Page 33 of Canadian Boyfriend

“Are the loans from ballet school?” The one she’d told me she quit? It would suck to be saddled with debt and to not even have the degree it was supposed to pay for.

“No. My mother paid for my school in New York—my program at the Newberg was academic and ballet combined. But when I quit and came home, she cut me off. I transferred what credits I could to Augsburg College and finished up there, though honestly sometimes I wonder why I bothered. All it got me was a pile of debt.”

The more I heard about Aurora’s mom, the less I liked her.

“Anyway,” she went on, “as to your offer, I’ll happily move in and look after Olivia. But it’s in exchange for housing, continued use of the car, and medical insurance. I can’t accept payment, too. I have this… block about people spending money on me.”

“Yeah, what is that about?”

“It’s a long story. It ends with me being disowned on my mother’s doorstep. I’ll tell you later.”

I got a little thrill over how casually she’d said that.I’ll tell you later.Like we were friends who told each other personal stuff as a matter of course. “I reluctantly accept your terms,” I said. “But only if you agree that your grocery and household items go on my shopping lists.” I figured that if she wouldn’t let me pay her, I could take care of her expenses as much as possible.

“Do you actually go grocery shopping? Like, personally?”

She seemed incredulous. I wanted to be able to say that yes, I went grocery shopping, but I wasn’t going to lie. “Not very often. I get most stuff delivered. And I have a house cleaner who comes once a week, and I send my laundry out. Anything that doesn’t have to do with Olivia, I outsource.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling her this. Maybe because I was daring her to suddenly turn into the kind of person who was starstruck by me. “Look. I know this is maybe a little awkward, but I’m rich. That’s the truth. Let’s acknowledge it. But that isn’tme. If I hadn’t made it in the NHL, I would be working at my dad’s Tim Hortons. I’m a hoser. I just got lucky. But I’m still the same person I’ve always been. And I need help. I don’t know if I can—” Aww shit. My voice was wavering again.

“I have two questions,” she said suddenly, with a decisiveness bordering on brusqueness.

I cleared my throat. “Shoot.”

“What is a hoser? And when do I start?”

9—AURORA LAKE

RORY

When I moved into Mike Martin’s house, the first thing we did was get into a fight. After I walked Gretchen, who’d helped me move, out to her car and stood there while she whisper-yelled at me about the amazingness of Mike Martin’s house, I decided the first thing I was going to do was call my new insurance company and find myself a therapist.

That didn’t go so well.

“You lied to me about the insurance,” I said as I came up the stairs into the kitchen. I was pissed.

I didn’t do angry—usually. Aside from that confrontation with my mother the day I came back from New York, I couldn’t recall a single time I had instigated a conflict. I was a peacekeeper. Or, to use Gretchen’s infinitely less flattering term, a doormat.

“Huh?” Mike Martin turned from where he was unloading groceries into his ginormous fridge.

“I called the insurance company and mentioned that I was on the NHL plan—that’s what you called it—and apparently there’s no such thing. I have a normal-people, one-off plan, butshe did make a big speech about how it was a gold-plated one, the best money can buy.”

“Right.” He closed the fridge even though the counter was still covered with perishables.

“Why would you lie like that? I thought you were Mr. Anti-lying.”

He winced but rallied. “I’m not sure what the big deal is. I’m your employer. It’s my responsibility to get you health coverage.”

That was how my mother used to talk. She knew what was best. She was responsible for me. “I’m not your child.”

“I never said you were.” He tilted his head and looked at me with confusion. “What is going on here?”

“I don’t like being in people’s debt.”

“I am aware. But are you in Gretchen’s debt because she pays you?”

He was so literal. “Of course not.”

“Why is this different?”

“Because it’s too much!” I shouted, but then I clamped my mouth shut. Yelling at my employer on day one—day one as his roommate, too—wasn’t a great idea.

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