«Miss, I have four boxes. Where should I bring them?»
Elina pulled her phone away from her ear and double-checked the number. She was definitely expecting a delivery, but only one—a pack of water filters.
«What boxes?»
«Men’s clothing, I think. They’re labeled: ‘books,’ ‘shoes,’ ‘kitchen,’ and…» the man paused. «‘Important.'»
«That last label is especially clear,» she said.
The courier didn’t appreciate her humor.
«So should I bring them up?»
Elina glanced out the window. Parked by the building was a van, and next to it a man with a cart stacked with four cardboard boxes.
She dialed Dmitry.
Her fiancé didn’t pick up right away.
«Where are you?» she asked.
«I’ll be there soon. Why?»
«Your stuff just arrived.»
«Oh, great. So they’ve delivered it already.»
Elina was silent for a few seconds.
«Dima, delivered where?»
«To you.»
«I can see that it’s to me. But why?»
«I’ll be there soon, don’t bother the courier.»
And he hung up.
That was the moment Elina finally realized something major was happening in her life. And judging by the four boxes downstairs, this ‘major event’ had already been packed up without her participation.
She let the courier bring up the boxes, but asked him to leave everything in the entryway.
Half an hour later, Dmitry arrived.
He was carrying a coffee machine under his arm.
Not a bag with a toothbrush, not a change of T-shirt, not slippers. A coffee machine.
«Barely made it,» he announced instead of saying hello. «Had to pack the tank separately.»
Elina looked at him, then at the coffee machine, then at the box labeled ‘important.’
«Are we renovating?»
«What renovation?»
«Then are we moving?»
«Yeah, we are.»
«Who’s moving?»
Dmitry smiled, thinking she was joking.
«Me, of course.»
He set the coffee machine on the cabinet and reached for the boxes.
«Wait.»
«What?»
«I want to understand what’s happening right now.»
«Elin, everything’s fine. I decided not to drag it out. The wedding is in five months. I have a studio apartment—twenty-seven square meters—while you have a real two-bedroom. It doesn’t make sense to invite you to my place, so I’m moving in with you.»
Elina leaned her shoulder against the wall.
«And was there ever an offer for us to live together?»
Dmitry didn’t even get the question at first.
«What do you mean?»
«I mean exactly what I said. Did you ever ask me to live together?»
«We’re getting married.»
«I remember that.»
«Well, there you go.»
«There I go what?»
He looked at her like she’d just asked for a notarized right to use the fridge.
«Since we’re going to be a family anyway, why make a formal invitation?»
«Because right now you’re standing in my apartment, not our apartment. And this morning I had no idea your coffee machine would be here by evening.»
«Are you serious right now?»
«Absolutely.»
They did actually get engaged pretty quickly—but it wasn’t reckless.
Elina was thirty-four, Dmitry thirty-seven. They met at a mutual friend’s birthday, dated for ten months, traveled to Kazan together, spent a week by the sea, and figured out along the way that Dmitry can’t handle tours before ten in the morning, and Elina considers it a crime to leave a wet towel on the bed.
But they had never actually lived together full-time.
Sometimes Dmitry would stay over at her place for the weekend. Other times, Elina would spend the night in his rented studio. They both agreed that before getting married, they should try living together for real, but they hadn’t set a date for that yet.
Elina was certain: they would talk it through.
As it turned out, Dmitry believed that conversation had already happened somewhere between the proposal and picking a restaurant.
Elina’s apartment was a typical two-bedroom: a bedroom and a small extra room she used both as a guest room and a workspace. She bought it before she met Dmitry, spent several years paying off a mortgage, finished the payments shortly before they met, and really cherished the feeling that she owed nothing to anyone for those four walls anymore.
Dmitry rented a studio all the way on the other side of the neighborhood, paying every month what he often called ‘money down the drain.’
He used to talk about it in a general sense only.
Now it turned out, for the last two months he’d been thinking about it much more seriously.
“Wait,” Elina said. “Your apartment is rented, right?”
“I’m moving out.”
“When?”
“I’m handing over the keys on Saturday.”
She checked the calendar on her phone.
It was Monday.
“When did you tell your landlord?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“And me?”
“Well, just now.”
“No, Dima. You didn’t just tell me. What just came to me were boxes.”
He started to look noticeably irritated.
