Page 25 of Canadian Boyfriend

Aurora:Really. I had to ask myself all those questions about what I was doing and why. I ended up leaving ballet school halfway through.

I wanted to know more, but there was a rap on my door—Ivan picking me up for dinner. I answered it and said, “Almost ready.”

Mike:Well, thank you. I appreciate your help more than you know.

Mike:And sorry about Fuller House. It’s terrible.

Aurora:It really is.

Mike:I should have warned you. I put up with it because it’s one of the few times I get to see Olivia uncomplicatedly happy. But there’s no reason for you to. She LIKES you.

Aurora:It’s okay. I have a scheme as it relates to Fuller House.

Mike:??

Aurora:Stay tuned.

6—HALF PINT

MIKE

I did stay tuned. And to my surprise, over the next month, two things happened. First, Aurora got my daughter intoLittle House on the Prairie. Like, the show from the 1980s. American pioneers. Pa and Half Pint and Walnut Grove and panning for fool’s gold and mean Nellie Oleson at the general store. Aurora owned the entire collection on DVD, which struck me as charmingly old school.

Second, Aurora and I became texting buddies.

Which was nice, because when I hatched this whole plan, I hadn’t thought through the fact that it would mean the end of my seeing Aurora. And apparently I hadn’t realized how much Ilikedseeing Aurora. She had the car now, so on Tuesdays when I was in town, she didn’t need a ride home. I only ever saw her at the studio when my days off overlapped with Olivia’s classes. I’d taken to studying Aurora’s teaching technique. OK, I’d taken to studyingher. But not like that. Or notonlylike that. I wasn’t, to my great surprise, as dead inside in that regard as I had been over the past year. Aurora was a striking woman, with her leotards and her Snoopy bracelet and herlong, muscular legs. I had always thought of dancing, ballet in particular, as kind of lightweight. I could not have been more wrong. I’d fallen down a ballet YouTube rabbit hole on a recent trip, and holy cow, did those people have legs.

Sometimes, unbidden, the memory would flash through my mind of the first day I’d met Aurora, when she’d kicked up her leg from behind the reception desk, so high and so suddenly. She’d only been showing me her Band-Aid, and jokingly at that. But I’d been so startled. Shocked to life, even if only for a moment, and being alive had been such a different thing from standing vigil at the abyss.

The texting—aside from our usual Tuesday check-ins—started one Saturday when I was in Nashville. I had to ask for help. Again. It was hard, but a bit less so this time.

Mike:This is a big ask, and don’t feel pressured to say yes. But if you’re free this afternoon, any chance you could get Olivia from Lauren’s and take her to dance and back? Lauren has been hit with a migraine and can’t drive. Not a big deal for Olivia to skip class, just thought I’d ask. I’d pay you for your time, obviously.

She had agreed, and after our afternoon game, I had texts waiting for me.

Aurora:Hey, class is underway, and all is well. Olivia wants to spend some time at home afterward. I’m happy to hang out with her there for a while this evening. Is that okay? It would give Lauren a longer break, too.

Mike:You are an angel.

Mike:A well-compensated angel.

Aurora:You don’t have to pay me! I’m having a grand time, sitting here gabbing with Gretchen.

I had come to understand that Aurora was prickly about money. After that first trip when she’d broken that glass, I’d come home to find a new package of four on my kitchen counter even though I hadn’t answered her question about what store they’d come from. And she had resisted when I’d reimbursed her for the broken headlight she’d paid for.

Back at the hotel, I checked in.

Mike:Are you guys still there? Would it be weird if I FaceTimed? I try to catch Olivia every night when I’m on the road.

Aurora:Still here, and not weird. I’m not sure she’ll talk to you, as that would require interrupting Little House, but let’s try.

“Hi,” Aurora whispered when she picked up, her expressive face filling the screen of my phone. “This is a big episode.” She waggled her eyebrows. “She’s riveted.” She reversed the phone to show Olivia seated cross-legged on the chesterfield, staring at the TV as if hypnotized, then turned the phone back around. “Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Did you… do any important hockey things?” She made a self-deprecating face.

“I got an assist.”

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