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That word has changed a lot in my thirty-four – thirty-five tomorrow – years. Home was with my parents in a suburb north of Detroit until I went to college. Home was an apartment with my best friend when we were new to Seattle and finding our footing in the world of baseball. Home was Bainbridge Island. And now, once again, home is in Michigan.
Last month, I was offered the chance of a lifetime, and I did what Roger said, I trusted my gut. On a beach along the Oregon coast I accepted the offer to move to Detroit and serve as assistant manager for the Detroit Mustangs. Two weeks later it was officially announced that Adam Powell would be taking over for the team as manager following the retirement of long time manager Roy Chambers.
When I broke the news to Elise, she responded with news of her own, she was moving out. She found a small house for rent close to the school, and was ready to spread her own wings just as I was getting ready to spread mine. We had a few tearful nights as she packed her belongings and Max and I packed ours, and then it was time to say goodbye. Goodbyewith Elise was easy, for the most part, with promises of phone calls and video chats, and several reminders of the time differences between Seattle and Detroit.
Maxwell and Sam had to be pulled away from each other so we wouldn’t miss our ferry to the mainland. Loretta, and our newest furry addition Benji, handled the drive well and are settling into the new house – a house we own together – just fine. Sam assured us that they would get along, and so far he’s been right; we frequently find the two of them snuggling together on the couch or on Benji’s bed. Loretta acts aloof around him during the day, but when they wind down at night, they are the best of friends.
I love Michigan in October.
There’s a chill in the air, the kind that means it won’t be long until snow starts to fly. The neighbors – we have neighbors nearby now – have pumpkins on their porches and ghosts flying from trees. As I sit on my front porch I hear the sound of laughter from down the road as families emerge from their houses with superheroes in wagons and princesses sprinting to the first house with their porch light on.
The front door opens and softly clicks shut, and Maxwell sits down beside me on the top step of the porch. Benji goes nuts when the doorbell rings, so we thought we’d be safe to pass out candy from the porch tonight. We’re new to the neighborhood after all, and want to make a good first impression, and Benji needs to be socialized in a more controlled environment than Halloween night.
“You’re not in costume,” Max sighs when he sits down and passes me a mug of tea. “I thought you’d be in costume.”
“I’m not wearing that costume, Maxwell.”
“Oh come on! Why not? You’d make such a cute duckling.”
“Shut up.” I swat him on the arm as a family makes their way up the driveway, stopping just short of us. The kids allholler ‘trick or treat’ and Maxwell rewards them with candy in each of their bags, but my gaze is drawn to the parents all whispering to themselves. I smile as one of the women makes eye contact with me before quickly looking away. I give her a nod and her eyes widen just a fraction.
“I knew it!” I hear one of the men whispers, loudly, as they walk back down the driveway, the kids none the wiser.
“It’s weird having neighbors nearby,” Maxwell leans back and stretches his legs out in front of him. “I was on the island for so long, up in the hills without any close neighbors, this is going to take some getting used to. But I like it.”
“I do too,” I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. “And I really like being here with you.”
At the end of the night, when we’ve run out of candy to give out, we turn off the porch light and head inside to watch game five of the World Championship Series. The Kansas City Kings and San Francisco Explorers are tied at two games each. And while it’s a bummer that neither of our teams made it this far this year, there’s something fun about curling up on the couch with Maxwell and falling asleep to the sound of the game.
“Happy birthday, Sutton.” Max’s voice calls through the fog of sleep. I roll over and kiss him softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes. I will never get tired of waking up next to him. Falling asleep next to him. Spending my days loving him and being loved by him. “What did you wish for?”
“Nothing,” I whisper. “It couldn’t possibly be better than this.”
Home has changed a lot for me in thirty-five years, but there’s always been one constant: love.
The love of my parents.
The love of my best friend.
And the most surprising love of all: Maxwell Harrison.
He climbs out of bed with the promise of coffee waiting for me when I come downstairs. It takes me a few minutes to stretch and get out of bed, but when I do, Max delivers on his promise.
And makes another one.
On the kitchen island, beside my coffee, there’s a small box and a note in his scrawling handwriting.
Forever?