“I don’t get what you’re after. I’m not moving in with a stranger.”
“Exactly. Which is why it would’ve been nice to warn someone who’s not a stranger before you told your landlord.”
Dmitry waved his hand dismissively.
“Fine, I should’ve told you. My bad. But what’s the point in going over it now? It’s already decided.”
“By who?”
He looked at her again, genuinely confused.
And that was the hardest part.
Not arrogance. Not trying to force his decision through. Dmitry truly didn’t see a problem at all.
He walked into the small room.
“Look, my desk will fit perfectly right here.”
“Which desk?”
“My computer desk.”
“And the chair?”
“We’ll sell it.”
Elina slowly turned to him.
“My chair?”
“Well, what else would we do with it? It’s old anyway. I can post the ad myself.”
The chair wasn’t exactly new. Elina had bought it six years ago and had thought about replacing it more than once.
But until that moment, she’d never considered that its fate would be decided by someone who, just that morning, wasn’t officially living there yet.
“And why do you need the whole room?”
“I’ll make it my study.”
“But you work at the office.”
“Sometimes I work from home.”
“Twice in the last month.”
“Which means I need a proper desk even more.”
“Interesting logic.”
Dmitry was already arranging furniture in his head.
“We’ll need to reorganize the wardrobe a bit too. Half your clothes are just one dress per hanger. It could be much more compact.”
“And when exactly were you planning to tell me about the wardrobe?”
He sighed heavily.
“Elin, after the wedding it’s going to be our home anyway. Are we really going to have a meeting about every single chair?”
“Great idea.”
“What is?”
“To have a meeting.”
She went back to the kitchen, grabbed a notebook and a pen, and sat down at the table.
Dmitry followed her in.
“Are you being serious?”
“Absolutely. Since we’re apparently starting our life together today out of the blue, we need to figure out the terms.”
— What other conditions are there?
— The most boring ones. Money, groceries, cleaning, cooking, utilities.
— Do we really have to do this right now?
— You just brought over four boxes right now.
It was hard to argue with that.
Elina opened up a fresh page.
— Should we split utilities down the middle?
— Well…
She lifted her head.
— What’s that supposed to mean, «well»?
— I just thought we could go without all that bookkeeping at first.
— Without what exactly?
— You pay the utilities anyway.
— I do.
— Right. So what’s the difference if it’s one person using the water, or two?
— About double the amount.
— Not literally twice as much.
— Okay, what about groceries?
— We’ll buy them.
— Who will?
— Depends on the situation.
— That isn’t an answer.
Dmitry sat across from her.
— I was just hoping I could save up a bit more for now.
— For what?
— For a car. I told you.
He had told her.
His old crossover was eleven years old, and these last months it had been a steady drain—something always needed fixing: the suspension, the electrics, the AC even decided to quit in July. Dmitry had wanted to change cars for a while.
Elina had never minded the idea itself.
It was the math that bothered her.
— Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You stop paying rent.
— Yes.
— You move in here.
— Yes.
— And you want the small room for an office.
— Not take it, just use it.
— And sell my chair.
— Only if it gets in the way.
— And you want me to keep paying utilities for now.
— I didn’t say «leave it all to you.»
— You said, «you pay it anyway.»
Dmitry fell silent.
— Groceries «depending on the situation.» We haven’t even discussed chores yet. And whatever money you free up, you save for your car.
— When you put it that way, it sounds as bad as possible on purpose.
Elina closed her notebook.
— If the plan only sounds bad when you say it out loud, maybe the problem isn’t how I said it.
— You’re making me sound like a freeloader.
— No. At least a freeloader knows how his business works.
Dmitry couldn’t help but snort.
Elina smiled too.
The tension eased a little, but the issue was still there.
She wasn’t about to call off the wedding over a coffee machine. And she definitely wouldn’t kick her fiancé out just because he was a little too eager.
But she couldn’t pretend everything was okay, either.
— How about an experiment? — she suggested.
— What kind?
— We live together for a month. Nothing gets moved or sold without talking about it first. All shared costs are split fifty-fifty. Housework too. Personal purchases are up to each of us, but we get shared groceries together.
— And after a month?
— We’ll see if living together works for us.
— What about the wedding?
— The wedding’s in five months. It’s not going anywhere in the next month.
