Various things have coincided and one evening Honeybuns and I said to each other: “Maybe we should, after all, move in together.” And then we, within minutes of looking through housing pages, found the perfect flat out in Huddinge. It was not yet built, but we took the bus out to the construction site and it was a perfectly delightful neighbourhood, near the train station, near the still remaining forests in a nice and quiet area, so I was soon on the phone with the estate agent. Yes, when enough people had signed up for the flats, construction would start, so by end of next year we should be able to move in. All right then.
As soon as I put the phone down, doubts hit us. Would we really manage this? Will we be able to live together with all our foibles, diverging requirements, and other baggage? And can we afford it?
I see my flat even as I am elsewhere: My first own home, the one I’ve furnished to fit my needs, my aerie where the morning sun wakes me in the summer and the afternoon sun fills the sitting-room with a warm golden glow, where I come home to silence and peace after a long day, where my bookshelves offer me knowledge and solace. Honeybuns expresses similar emotions for her home. Still, sharing a home, officially being a co-habiting couple, sleeping in each others arms every night, and not lugging stuff from one end of Stockholm to the other every other day beckons.
So yesterday we arrived, slightly out of breath, at the agent’s office to sign the papers. He informed us that with the great interest in the homes, we would likely be able to move in already by summer. He was perhaps a bit taken aback as both our faces fell. A year had seemed ample time to get used to the idea, but already by summer? That is no time at all. We steeled ourselves and signed the papers.
Now there is no return.