In exactly 11 days, something very exciting is happening in my life and relationship: My husband and I are finally moving out of his bachelor pad and into a new apartment. When I moved in nearly three years ago, I never expected to stay here this long. In fact, when I initially moved to New York from Chicago, I only meant to stay in Drew’s apartment long enough to find a job and a place of my own.
Things changed, though, and Drew and I quickly realized we really enjoyed living together. So I stayed. Even after I finally found work and could afford to get my own place, it seemed dumb for us to live apart when what we wanted was to be together. And for awhile it made sense to stay in Drew’s bachelor pad here in Manhattan. Even though he’d lived here for 13 years already — since he was 24 — the apartment was a great space in a convenient location (especially for someone brand-new to the city), with one of those controlled rents you normally only hear about in urban legends. But now it’s time to go.
Aside from simply out-growing the space, it’s been a challenge (for me, at least) to think of this apartment as “our home” when Drew had such a long history here before I came along. For many years, the apartment had two bedrooms (he took a wall down literally on the day we first spoke, finally making it a 1-bedroom), and throughout the time he’s lived here, he’s shared the apartment with a host of friends and roommates. Almost everyone he knows has crashed here at some point or another — sometimes for just a few weeks, other times for several years.
There have been wild parties here; it’s been the set for at least a couple of independent movies (Drew has a few filmmaker friends); and I’m sure Drew had his fair share of lady friends over when he was still single. “If these walls could talk,” as they say, I’m not sure I’d want to hear their stories. This place, as much as it’s been the scene for some of my happiest moments, really belongs to Drew’s past, and now that we’re planning a future together, I’m beyond excited to move to a home that reflects that.
Our new apartment is about as far from our current reality as you could get and still remain in the same city. It’s in Brooklyn, for one thing — on a quiet, tree-lined street just a few doors down from a couple of our close friends. We’ll no longer have to dodge tourists on our way to the local coffee shop or hear the sound of delivery trucks and sirens all day long like we do here. We’ll have a storage room for our bikes so I won’t have to carry mine up and down two flights of stairs every time I want to go for a ride. The people walking around the neighborhood will be locals, not 9-5’ers on their way to work or tourists asking for directions to Central Park.
And the apartment itself, while more expensive than we’ve gotten away with spending at our current place, has many of the amenities we’re tired of living without: central air (!), a dishwasher, and laundry right in the unit. No more dragging dirty clothes to the laundromat down the street once a week and praying there’s a machine available that won’t break on us mid-cycle. And as our friends — and parents — keep pointing out, there’s even a second bedroom that can be turned into a nursery if that need arises (and we hope it does one day).
More than all that, though, I’m super excited about creating a new home with Drew — a place that belongs to us equally — a place that belongs to our future. And if that weren’t sweet enough, the new place has a walk-in closet, you guys. I think I’m falling in love.
Original by Wendy Atterberry