Dmitry looked at the boxes.
— So can I start unpacking?
— Just the essentials.
— What about the table?
— No.
— The coffee machine?
— The coffee machine can get a temporary residence permit.
That was the agreement.
On Monday evening, they even went grocery shopping together.
Dmitry carried the bags, cooked pasta, and after dinner said:
— See? You were worried for nothing.
On Tuesday night, the pasta was gone and the plates were still in the sink.
Elina went to bed.
Dmitry was already turning out the lights when he asked:
— You’re not going to wash the dishes?
— No.
— What about in the morning?
«If it’s my turn, I’ll wash them.»
«Whose turn is it today?»
Elina looked at him.
«I did the cooking.»
«Got it.»
He went back to the kitchen.
For another five minutes, the sounds of someone suddenly paying the price for pasta echoed from the sink.
On Wednesday, Dmitry opened the closet and announced:
«I’m out of socks.»
«Congrats on reaching a big life milestone.»
«What do you mean?»
«Now you know when it’s time to do laundry.»
«I thought you always run the machine, anyway.»
«I do. With my own stuff.»
«You could’ve tossed mine in, too.»
«Sure. If you put them in the basket and say, ‘Elin, could you add these with yours?'»
«So I have to ask every time?»
«Nope. You can always press the button yourself.»
Dmitry silently gathered up his laundry.
The washing machine survived his intervention just fine.
Thursday brought on a cottage cheese crisis.
Dmitry opened the fridge before work.
«Is there no cottage cheese?»
«Nope.»
«And no ham?»
«Maybe.»
«And my yogurts?»
«Looks like it.»
He turned around.
«Didn’t you go to the store yesterday?»
«No.»
«I thought you usually stop by after work.»
«Usually I buy what I need.»
«But we live together now.»
«Exactly. So now the store’s for both of us, too.»
He checked the time, grabbed his car keys, and left without breakfast.
That night, he came back with two bags of groceries.
He picked up three packs of cottage cheese at once.
«So I don’t have to rely on circumstances,» he declared.
Elina didn’t bother to point out that in this case, those «circumstances» had a name—his own.
By Friday, things escalated to a level where a notebook was no longer necessary.
Elina was late at work. She worked for a small company, handling purchases for a chain of salons and went to the office twice a week. That evening, the supplier had mixed up the paperwork, so she didn’t get home until almost nine.
She could hear voices from the stairwell.
When she opened the door, she saw two pairs of men’s sneakers, a shopping bag, and a jacket that definitely wasn’t there this morning.
A sports commentator was yelling in the living room.
«Oh, Elina!» Anton, Dmitry’s friend, was the first to notice her. «Hey!»
Another friend, Sergey, was sitting on the couch.
Empty mugs sat on the table.
Dmitry peeked out of the room:
«You’re late.»
«I can see that.»
«We’re watching the game. Didn’t I say today was match day?»
«You mentioned the game. Forgot about the spectators.»
«Come on, we’ll keep it down.»
Anton immediately turned down the TV.
«If we’re bothering you, just say so.»
«You’re not bothering me. I just want to know the food plan.»
The guys exchanged glances.
«We’ll order pizza,» Sergey said.
«Great. And one more thing: who’s cleaning up the dishes and trash afterwards?»
«We’ll handle it ourselves,» Anton replied. «No problem.»
Dmitry frowned.
«Elin, do you always have to start in as soon as you walk in the door?»
An awkward silence filled the room.
Sergey slowly picked up his phone.
«Okay. I’m ordering the pizza.»
Anton got up.
«I’ll take the mugs to the kitchen.»
Elina looked at Dmitry.
The funniest part was that his friends understood everything in fifteen seconds.
Only her future husband still thought this was some unexpected nitpicking.
She didn’t make a scene in front of the guests.
She changed, made herself some tea, and watched the second half of the game with them.
The guys really did order food themselves, cleaned up after the match, wiped down the table, and took out the trash.
As they were already at the door, Anton gave Dmitry a pat on the shoulder:
«Nice place you’ve got here.»
Elina overheard and smirked.
Not «you both.»
Just «you.»
Apparently, in five days Dmitry had managed to present the whole situation to his friends the same way he saw it himself.
On Saturday morning, he was planning to go and return the studio keys to the owner.
