Better Than Home: Better Than Good Novella

Not the real stuff. I’d talked about shows and restaurants we’d been to and had tagged my friends in every silly photo of Aaron and me in Central Park or at various galleries in the city. We’d even hosted Curt and Jack when they’d visited a couple of times. But we’d done touristy stuff and stuck to fun topics of conversation. And though at the time I’d still spent most of my week in DC and saw plenty of Curt and Jack, I’d always shied away from heavy discussions.

Everyone knew I missed Aaron when I wasn’t with him, and it hadn’t seemed right to share his job woes and my worry about his bouts of depression. That was personal. But it occurred to me that I might have gotten that part wrong. It might have helped to get some worry off my chest. Especially with someone I trusted. And I trusted Curt with my life.

“Nothing happened,” I sighed. “That was the problem. The budget froze, production halted. A skeleton crew worked from the office until they slowly laid them off or reassigned them. Aaron was left with all the dirty work, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. Commuting compounded with missing family and friends and not having a real reason to be there wore on him after a while. I think he was relieved when the final order came down. He’s the most relentlessly upbeat person I know, and it sucked to see him sad and trying not to be. I felt kind of responsible.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to fix it for him and I couldn’t. You have no idea how hard it was to leave him every Sunday night and come home to an empty condo knowing he was unhappy. It was…fucking depressing.”

“Geez, Matt. I wish you’d said something.”

I shrugged. “It just felt too heavy to share.”

“That’s exactly the kind of stuff you need to get off your chest.”

“Maybe. But a dangerous side effect of adulting is getting too busy with work and life and getting out of the habit of casually talking about everyday bullshit. We aren’t overgrown kids anymore. We don’t have essays to write, exams to study for, or asshole bosses to deal with. We both have elite clients who come with the kind of confidentiality clauses that’ll get us thrown in jail for uttering the wrong word. Most of the time I’d rather talk about basketball and the NFL draft than think about real-life worries.”

Curt nodded thoughtfully. “I know what you mean, but you can trust me. I hope you know that.”

“I do. Thank you.” I sipped my water and glanced away briefly. “Feelings” conversations made me squirmy as hell. “In a way, I think that episode was really good for us. It was tough, but we got through it. We made hard decisions, uprooted our lives, and learned how to cope when life didn’t go according to plan. I have no regrets.”

“Wow. It’s like you’ve grown up or something,” he teased.

I nudged the barstool between us. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Curt made a zipped-lips motion. “Not a word. Did you find a house yet?”

“Meh. Let’s put it this way…the more houses we see, the more we appreciate our condo. Everything we’ve looked at over the past couple of months is either ugly and in need of serious repairs or is very pricey.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That’s why Jack and I will probably never move.”

“You shouldn’t. This is a killer place in a great neighborhood,” I commented, scanning the modern open-style loft.

Curt’s boyfriend, Jack, had converted an old house into a multi-purpose dwelling years ago: He operated a high-end motorcycle shop downstairs with a garage in the back and had renovated the upstairs into a spacious contemporary apartment with high ceilings and tons of natural lighting.

“We love it.”

I grinned. “Ever think about that apartment we shared with Dave in Georgetown? It was so small. Hard to believe three grown men lived in that Cracker Jack box.”

He snickered gleefully. “It wasn’t so bad. I’m still bummed Jack wouldn’t let me keep our old coffee table.”

“The one with the bottle stains and ink marks? Yeah, I think he made the right call,” I snarked. “Anyway, it makes sense for you guys to stay put. You’re in a perfect location and when you get tired of the city, you have a cabin retreat in the woods. And you don’t want kids. Or…” I arched a brow and continued “…have you changed your mind?”

“Nope. We’re happy babysitting.”

“After yesterday, I think we are too.” I filled Curt in on our afternoon with Henry and Holly, unsurprised when he howled with laughter. “Not funny. I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.”

“Trust me, I’ve been there with nieces and nephews. I know the feeling.”

“What feeling is that?” Jack drawled, slipping a T-shirt over his impressive six-pack as he joined us in the kitchen.