Page 5 of Canadian Boyfriend

“I don’t know yet.”

I’d asked the question glibly, trying to match his tone, but he’d pivoted and answered it earnestly, his easy smile replacedby a quizzical expression. There was something about thatyet, about the way he studied me as ifhehad superpowers, as if he had the ability to seeinsideme, that felt… well, kind of ominous. As if letting him hang around long enough to figure out my superpower would cause more damage than a scraped knee.

I turned my attention to the forms. “I need you to sign this registration.” I handed him the paper and picked up another that was lying on my side of the desk. “It also looks like Gretchen printed a copy of Olivia’s emergency contact form, if you want to…”Cross off your dead wife’s name.“Update it. You can write over it, and we’ll make the changes in the computer.” I set it in front of him with a pen.

Mike Martin had had such an expressive face, up until this point in the proceedings. Those gold-flecked green eyes had danced with laughter and crackled with… something when he’d pondered the question of my superpowers. But that emergency contact form hollowed them out. They turned flat, like cartoon eyes, except you know how in cartoons, there’s often a little bit of white on the colored part? Light being reflected, to indicate life or something? There wasn’t any life in Mike Martin’s eyes. They turned into the green version of black holes. He picked up the pen and contemplated the form. He stood there for longer than it should have taken to read it, and I was suddenly aware, in a way I hadn’t been earlier, of the steady attention of Sansa’s and Kylie’s moms. Of course they’d been watching this whole time, but as I had learned, Mike Martin, when he had life in his eyes, was capable of shrinking the world down so it was only you and him and his X-ray vision.

The air was heavy but silent, and when Mike Martin clicked open the ballpoint pen, it echoed against my eardrums like adoor slamming. He still didn’t write, though, just stood there staring at the form with his flat eyes.

I wondered if he’d felt the door-slamming sensation, too. I wondered how many doors had shut on him lately, and whether he sometimes encountered those doors in places he didn’t expect, in places that seemed benign, like his daughter’s dance studio.

“Jan! Darla!” I came out from behind the desk, trying to make myself big in order to shield Mike Martin. Even though my ballet career had been rife with instances when I’d been deemed “too big,” my rational mind, the mind that had never been in the vicinity when costume mistresses had been tutting at me, knew that I was, in a normal, civilian sense, a smaller-than-average person. Mike Martin, by contrast, was a larger-than-average person. So to puff up my chest and put my hands on my hips as if I couldactuallyshield him from anything was absurd. I did it anyway.

It wasn’t until I was standing directly in front of them that Jan and Darla reluctantly pulled their gazes from Mike Martin. I had to give them something big enough to distract them long enough so he could update the form in peace. I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “Gretchen has the holiday recital costumes in, and she thinks the skirts are too short.” This was a lie. “She values your opinion.” Also a lie. “She asked me to show them to you on the down-low.”

There was nothing like perceived insider status to perk up those two, so when I gestured for them to follow me downstairs, they didn’t hesitate. I led them into the storage room, having no idea what I’d find.

“Hmm,” I said after making a show of looking through a few boxes, “Maybe she sent them back already.” I hoped enoughtime had elapsed that when we went back to reception, Mike Martin’s eyes would be back to normal.

Upstairs, he was nowhere to be seen. The moms looked around not subtly, and I went back around the desk.

Our emergency contact forms had space for three people. Olivia’s original had her mom listed as number one, a person named Renata Kowalski second, and Mike Martin third.

Mike Martin had crossed off his late wife’s name and that of Renata Kowalski. He’d used a single pen stroke for his wife’s but had almost completely obscured Renata’s with a series of dark Xs. Next to his own name, he’d drawn an arrow indicating it should move to the top spot, and he’d added a Lauren Zadorov as number two. There was no number three.

There was, however, a Post-it—he must have snagged one from behind the desk—stuck to the form.

Can you tell Olivia I’m waiting for her in the car? Thanks. —MM.

I should have taken my class back; instead I returned to the bathroom and opened Wikipedia.

Michael McKenna Martin. Canadian professional ice-hockey player currently playing for the Minnesota Lumberjacks NHL franchise. Thirty-four years old.

I did the math. It couldn’t have been him, all those years ago. Becausethatguy had been in town for a high school hockey tournament.Thisguy, Olivia’s dad, was thirty-four, which would have made him twenty-one at the mall—too oldfor high school. So in addition to the dimple in the “It’s Not Him” column, the ages didn’t line up.

On the other hand: The eyes. The handshake-caress.

And of course the entire “hockey player named Mike from Canada” thing.

On the otherotherhand: there must be literally thousands of hockey players named Mike from Canada.

I skipped to the “Personal Life” section.

Martin was born to Ed and Diane Martin in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

I clicked over to Google Maps and learned that Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, was an hour’s drive west of Winnipeg.

Holy shit with three grand pliés.

He has an older brother, Christopher Martin, who is a goaltending coach with Pittsburgh. Martin grew up idolizing his brother and credits him with sparking his interest in hockey.

He is close with fellow Lumberjacks defenseman Ivan Zadorov, the pair having appeared in aSports Illustratedspread on bromances in sport.

Martin was married to Sarah Kowalski, whom he met while playing for Chicago in the American Hockey League. They married at the Art Institute of Chicago and served pie, which was a favorite of both, at their wedding instead of cake.

There was a citation on that last bit that looked like it referenced aChicago Tribunearticle about the wedding. I made a mental note to read it later.

Kowalski died in a car accident in Montreal while in town to attend a Minnesota versus Montreal game.

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