Elina set a cup of coffee in front of him from that very coffee machine.
«Call the landlord first.»
«Why?»
«Ask if he’s already rented out the apartment.»
Dmitry immediately tensed up.
«Are you kicking me out?»
«I’m suggesting you don’t move out completely just yet.»
«Because of last night?»
«Not just last night. Because of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and last night.»
He pushed the cup away.
«Very funny.»
«Dima, I don’t want to live with someone who treats my home like it’s just a ready-made service. Not because you’re a bad person. You just haven’t thought about the fact that living together isn’t just like renting a place and not paying anymore.»
«I can pay the utilities.»
«It’s not about the utilities anymore.»
«So, what’s it about?»
«You decided to move in without me. Decided which room would be yours. Decided to sell my armchair. Decided that I’d keep taking care of the house the same as before, only now for you too. And never once thought that any of this needs to be discussed.»
For a few seconds, Dmitry twirled the cup by the handle.
«Honestly, I thought when we got engaged it just happened automatically.»
«That’s exactly why we shouldn’t rush things.»
«You’re calling off the wedding?»
«No. But we’re not speeding anything up. And, for now, we’ll live separately.»
«I have to return the apartment keys in an hour.»
«That’s why you should call now.»
The studio owner didn’t pick up right away.
Dmitry stepped out to take the call in the other room.
Ten minutes later, he came back.
«He hasn’t rented it out.»
«Good.»
«Good for who?»
«Right now—for you.»
«He raised the rent by three thousand.»
«That’s the price for making decisions on your own.»
He gave her a gloomy look.
«You’re especially kind today.»
«At least you still have a 27-square-meter study.»
So he had to haul the boxes back.
Dmitry was going to take the coffee machine, too, but then waved it off:
«Let it stay.»
«You sure?»
«I’m starting to think that maybe some things are better discussed.»
Elina burst out laughing.
In the weeks that followed, they kept seeing each other.
At first, Dmitry felt hurt. It seemed to him that he’d been shown the door over a few minor household things.
Then all those little things started to add up.
When Elina came to his studio, he suddenly noticed that groceries didn’t magically appear in the fridge. That towels actually need to be washed sometimes. That after guests leave, you don’t just have memories in the morning, but also a table that someone has to tidy up.
One evening, they had dinner at his place, and Elina automatically got up to clear the dishes.
Dmitry stopped her:
«Sit down. I did the cooking—I’ll handle the kitchen, too.»
«Did the cooking for the guests?»
«Food. I cooked the food. Don’t start.»
Two months later, they brought up living together again.
This time, Dmitry came without any boxes.
And without the coffee machine—it was still at Elina’s.
«I have a proposal,» he said.
— That’s already progress.
— Let’s try again. But this time, let’s do it right.
They pulled out the notebook once more.
But now Dmitry took the lead, writing down utility bills, groceries, and chores first.
They decided not to make the spare room an office. Instead, they placed a compact desk by the window that both of them could use. Elina’s chair stayed right where it was.
Dmitry didn’t forget about the car, either. He kept saving money from his salary—after covering his share of their joint expenses.
A month before the wedding, he sold his old SUV and added his savings to the down payment for a newer car.
One evening, as they were finally sorting through the boxes they had moved, Elina found the one with “important” written boldly across it.
— So, what’s in here?
— Documents, wires, chargers, watches… A bit of everything.
— So you didn’t even know what to call it yourself.
— But it sounded serious, didn’t it?
She pulled out a bundle of cables, two old phones, and a bag full of appliance manuals.
— Extremely important stuff.
— Hands off. Every man needs a box that no one really understands the purpose of.
Elina put it back where she found it.
— Alright. I’ll allow one.
After the wedding, Dmitry admitted that before their first move, he honestly thought the decision was already made.
In his mind, living together was simple: you move in with whoever has the bigger apartment.
He considered the square footage, rent, distance to work, parking, and even where it would be easiest to set up a computer desk.
He only forgot about one thing.
The person who actually owned the apartment.
Elina learned something too.
Turns out, sometimes four boxes in the hallway can reveal more about your future marriage than ten romantic weekends or a week at a nice hotel.
Because it’s easy to be an attentive fiancé on vacation.
But the thought of asking, “Do you actually want me to move in with you?”—that doesn’t come from romance.
It comes from respect.
