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  • I had been looking for a studio apartment to move into for months. And during those precious summer months Michael had been living in Santa Fe, editing Cowboys and Aliens. I was determined to live alone, but the only studios I could afford were frighteningly small or lacked windows, or had wall-to-wall carpeting and I swore there were critters living in those tinged fibers.
    Michael returned to LA on September 2nd. On September 3rd, Michael and I were driving to his mother's for a very big family dinner. I heard his breaths starting and then truncating. I could tell he wanted to say something.
    "What is it?" I asked without looking at him.
    "How do you know?"
    I smiled.
    "How do you always know?" He asked again. When my sly smile persisted, he launched right in:
    "When two people move in together, everything that was once special becomes a drag. Our personal time goes out the window. We never see our friends anymore. We get on each other's nerves. We avoid each other and want to spend time elsewhere, like at work. You know how we are so excited to spend time with each other? Well, that will disappear were we to move in together..." This rant went on for 15 minutes. He listed every possible downside of a couple sharing a living space.
    I sat there with my brows knit together. I was panicking a little. We had never had the "moving in conversation" before; this was the first time it was brought up, except for a sliver of a time a few months earlier when I had visited him in Santa Fe; and I was just about to fall asleep near his armpit when I whispered, "I'd like to live with you." But I meant to add "someday." Thinking he was asleep already I sighed and then fell deep into the white sheets and sunk into dreams. He, I later found out, was most certainly not asleep!
    He finally finished his rant with something like, "It will just ruin everything we have built between us. So how do you feel about moving in with me? Do you think we could handle it?"
    When I finally uttered some response to his cautionary tale of two lovers moving under one roof, we had arrived at his mother's, so I quickly said, "I could handle it. Are you asking me to move in with you?"

    It's been 1 year and 3 months since we moved into our perfect Venice bungalow. And it's been absolute bliss. I mean it. None of those awful scenarios came to be. And often at night, as I'm curling up into his armpit, I whisper, "I love living with you."
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