Moving House

Dan’s hands were shaking from the weight of the last box, the one Kate had labeled “Misc.” He wasn’t sure what “Miscellaneous” meant anymore — it felt like every damn thing they owned had been crammed into this one box, which weighed more than half the furniture. He hoisted it onto his knee and slid it into the back of the truck, leaning against the tailgate to catch his breath.

The wind off the Manukau Harbour swept up the street, kicking dust into his face. Sweat slicked his shirt to his back, gritty from the endless trips between the house and the truck. Kate was next to him, hands on her hips, hair sticking to her forehead. She stared at the mountain of boxes and furniture crammed haphazardly into the back of the moving truck and then at the new house they’d fought tooth and nail to buy — a neat, weatherboard place on a quiet street in Howick. It was meant to be a fresh start, a step into the calm and predictable life they’d both dreamed of.

“Should’ve hired a moving company,” Kate muttered, kicking at the gravel on the driveway. Her voice was thin, stretched with exhaustion.

Dan nodded, staring out at the horizon, where the afternoon sun was starting to melt into the sea. The breeze picked up again, swirling dust and fatigue into the air. “Yeah,” he sighed, “definitely should’ve.” They stood there in silence for a moment, both too tired to argue or even speak. The kind of quiet you can only share with someone who’s been through the trenches with you.

They had laughed at the idea a month ago when the movers had quoted them — laughed at the sheer audacity of charging thousands to shift what was, in their minds, a few boxes and a couple of pieces of furniture. But now, standing here, every muscle screaming in protest, it was clear: the movers had known something they didn’t.

Kate fished her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through messages, probably from her mum. The woman had opinions on everything, especially budgeting. Dan could hear her voice in his head now: “You two need to be sensible. A house is an investment, not an expense. Make sure you’re counting every penny.”

“Well,” Dan said, running a hand through his hair, “your mum would be pleased. We saved some money, didn’t we?”

Kate shot him a tired smile, the kind that said, *Don’t push it, mate.* “Yeah, but my back isn’t exactly grateful.”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing the knot that had formed between his shoulder blades. The boxes looked like they’d be here a while. “Could’ve been sitting at a café right now, watching someone else do this,” he said, more to himself than her. He imagined himself sipping a flat white, legs stretched out, while a team of professionals handled all this chaos.

“Or already unpacked,” Kate added, pocketing her phone with a sigh. “But no. Here we are.”

They both stared at the heap of boxes scattered across the driveway, like a yard sale that had been hit by a hurricane. The truck was packed, but there was still the other half of their stuff to worry about — the house they’d left behind, still full of odds and ends, things they’d somehow underestimated.

The day had started with hope. They’d woken up in their old place, surrounded by neatly stacked boxes, thinking that today would be the beginning of their new life. Moving house, getting settled, and by evening, they’d have takeaways in their new living room, clinking wine glasses to toast to their future. But now, looking at the mess before them, Dan wasn’t sure what the hell they were thinking.

“Howick’s got some nice takeaways,” Kate offered, as if reading his mind.

“Yeah,” Dan agreed. “Could go for that Thai place we passed on the way here.”

Kate nodded, pushing a stray hair out of her face, her eyes wandering over the house. “We’ll get there. We just need to get this stuff inside.”

The sun was sinking lower, casting long shadows across the street, making everything look quieter, calmer. It was almost peaceful, if not for the exhaustion hanging over them like a thick fog.

Inside the house, it wasn’t much better. Boxes filled every room, stacked haphazardly against walls, like some poorly executed Jenga tower. Every room echoed with the emptiness of a place not yet lived in, the kind of silence that made you feel small and overwhelmed. There were no curtains yet, so the pale afternoon light filtered in through the wide windows, illuminating the chaos that was their new life.

Dan leaned on the doorframe, looking at the open space of the living room. The couch had somehow made it inside, but it looked like it didn’t belong, just a lonely piece of furniture in a sea of cardboard.

“Want to start with the kitchen?” Kate asked, brushing past him into the room. She knelt by one of the boxes, squinting at the label. “This one says ‘Kitchen, Fragile.’”

Dan grunted, stepping over a pile of boxes to help. “Which one of us packed that? ’Cause it’s not looking too fragile now.”

Kate smiled at him, her face softening for the first time in hours. “You mean you can’t tell by my impeccable handwriting?”

They opened the box, and Dan immediately regretted everything. Plates and glasses, wrapped in thin paper towels, sat precariously balanced inside. A few had shifted in transit, a teacup had cracked, and one of the glasses had shattered completely.

“Brilliant,” Kate muttered, pulling out the pieces. “Just brilliant.”

Dan ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Add it to the list.”

They moved through the kitchen slowly, unpacking essentials, one box at a time. Each step was slower than the last, their energy draining with every object they pulled out. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the third box that Kate stopped and leaned against the counter.

“I can’t keep doing this tonight,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just… I need a break.”

Dan looked at her, seeing the exhaustion written across her face, the way her shoulders slumped, the way her hands shook slightly. He felt it too — the weight of the day, the weight of the past few months, all pressing down on him. They had fought so hard to get here, to make this work, and now it felt like they were sinking under the weight of it all.

“Let’s call it,” he said softly, dropping the pan he was holding back into the box. “We’ve done enough for today. We can finish tomorrow.”

Kate didn’t argue. She nodded, turning to look at the empty shelves, the half-unpacked boxes that littered the floor. “Takeaways?”

“Takeaways,” he confirmed. “Thai?”

“Thai.”

They left the boxes where they were and stepped outside into the cool evening air. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with purples and oranges. It was quiet now, the kind of quiet that came after a long, hard day.

As they walked down the driveway, the house loomed behind them, waiting, like a promise yet to be fulfilled. They had moved, yes, but they hadn’t quite arrived.

Dan reached for Kate’s hand as they walked, their fingers intertwining, a small gesture of solidarity after a day that had pushed them to their limits.

“We’ll get there,” he said softly.

Kate smiled, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. We will.”

And as they walked toward the car, away from the mess, the chaos, the exhaustion, Dan felt a flicker of hope. Maybe tomorrow, things would be easier. Maybe tomorrow, they would finally feel like they were home.