One by one, Alex and I carry each of the boxes containing all the things that once made this four-walled structure our home.
Some years or months ago, we left this house, separately. We decided against selling it. Neither was sure if we would return, or if even together. No promises were made as we set off, each on our own road. Separately, we both decided we missed the house.
The building is almost exactly as I remember it, though completely empty now. I can’t decide if someone’s been here since I left, but I don’t know if it matters.
We decide to unpack the kitchen first, since preparing food is a necessity. The first box I pick up contains the pots and pans. As I hold one in my hand, I glance at where they used to be kept before. “Should we put them back in the same cupboard?” I ask Alex.
“They worked there, right? We could reach them easily from the stove.”
I wonder if this is true. “But maybe they’d be better placed in this cupboard,” I suggest.
Alex shrugs. “What’s the point of moving things around? Wouldn’t it just be easier to keep them where they were?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “To keep things interesting?”