Page 79 of Canadian Boyfriend

“Eh, she’s no match for us.” We were a team, Aurora and I. In sync. Heather would need to watch herself.

“There is one more thing,” Aurora said, “while we’re talking about the summer.”

“Hmm?” I said I as wrote “De Smet” on the calendar.

“I can’t sleep with you anymore.”

It was as if she’d slapped me—so much for being in sync—but I got my shit together enough to say, “OK.”

“I mean, if that was the plan for the week this summer when Olivia is in Chicago. Not that I’m assuming that was the plan,” she added quickly.

That hadn’t been the plan per se, but it had definitely been the wish.

“I just… I didn’t want you to think my big speech there about how you’d made me brave was…” She looked at her hands quickly. “It’s been really fun. Like,reallyfun.” She opened her mouth, closed it, then said, “And it’s not like I was looking for anything serious.”

I wanted to know what she meant by “was.” Was she using that word because our… entanglement was in the past? Or was she saying she’d started out not looking for anything serious but had changed her mind? I cleared my throat. “Low-stakes, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled a little wistfully. “I completely understand that you want to keep this part of your life limited to when Olivia’s away, but I can’t… switch things on and off like a faucet, you know?”

I did not know. It was hard, the switching on and off, but in my opinion worth it.

Well, shit. If I’d known the last time I’d touched her, tasted her, was going to be it, I might have… What? Lit some candles and said a prayer? I needed to get over myself.

“I thought I could,” she went on. “And, I mean, Icould. Idid. But I don’t think the toggling back and forth is something I want to do anymore. I’m not in any hurry to meet a guy and settle down, but I do want to do that someday, and I don’tthink this…” She trailed off and waved her hand back and forth between us.

OK, so my not-nanny didn’t want to have casual sex with me anymore. It wasn’t the end of the world.

“No problem,” I said, hoping my words sounded less strangled than they felt in my throat.

17—GETAWAY CAR

RORY

I had started the summer with the idea that I needed to put some distance between Mike Martin and me. When we had that planning session and he gave me the wink-wink and implied things might be getting hot and heavy again when Olivia went to her grandparents’, instead of feeling excited, as I had when he’d made the same proposal in advance of spring break, I’d started to fret. I couldn’t do the casual thing anymore. It wasn’t like I was in love with him. But I was in pretty severe like with him. The idea of slipping back into that easy, laughing intimacy wassotempting. But at the same time, the prospect of it didn’t feel… fun. Well, no, itwouldbe fun. But it was starting to feel serious, too. Dangerous in a way that would outweigh the fun. Intrinsically—to use Mary-Margaret’s yardstick—no longer a great idea if I wanted to keep going on this track where my life was getting unstuck. I’d meant what I said: he deserved a lot of credit for the progress I’d made. I’d learned a lot from him, and from the therapy he was paying for. He was a good person, and he was my friend. But at this point, if I kept swimming in these muddied waters, I was going to end up hurt.

I was proud of myself for coming to this conclusion, and for communicating it to him. For not doing things his way because it was the path of least resistance.

So the week Olivia spent with her grandparents in July was uneventful. We swam and hung out and generally had a good time. The only physical contact between us was incidental. It was hard to resist his charms—part of me wanted to say screw it and jump him—but it was for the best. That sense was ratified by how seemingly easy it had been forhimto let go of the physical aspect of our relationship. He didn’t seem bothered at all. Back at the calendar session, when I’d told him I couldn’t sleep with him anymore, he’d just said, “No problem.” After that, when we accidently brushed up against each other, it wasn’t charged in the way it used to be. It was as if he’d flipped a switch and whatever attraction he’d felt in the past had just evaporated.

When our De Smet day rolled around, I was a little worried about how everything was going to go, but Mom was on her good behavior. And Olivia could have been a paid lobbyist for the Rory Evans cause, the way she talked about how much she liked my classes and what a good teacher I was.

“I’m not surprised,” my mother said. “She’s always been so talented. I only wish she’d stuck it out in her ballet career.”

OK, my mom was on her good behaviorinitially.

“Well,Idon’t,” Olivia said before I could jump in. She spoke with an air of defiance. “Then we wouldn’t have her.” She looked at her dad, and I wondered if “we” meant Olivia and the other students at Miss Miller’s or Olivia and Mike Martin.

“My daughter and I”—my mom gestured to me when the lunch server came to take our orders—“will be on the same bill, and we’ll both have the Greek salad with chicken, dressing on the side, hold the feta.”

To my chagrin, I usually let my mother order for me. This annual trip was the only time we ever ate out together, and letting her have her way was easier than fighting. Or so I used to think.

“Actually,” I said, “I’ll have the BLT wrap.”

I was purposefully not looking at my mother, hoping my lack of attention would prevent her from saying anything, but I was not so lucky. “Are you sure that’s wise?” She was making the lemon-drop face.

The server paused in writing down my order and glanced between us. I smiled at her and said brightly, “BLT, thanks.”

“Did you want fries or Tots with that?”

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