Page 98 of Canadian Boyfriend

“You should switch beds with Olivia and recover on the waterbed.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought a waterbed that old would still be functional.”

“It isn’t. My parents bought a new one when Olivia was a toddler, because she loved it so much. Funny how they were cheapskates as parents but they can’t jump fast enough to open their wallets when it comes to her.”

“That’s the way of the world, though, isn’t it?” She made a contemplativehmm.

“What are you thinking?”

“Just wondering what kind of grandmother my mom will be. But as things stand, she wouldn’t get to see any kid of mine anyway. That’s what finally made me snap, you know, the idea of her spewing all her BS at Olivia. I would never subject a child of mine to the kind of abuse she inflicted on me.” She blew out a shaky breath that had me glancing over in concern. “I’ve never called it that, even in my own head—abuse. And of course, that made me think if I wouldn’t subject someone else to it, why would I subjectmyselfto it?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and honestly I was a little overcome. Aurora was so brave. And beautiful and funny and smart.

I thought about Aurora telling me, this summer, that she couldn’t switch the physical stuff on and off like a faucet. I knew what she meant now. Turns out when you fell in love with someone and smooshed not only your bodies but your souls together under the northern lights, the faucet was really fucking leaky.

But I needed to get my shit together, because this wasn’t happening. I was just going to have to find myself a pair of metaphorical pliers and fix the leak.

We had another day and night at my parents’, which I welcomed. It wasn’t like we were going to sleep together there, so it could function as a kind of step-down, a decompression chamber between camping and reality.

Things got back to normal. Sort of. I caught Aurora watching me a few times, but she always looked away quickly, her expression unreadable. It made me realize I wasn’t used to not being able to interpret her expression. And there was a moment when Liv and I were joking about something at the pioneer museum and I looked to Aurora, expecting her to join in, but she just shot us a silent smile that looked kind of… weak.

We passed the first few hours of the drive home mostly in silence. We were all tired. We’d had fun, but I thought everyone was ready to be home. The closer we got, though, the more I felt the pressure of the impending… What? I couldn’t call it a breakup because we weren’t together. I tried to tell myself it was the same as after spring break, when I’d called a halt to things. At least we had Christmas to look forward to.

When Olivia fell asleep in the back seat, I tried to initiate a conversation, partially just to break up the silence, and partially to make sure we were on the same page. Aurora was the one who’d called our northern lights interlude a “vacation,” but I wanted to double-check.

“So,” I whispered. “That was a fun trip.”

She’d been looking out the window, and we hadn’t talked for miles. “It was,” she said, but she kept staring out the window.

“Especially camping,” I said, infusing my tone with a jokily exaggerated drama, which finally caused her to swivel to face me. She didn’t smile as I’d intended, or even say anything, so I kept talking. “I was thinking, maybe when Olivia goes to her grandparents’ at Christmas, we could head southfor a little break. A resort, maybe? Unless you want toreallysee the northern lights. There’s a train from Winnipeg to Churchill, Manitoba, that has a glass roof, and when you get to Churchill—”

“What happens between now and Christmas?” she interrupted. I glanced over. “With us,” she added. Unnecessarily, because I got that. I might be a hoser, but I’d been able to tell that things had been off since camping. I’d been telling myself we were tired, trying to sweep this feeling of unease under the rug, but here we were. If I’d learned anything from therapy, it was that you can’t do that with feelings. If you try, they only come back to bite you.

“Nothing happens with us,” I said, because I’d also learned that honesty really was the best policy.

She nodded and returned to studying the passing landscape. “Right.”

“You used the wordvacation,” I tried to explain, “and I—”

“I did.” She smiled sadly, but she was still looking out the window. “Don’t worry. You haven’t made any promises. Your honor is intact.”

What the hell didthatmean? “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’tapologize,” she said sharply, almost peevishly. When I glanced over, though, her gaze had gone oddly fond, and her tone softened when she said, “When we get home, I have something I want to give you.”

“OK.” I was wary. Hell, I was scared. But what could I say? We spent the rest of the drive enveloped in more awkward silence, a kind of rift opening up between us. I didn’t know how to bridge it. I was both relieved and on edge when I turned up the gravel drive. I opened the back door of the car to rouse Olivia. “Hey, kiddo, we’re home.”

“Uhhh.” Olivia reached her arms out like she wanted me to carry her—like she had when she was little—which made my heart twinge.

“You’re so big now, you at least have to get out of the car on your own.” She did, but she looked like a rag doll, so screw my camping-induced aches and pains. I hoisted her up, and she went limp in my arms. This was probably the last time I would ever do this. “Let me get Liv to bed,” I said to Aurora. “Then I’ll come downstairs, and you can give me… your thing.”

I got Liv tucked in, but when I kissed her forehead, she said, “You OK, Dad?”

“Yeah. Just thinking about stuff.” Like what Aurora could possibly have to give me. Like where the hell that rift, that feeling of alienation, had come from. I’d thought of Aurora and me as teammates for so long, united in our cause of supporting Olivia. It was strange and unsettling to feel we were out of sync.

“I’ll sit with you till you fall asleep,” I said to Liv. It was a procrastination technique—but not a very effective one, because it took her all of two minutes to conk out.

There was nothing left but to head downstairs, though it felt a bit like walking to my doom.

OK, I needed to take things down several notches. Aurora had something to give me. Big deal. Maybe it was a hockey figurine.

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