Better Than Home: Better Than Good Novella

I raised a pretend glass and held Aaron close to my side.

“That was lovely,” he said, slipping his finger in my belt loop.

“Nah, it was a little rough,” I admitted, pushing his hair from his eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry I blew up earlier. That was dumb. You were right to invite them. Also, we’re not moving to LA, so don’t worry about that.”

“Matty…”

“I’m serious. It’s not something either of us wants.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, one thousand percent sure,” I replied earnestly. “This is home now.”

“No, this is a house, my love. You are my home.”

I rested my forehead on his for a brief moment, then kissed his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, and his chin. He jumped into my arms and laughed like a loon when I spun him in a circle.

I was aware of all the background noise…our moms talking about grandchildren, Curt and Jack yelling at us to get a room, someone else asking about the limoncello drink—and I couldn’t help thinking that the cacophony felt like a warm hug. These people, this house, this man.

Especially this man. He was my home.

And it was better than good.

EPILOGUE

“Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there.” — Rumi

“Hey, Matt, watch this!”

I set my grocery bag on the hood of my car and gave my neighbor a thumbs-up. Billy dribbled his basketball in front of the portable hoop at the end of his driveway, stopped abruptly, and adjusted his grip on the ball—just like I’d shown him—and took a shot. I pumped my fist in the air, hooting when he banked it in.

“Nice. You’ve been practicing,” I commented.

“Yep!” Billy flashed a proud grin, then swiped his forearm across his nose and tossed the ball at the net again. This time, he missed by a mile.

I scooped the runaway ball up and did a between-the-knee, behind-my-back dribble to make him laugh before taking a shot from a terrible angle. We shared a wide-eyed look of amazement when it miraculously hit the board and swished through the hoop.

“Did you see that?”

It was such an insane shot that it deserved a moment of silliness. I picked up the ball, chucked it sky-high, and ran in a wide circle in the middle of the street with my arms above my head, whooping like a madman. Billy doubled over in a fit of giggles, his reddish-blond mop of hair glinting in the early autumn sun.

“That was crazy!” Billy enthused, giving me a toothy smile as he chased after the ball.

“I know, right? Remind me to buy a lottery ticket,” I commented, rescuing the groceries from the roof of my BMW.

“Do you wanna play?”

“Sorry, dude. I can’t. We’re expecting company in a bit, and I think Aaron needs my help and”—I lifted the bag in my hand—“the brussels sprouts and champagne vinegar.”

He wrinkled his nose, contorting every muscle in his face the way only a seven-year-old could do. “Gross.”

I chuckled. “Aaron’s a pretty good cook, though. If you’re lucky, I’ll send some brussels sprouts over for you and Kate for breakfast tomorrow.”

“No, thank you.”

I waggled my brows and headed for the sidewalk. “Later, Billy.”

“Oh, wait!” He ran after me, catching up to me on the steps to my front porch. “Wanna come to my game next Saturday?”

“I might have to go to LA, but if I’m in town, I’d love to. We’d both love to.” I gave him a high five and a fist bump for good measure, shaking my head in amusement at my pint-sized buddy’s whoop of joy as he barreled down the stairs toward his house.

Fun fact…the kid who’d spouted his grandmother’s homophobic rhetoric about gay marriage a year ago was now a staunch member of my fan club. Seriously.

Todd and Jess had been welcoming from the start, but I’d definitely made a friend for life when I helped Todd assemble the basketball hoop at the end of their driveway the day after our housewarming party, then played a game of Horse with him and his kids. In a twist, Billy was obsessed with all things basketball. The moment he realized I knew the sport well and was actually a pretty decent shooter, he forgot to wonder if it was okay for boys to marry boys.

A couple of months ago, I overheard him and his sister discussing an animated film with gay characters at a block party with one of Kate’s friends, a ten-year-old with a long braid and braces. Everyone in our neighborhood had been gracious to Aaron and me, but I hadn’t quite lowered my defenses all the way. My ears had perked up at the word “gay.”

“Who cares if he’s gay?” Billy had argued. “My friend Matt is gay. And so is his husband. They’re cool.”

High praise indeed.

Aaron and I had looked at each other and grinned. You knew you were doing something right when the kids on your block had your back.