Home for Now
By Aoife Broad
There’s something very telling in the way someone keeps their house.
The mugs beside the kettle. The stocked jar of biscuits. The pile of clothes thrown hastily in the machine.
A few stray dishes, waiting in the sink. Not so much as to be a mess, but just enough to know there’s someone home.
All these little signs of life, tucked away when company comes.
Aidan showing us around one of his building sites.
I haven’t been home in a while. For the last two months, I’ve been house-sitting across the city.
Two friends, Adam and Aidan, have joined me for a lot of that time. Aidan owns the house he and Adam live in, and has been remodeling the kitchen, lounge, and bathroom. Their kitchen, at the moment, consists of an ironing board bench, a sandwich press, a kettle, and a reliably leaky fridge.
By comparison, the houses we’ve house sat have all been gorgeous.
All are located in premier seaside suburbs, with owners whose job titles resonate along the lines of CE, Head Investor, or Chief Scientist. The views have been expansive, the pets adorable, the company brilliant.
We’ve established new routines catered to the house we’re staying in. But I haven’t known these friends for long at all.
I’d met them in 2021, but spent more time with them over New Years—Aidan and I went tramping (backpacking) and Adam would take me out on his boat.
One day over the holiday, my friends El, Catherine, and I kayaked over to the other side of Lake Rotoiti. It was a two-man kayak, with three of us on board. Only El and I paddled. It took three hours. Between us, we’d brought a slab of beers and two muesli bars for sustenance.
Around 4:00 pm that night, we reached the other side of the lake. We met up with some friends who’d taken a boat over to the other side, and mucked around biscuiting and water-skiing.
At about 6:00 pm, Catherine left us for the considerably faster boat, and El and I got ready to leave.
It was expected to be dark around 9:00 pm. In preparation for the long trip home, we cracked into a few more beers—and started playing 2000’s Jack Johnson on the small, crappy speaker we’d brought with us.
About an hour into our paddle home, we were dehydrated, hungry, and drunk. We’d make it back across the lake for sure, but it would be dark by the time we’d find shore.
The author and her friend receive a tow across Lake Rotiti.
Unbeknownst to El and I, the boat filled with our friends had run out of fuel, and its passengers had been left stranded on a little island in the lake while we’d been kayaking. Once the captains (Adam and Aidan) had refueled and picked up their passengers, they came back to check on El and me. What would have been another two hours of kayaking, turned into a high-speed, 15-minute tow.
It seems strange, almost naive even, but I knew from then on that I could trust them.
Trust matters an awful lot with friends. Even more so with who you live with. Adam and Aidan have been a dream to housesit with. They’re tidy, respectful, silly, and funny. They clean up after themselves. They’re kind and good people.
One of the main reasons I’d been so keen to accept the offers to housesit, was because at the flat where I usually live, a lovely little spot in Wellington’s hills, had recently got a new flatmate.
It’s a five-bedroom home, and four of the rooms were already occupied by our group of friends. We met this guy online, and initially, he seemed pretty normal. We FaceTimed him, sussed him out a little bit, and he made the move up to Wellington.
He lasted three weeks before I asked him to leave. The first couple of weeks he was normal enough. A little strange sometimes, a little messy, but nothing that we couldn’t deal with.
One night though, he got completely trashed (by himself) on a Wednesday, on another flatmate’s booze. I arrived home quite late and was greeted by a very drunk man—who proceeded to follow me around like a shadow, creepily touch guests, and refuse to drink water. He ended up clogging the kitchen and bathroom sinks with his vomit, and vomiting all over the floor, door, washing machine, dryer, and wall in the laundry. He also vomited all over my mattress, which he decided to crash on. He failed to apologize and didn’t clean up until late the next day.
Out for a walk with the dogs.
The other flatmates and I gathered together and decided to ask him to leave with a one-month notice.
Even though I wasn’t around much that month, I couldn’t help but imagine how uncomfortable it would be for everyone tip-toeing around one another, not addressing the upcoming eviction elephant in the room.
By contrast during this time, Adam, Aidan, and I were peacefully walking dogs on the beach, going for runs, and treating each other, and the houses we looked after with respect.
It feels good to come home at the end of a day, and to know that you’ll feel comfortable and safe as soon as you step through the door. I suppose that’s how you’ll feel if you cherry-pick your company.
I hadn’t realized how on edge I’d been at the flat, how worried I was that our new flatmate would talk to me, how casually uncomfortable I’d become.
It feels nice just to take some time, and to breathe.
Still, I am excited to go home.
Aoife Broad is a crappy vegetarian and artist based in Wellington, NZ. Follow her on Instagram @aoifebroad.
