Page 26 of Leo and His Love Bunny

She is a formidable opponent, and I hadn’t really been expecting it. I’ve never met anyone who had my propensity for, or even came close to my abilities with, paper airplanes.

Even the kids in the cancer ward preferred to watch TV or play video games than practice the skill, but I am always obsessive-compulsive about practicing and becoming the best I can be.

That is part of the reason I’m such a good hockey player. When I was learning the fundamentals, nothing could keep me off the ice while I practiced them. Other players just wanted to play, but I got the fundamentals down so I could do them in my sleep. I did them in my room at night, without skates. Did them to the best of my ability anyplace I was, on or off the ice. I lived to practice.

That is part of my motivation. Deep, repetitive practice of fundamentals is what makes a person better. Better in anything. Whatever it is anyone wants to get better at, they just have to practice, and practice in the right way. I am testimony to that.

I also believe anyone can do it. Of course, some people have limitations, like someone who is five feet tall is probably not going to be a professional basketball player, but the idea that practice makes perfect is not far off. And the idea that pretty much anyone can do pretty much anything is also almost one hundred percent correct.

“I feel bad beating you. You’re really good.”

“I’m not as creative as you are. I’ve always practiced my aim. I haven’t necessarily practiced landing.” And that was the problem. I overshot the light. My plane hit it, skimmed across the top of it, and then dropped off the other side. While hers had stopped just where she wanted it.

“Well, now you know what you need to practice,” she says, shrugging and then jumping to her feet and going over to gather up the airplanes that are scattered around the room.

I get up to help her. I’m not gonna watch while she works. Also, she impressed me by the fact that she won, but she didn’t rub it in.

It’s good to be a gracious loser, but it’s also good to be a gracious winner.

“Aren’t you going to make fun of me because you beat me?” I have to ask. Any one of my teammates would have done that. In fact, any one of my previous girlfriends, of which there haven’t been many, and no serious girlfriends, would have totally ripped me up one side and down the other when they won. Like there was something really huge about beating a hunky superstar. It’s odd to consider myself a superstar, but that is an adjective that’s attached to my name a lot.

“Why would I do that?” she asks, wrinkling her nose up and looking truly perplexed. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

I groan. Most of the time, people who care about nice care about...themselves, I guess.

“Actually, I should be thanking you. You totally took my mind off everything that I was thinking about. I mean, I don’t really feel like I did anything wrong, but I know that there are people who are upset with me and that bothers me. You know?”

Boy, do I ever. It seems like it is impossible to please everyone. And yet, it seems like I am expected to.

“I’m glad you’re able to unwind a little. And my mom always said things look better in the morning.”

Even on cancer’s worst day, I don’t remember my mom crying. She had such a rock-solid faith that inspired me. How could I doubt the existence of a God when my mom was so calmly assured of not just His presence, but of His love and care for her specifically? She lived what she believed more than anyone I’ve ever met. Someday I want to be just like her.

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was. She passed away from complications from routine surgery about ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Nora says as she straightens from picking up a last airplane. She’s only three feet from me, and I want to reach out and touch her.

Instead, I shake my head and bend over to pick up the airplane at my feet. “Don’t be. I know where she is, and I have assurance that I’ll see her again someday.” I don’t say anything more, not about my dad, not about the deal with my stepmom, nothing of that.

I know what I need to do. And yet...it’s been hard.

Chapter 12

Leo

As though thinking about my stepfamily conjured her up, my phone rings, and it’s the song “Mother Knows Best” fromTangled.

Yeah, one of my girlfriends dragged me to see it on our one and only date. But it really seemed to fit my life at the time, and now it’s the ringtone that comes up when my stepmother calls.

I grab my phone and decline the call, turning it off.

“You can take it. I can step out if you don’t want to talk in front of me,” Nora says, looking at me with concern.

“What? Don’t you ever decline calls?”

“I try not to. If someone’s calling me, it’s because they want me. If I’m dealing with a customer, or if I can’t get to my phone because I’m elbow deep in cupcake batter or something, or if I’m busy embarrassing myself on the radio, I don’t answer it. But otherwise, if I can, I do.”

---