Page 36 of Canadian Boyfriend

“Nope. He hates the snow. He wants us to come in, though.”

Earl 9, clearly able to tell that we were talking about him, started shaking his head back and forth, which seemed to be his version of tail wagging.

I laughed. It was hard to stay mad when confronted with Earl 9. “Anyway, I really am sorry. I’m going to chill. It’s not a good idea to argue with your boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

“Was it not you, less than an hour ago, who was all,It’s my responsibility as your employer to get you health insurance?” I deepened my voice to imitate him, and he smiled. “If you’re not my boss, then who are you?”

He lowered himself onto one of the chairs surrounding the fire. “I’m your friend.”

“Who kind of employs me.” I sat, too.

“I’m your friend who kind of employs you,” he agreed cheerfully, tossing me a fleece blanket that had been draped over a nearby chair. “But…” He made a funny face. “Am I your employer, even kind of, if you won’t let me pay you?” He winked.

I sighed. He was so nice. Not superficially nice, but truly, genuinely kind. I thought he was wrong about how he saw himself, but instead of continuing to object, I decided to tell him the truth. Well, notthetruth, butatruth. He had a way of drawing those out of me, with his steadiness and his lack of judgment. “You know how much my mom spent on ballet for me?”

“I don’t, but I’m guessing you do.”

“Eighty thousand dollars for lessons here in Minnesota over the years. The Newberg Ballet School cost sixty grand a year, and I went for two. That’s a total oftwo hundred thousand dollars. And for what? For nothing.”

“Is that you or your mom talking?”

That was a fair—and disarmingly astute—point. This was exactly what I meant about him being smart. “A little of both? The point is, it made me sensitive about feeling like I owe people.”

I expected him to argue, but he just said, “Was it reallyworth nothing? So you’re not a professional dancer. Does that negate everything? Why did you start ballet to begin with? Why did you go down a path that required so much work?”

“Why didyou?”

“I ask myself that a lot.”

“How do you answer yourself?”

“I’m pretty sure I did it, and continue to do it even though it’s extremely inconvenient right now, because I love it.”

“What do you love about it?”

“There’s a kind of freedom in it, which I realize makes no sense, because it’s not like I’m free skating. I’m playing a game with specific rules.”

“I know what you mean. It was the same for me. There’s a kind of liberation in being a cog in a larger machine that’s doing something remarkable.”

“The corps de ballet.”

I was tickled that he remembered that. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said quietly. “I had a hunch you wouldn’t accept the insurance otherwise, but lying about it was crappy. Especially given that lying is… very much not cool with me.”

“It’s OK. I’m sorry, too.” Wow. Look at me. Not only had I had my first fight, I’d apologized and it sort of seemed like I was not going to die. “I overreacted.” I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “I blame my mother for my freak-out.”

He chuckled. “It almost sounds like you could use sometherapyto deal with your unresolved feelings toward your mother. I wonder how you would get that? Not totally sure, but that sounds like something you would access with yourmedical insurance.” He bumped his shoulder against mine.

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, and we fell into an easysilence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the slicing of skate blades on the ice.

“I have to tell you something,” he eventually said. “I didn’t already own the car you’re driving. I bought it for you to drive.”

“OK.” So I wasn’t driving Sarah’s car.

“I thought you’d be mad.”

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