, trying to decide what to say next. “He adopted this cat, and now he’s got it in his head that he can’t take care of her. I’m supposed to pick him up so he can bring her back to the shelter this morning, but I think it would be a huge mistake.”

She leans forward and gives me the same intense look I got a time or two when I was a teenager. “Hecan’tbring her back.”

“Oh. My. God,” I say, feeling like I watched seven seasons ofLost, only to find out it was all a dream. “You’re the one who brought him to adopt her.”

“Well, of course,” she says. “Someone stole his truck. He had no other way of getting around. We made quite a lot of stops on Thursday before we brought you lunch.” She gives her head a shake. “Why anyone would want to steal that fool truck is beyond me.”

I lift my hands, leaning back in my chair, and just barely crush the desire to kick back in it. “I can’t believe this. You encouraged him to adopt a cat so he could screw up Bianca’s pompoms?”

She gives a dramatic shrug, head to shoulder. “Pompoms are useless, and Bianca’s a little homewrecker, just like your grandfather’s water strumpet.”

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