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" May 7, 2009 I&amp;#039;m now officially moved in with India. All of my belongings are either in storage or residing somewhere in her home. I gave my keys back to Brit&amp;#039;s cousin yesterday and apparently he&amp;#039;s already filled the place with a new tenant. So far I don&amp;#039;t miss Queens \u2014 not even a little bit. Can&amp;#039;t say the same for my freedom.  My new home is a spacious 6-bedroom, 4 bath mini-mansion in Westchester County. India bought this house with the money she inherited from an NYFD widow&amp;#039;s fund. Based on her crib and SUV she drives, I don&amp;#039;t think she did very badly \u2014 though I would never have the stones to ask just how much money she got.  I share a bedroom with India on the second floor. The kids&amp;#039; rooms are down the hall, separated by a big room with some workout equipment. India&amp;#039;s mom, or &amp;quot;Grams&amp;quot; as she&amp;#039;s affectionately known here, lives downstairs in a guest room off the kitchen.  As soon as I moved in, both India and Grams told me to treat the place as if it was my home, but that is not as easy as it sounds. I still feel weird opening the fridge and eating food I didn&amp;#039;t buy, or using her elliptical machine without asking, or even turning on the TV. Hopefully I&amp;#039;ll just get more comfortable with this stuff over time. Hopefully.  The craziest part of all is that this suburban domesticity doesn&amp;#039;t freak me out. If you told me two years ago that I&amp;#039;d be shacking up with a widow, her two kids and her mom in a white clapboard house that literally has a picket fence, I&amp;#039;d have cut my wrists.  Love is a messed up thing. It makes you do stuff that defies all sense and reason.  Last night after dinner, India sat the kids down in the living room and explained to them that I would be living there now. They seemed to take it pretty well \u2014 it helped that I arrived with Sponge Bob Square Pants DVDs.  Ah, bribery.  &amp;quot;Are you going to take us to the park?&amp;quot; Steven Jr. asked.  &amp;quot;Of course. And we&amp;#039;ll ride down the slide together.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re too big for the slide. That&amp;#039;s silly.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I might break it.&amp;quot;  Suddenly, the other twin, who was silent up to this point interjected very seriously. &amp;quot;Daddies can&amp;#039;t go on the slide.&amp;quot;  India smiled awkwardly at me then turned to the kids. &amp;quot;Zach isn&amp;#039;t a daddy. Remember what I told you?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;He&amp;#039;s your boy slave.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, I didn&amp;#039;t say that! Where does he get this stuff? He&amp;#039;s my boyfriend.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;And he&amp;#039;s the one, right?&amp;quot;   &amp;quot;Ha! They&amp;#039;re just babbling. That&amp;#039;s what missing a nap does to you. It&amp;#039;s time for bed, guys. Let&amp;#039;s get these clothes off and take a bath.&amp;quot;  She walked upstairs leaving Grams and I to clear the table and do the dishes.  Grams took a plate out of my hands. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ll do the rest. That&amp;#039;s my job around here. You relax and make yourself comfortable.&amp;quot;  It was nice having a live-in maid. We didn&amp;#039;t even make our bed in the morning. I went into the TV room and turned on the tube. TiVo was recording American Idol. Crap, I couldn&amp;#039;t even watch the game.  India came downstairs. &amp;quot;Sorry about that,&amp;quot; she said. &amp;quot;They&amp;#039;ll get used to this. It&amp;#039;s all very new for them.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No worries,&amp;quot; I said.  She put her head on my shoulder. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s so nice to have you here with us.&amp;quot;  It felt so nice to be there. I liked being &amp;#039;the one.&amp;#039; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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