My Boyfriend Turned My House Into Our Home

My parents are living in a different country now, but they made sure I was in good hands before they left. They gave me a house with three bedrooms, and I have been living here with only my footsteps for the past two years. At first, it was like living in a dream, but later on, it became boring. I would wake up to total quietness and I would ask myself if I was living in a house or a gallery.

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Thinking of this, I asked myself, “What’s the harm in letting my best friend Adwoa move in?” I saw it as a chance to have fun. We would prepare meals together, watch Netflix to our heart's content, and share secrets like we used to do in Legon. But before I could tell her to, “Get ready and come over,” Philip came.

Philip is the type of person who would persuade a desert to sell its sand and the desert would bless him for it. We encountered each other at a friend's party and somehow we became the best of friends. You can tell the start of such a relationship. One moment you are saying, “Let’s see how it goes,” and next thing the whole world knows his name in your circle.

The guy was not coming over that often at first hanging out on weekends, sleepovers after watching a movie. However, with time things began to change. He left his slippers in my bathroom. A week later, he left his towel. Before I knew it, his toothbrush was beside mine every day. I came to know what was going on when one day I peeped into my wardrobe and found his shirts taking up a whole row on the shelf.

I said, “Philip, what are your things doing here?”

He laughed and said, “So I don’t have to carry anything with me when I come to you next.”

Isn’t that sweet? But then “next time” became “all the time.”

The presence of Philip is what now fills my once-peaceful house. The door having his pair of shoes, the PlayStation next to my TV, and the smell of his deodorant mixing with my air freshener are just a few of the typical signs of his presence around. I sometimes glance over my shoulder and get confused as to when this place was converted into our home.

To my surprise, he came up with the biggest shocking news during the previous week.

“Babe,” he said, “my rent will be due next month, and I’ve been thinking along the lines of … since we are going to be married anyway, why not I just inhabit your place?”

Like that instant. Only eight months gone by since we started dating. Eight months indeed! I tried turning it into a joke. “Philip, do you really think its too soon?” he replied with his famous grin and the words, “Too soon? Babe, its fate. Cutting costs, becoming even closer, and devising our future will be the goods.”

The thing is, though. I’m not certain about the sharing of that degree of closeness. I told him, “You moving in doesn’t change that fact that we won’t be in the same room until marriage.” He lifted his brow, used that playful smile, and replied with, “We’ll see.”

What concerns me is the “we’ll see.” I’ve realized how these things develop. A guy comes live with you, for years, he calls you “my wife”, even gives you a child, but then when it comes to marriage, he starts hesitating.

So here I am in a dilemma. Should I allow him to live with me? I don't know whether besides being old-fashioned, still, there is something deep inside that tells me love should not be a matter of a lease renewal but a ring instead. If you were in my place, would you allow him to move in?

—Rita

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