It never occurred to Eleanor to ask Simon to move in with her. Dating was one thing; cohabiting was another entirely.
On a Saturday, the dreamlike dusk found Eleanor waiting on the doorstep for their usual stroll. She opened the front door, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and there he stood, two massive suitcases in hand.
Eleanor sank into an armchair, flicking through photographs on her mobile. There they were, feeding ducks in HydePark, wandering the same park hand in hand, and later, gathering mushrooms in the woods. Six months of acquaintance had slipped by unnoticed.
They had met on a dating site. She was sixtyone, he sixtythree. Both divorced, their adult children living elsewhere, each occupying a flat of their own.
Simon had appealed to her instantlywellread, witty, and gently refined. He wasnt hunting for a mother for his children nor a housekeeper for his home; he simply wanted conversation with someone who sparked his curiosity.
Their meetings were two or three times a week: a play at the WestEnd, an exhibition at the Tate, coffee in a tuckedaway café, wandering the citys winding lanes, and trips to a cottage belonging to a mutual friend. Eleanor cherished this contactfree of obligations yet rich in emotional closeness.
Eleanor, tell me how you live, Simon asked after one of their early encounters.
Quietly, peacefully. Ive been on my own for five years now; Im used to it.
Dont you get bored?
Sometimes. I have friends, my daughters visit, and now theres you.
Thats pleasant to hear.
After his divorce, Simon rented a onebedroom flat in an aging terraced house. He complained that the landlady was capricious, never carried out repairs, and kept raising the rent pound after pound.
But what can you do? he muttered. I lost everything in the split. The flat belonged to my exwife; her parents bought it years ago, and any refurbishments I funded are invisible to her.
Did you ever think of buying something yourself?
Where would I find enough money for a flat?
Eleanor understood. She owned a threebedroom flat in a respectable London boroughher lifetimes earnings. Her daughters had long since moved out, leaving plenty of space.
Yet she still never imagined inviting Simon to share her home. Meeting was one thing; living together was another.
On that Saturday, Eleanor waited again. When she opened the door, Simons suitcases loomed like silent, hulking clouds.
Simon, whats happened? she asked.
Eleanor, may I come in? Ill explain.
They slipped into the hallway; Simon set the suitcases down and sank onto the sofa.
The landlady decided to sell the flat and gave me a week to vacate, he said.
So what now?
I have nowhere to go. Its not easy to find another flat right away, and Im short of cash.
Eleanor began to see where his thoughts were heading.
Eleanor, Ive been thinkingweve been serious for half a year, we know each other well. What if we tried living together?
Together? she echoed.
Yes. Your threebedroom flat has plenty of room. Im not a freeloaderI still work and will chip in for food and bills.
But we never talked about this.
Why discuss it beforehand? Life itself has been whispering.
Eleanor felt a sudden dizziness, as if the house were shifting beneath her feet. She wasnt ready for such a turn.
I need to think, she whispered.
Whats there to think about? We love each other.
Love and cohabitation are different things.
Why different? At our age, its time to decide.
Decide what?
In relationships. If we meet, we should be together.
She stared at the suitcases, as if they had already decided for her, stacking themselves in the hallway.
What if Im opposed?
Opposed to what? To happiness?
Opposed to a stranger bringing his belongings into my home without even asking.
Eleanor, dont be angry. Im not malicious; the circumstances just fell this way.
The circumstances are made, not given.
What do you mean?
That you should have spoken to me first, then brought the luggage.
Simon fell silent, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if the plaster might melt away.
Alright, lets talk now. I propose we live together.
I refuse.
Why?
Because I like living alone. I enjoy our companionship, but I dont want a shared roof.
But why? Were compatible.
Were compatible for dates, walks, shared hobbiesnot for shared chores.
Whats the difference?
Living together is daily: habits, order, compromises.
So what? We could adjust to each other.
Thats the pointI dont want to adjust. Im fine as I am.
Simons face fell.
What if I suggested we get married officially?
Why?
Because it would make everything proper, by the book.
Simon, marriage wont change anything. I still wont want to share a flat.
But then whats the point of us?
The same as before: we meet, we talk, we spend time together.
And then?
We keep meeting.
That sounds frivolous!
It isnt frivolous for me. These terms suit me.
It doesnt suit me. I want stability.
Simon, what kind of stability do you need? Eleanor asked, settling opposite him.
The ordinary kindfamily life, breakfast together, building plans.
I dont want to share breakfast every day. I dont want to fit into anyones schedule.
But youre alone!
Im not alone. I have my daughters, my friends, and you. Solitude and living alone are distinct.
I dont see the distinction.
The difference is that now I choose when and with whom I interact. If we lived together, Id lose that choice.
At sixty, shouldnt we think about who will be by our side in old age?
I think about it, but it neednt be a husband.
Then who?
My daughters, a caregiver, social servicesthere are options.
But thats not what I want!
It may not be what you want, but it works for me.
Simon rose, pacing the room as if the floor might dissolve.
So youre saying I should keep renting a flat and meet you only on weekends?
Im saying live however you wish. Meet when we both feel like it.
And if I cant afford another flat?
Thats your problem, not mine.
Thats cruel, Eleanor.
Its honest. Im under no obligation to solve your housing dilemma.
But we meet!
We meet, and that doesnt make me responsible for your life.
Simon settled back onto the sofa, lost in thought.
If I find a flat, will we still talk?
Sure, if we both want.
Until then, can I stay at yours for a while?
No.
Not at all?
Not at all.
He realized she was serious. He gathered his suitcases and moved toward the door.
So I must look for both a home and new relationships.
Possibly.
Eleanor, will you regret this?
No.
Simon walked away, his footsteps echoing like distant thunder. He never called again. Eleanor returned to her tranquil life, untouched by a partner. At sixty, she prized quiet above companionship and treasured freedom more than any shared existence
What would you have done in this dreamlike scenario? Share your thoughts.
