Part 1The Cost of Company

My grandma’s new boyfriend—a guy young enough to be my classmate—thought I owed him alimony.

“I provided your grandmother with months of emotional support,” he said, cornering me outside the hospital cafeteria. “Now that she’s gone, it’s your turn to show some respect. It’s not much, just five grand a month. I’ve already texted you my Venmo. Don’t be late.”

I actually laughed, shot him a look of disgust, and turned to walk away.

That’s when he started wailing, a full-blown public spectacle.

“Hey, everyone, get a look at this!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face with Emmy-worthy speed. “Granddaughter refuses to take care of her elders! She makes over ten grand a month and won’t spare a dime for the man who loved her grandma! This is what’s wrong with kids today! No respect!”

I looked at the “elder” in front of me, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and pulled out my grandparents’ marriage certificate.

“Actually,” I said, my voice cold and clear, “you can start by paying back every single dollar my grandmother ever spent on you.”

* * *

In the months before she died, my grandmother, Eleanor, started acting strangely. One day she’d sigh about how she’d never seen the cobblestone streets of New Orleans in the spring. The next, she’d complain that my grandpa, Arthur, was a stoic old bore and she’d never even seen the big sky of Montana.

I had already booked us flights to New Orleans.

But just before we were supposed to leave, Grandma dropped a bomb: she was in love.

My grandpa, a quiet man who spent his life building bridges and speaking in blueprints, just took off his glasses and polished them, his hands trembling slightly. He didn’t say a word, but I could see the tears welling in his eyes.

“Grandma, what are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re sixty-five. Grandpa is right here. Have you been watching too much reality TV?”

She just glared at my grandpa, her nose scrunched up in a way I’d never seen before. “You don’t need to worry about it,” she sniffed. “I’m going to New Orleans with my new boyfriend. I’ll bring you back some beignets.”

And just like that, she grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door.

“Grandma, what about your blood pressure medication?” I pleaded, following her. “You can’t just go off by yourself! Do you even know how to use a mobile boarding pass?”

She wouldn’t listen. She was a woman on a mission, dragging her little roller bag behind her, deaf to my protests.

It was only when we got to the elevator that I saw him. A guy, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, decked out in flashy streetwear, his blond hair meticulously messy. He stood there, bouncing one leg like he had a nervous twitch.

“Yo,” he said, looking me up and down. “You must be the granddaughter. Nice to meet ya. Aren’t you gonna give your new grandpa a little welcome gift?”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly flicking one into his mouth. When he leaned toward Grandma, she actually blushed, fumbling in her purse for a lighter and sparking it for him.

“You look so cool when you smoke, babe,” she cooed.

“Babe?” I repeated the word, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Grandma, don’t tell me this is your boyfriend.”

Her eyes darted away for a second, but the blond leech just wrapped an arm around her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

That was it. I put my hands on my hips, my voice rising. “Grandma, do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re really going to New Orleans with this… this kid?”

With him by her side, her confidence surged. “Yes! I am!” she declared.

But he cut her off. “Hey, watch your mouth,” he snapped at me. “It’s not ‘this kid.’ I’m your grandma’s boyfriend. You’re gonna call me Grandpa.”

I was about to unleash a string of curses, but Grandma stepped in front of him. “Chloe! What is wrong with you? I expect you to be polite to… to your grandpa! This is my boyfriend. A real, proper boyfriend. And yes, we are going to New Orleans together. Now stop interfering and remember your manners.”

I felt like I was going to explode. “Grandma, do you know how old he is? How old you are? What manners? He’s barely older than I am! And can’t you smell that cheap cologne? He’s a gold digger! A leech!”

Before I could say more, he planted a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he purred. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t understand love. Spending money on the person you love is the most romantic thing in the world. Speaking of which, I saw the cutest matching backpacks at the mall yesterday. They’d be perfect for our travel photos. The mall is on the way to the airport…”