By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already stripped the sheets from the bed and started a load of laundry. Mark stood in the kitchen, comparing the nearly empty coffee canister with the grocery list on his phone.

“Coffee,” he said.

“It’s already on there,” Elena called from the hallway. “So are trash bags. Don’t delete them again because you think we have some.”

Mark opened the cabinet under the sink. “We have three.”

“We need more than three.”

After breakfast, they divided the chores. Elena cleaned the bathroom while Mark vacuumed the living room and shook crumbs from the couch cushions. He found two dollars in change and the missing cap from Elena’s favorite pen. She found that the bathroom sink was draining slowly, so Mark added drain cleaner to the list.

Around eleven, they carried a bag of recycling to the bins behind their apartment building, then drove to the supermarket. The parking lot was crowded, and Elena waited for an older man to back out while Mark returned a stray cart to the corral.

Inside, Elena chose produce while Mark picked up pasta, canned tomatoes, and rice. They compared prices on olive oil and decided the larger bottle was worth it. At the dairy case, Mark reached for their usual yogurt, but Elena pointed out that another brand was on sale.

They forgot the trash bags until they were already in the checkout line. Mark stayed with the cart while Elena hurried back for them.

On the way home, they stopped at the gas station. Elena filled the tank while Mark went inside to pay and bought windshield-washer fluid. Back at the apartment, they carried the groceries upstairs in two trips. Mark put away the pantry items, and Elena washed the grapes before storing them.

By two, the clean sheets were back on the bed, the refrigerator was full, and the bathroom sink was draining normally. They ate leftover soup at the kitchen table and discussed whether to spend the afternoon at the park.

“After we fold the laundry,” Elena said.

Mark looked at the basket on the floor and sighed. “I knew there was one more errand.”


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had stripped the sheets from the bed and started the first load of laundry. Mark stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee and studying the list they kept on the refrigerator.

“We need detergent,” he said. “And lightbulbs.”

Lena carried the hamper into the hallway. “Add cat litter. The box is almost empty.”

They had lived together for three years in a rented duplex outside Columbus, Ohio. Saturdays were usually divided between chores and whatever they could fit in afterward. While the washing machine ran, Mark cleaned the bathroom sink and replaced the burned-out bulb above the mirror. Lena vacuumed the living room, moving the coffee table while their cat, Pepper, watched suspiciously from the couch.

Around eleven, they drove to the grocery store. Mark pushed the cart while Lena checked items off the list on her phone. In produce, they compared the prices of bagged spinach and loose kale. They chose spinach because it was cheaper and more likely to get eaten.

“Pasta tonight?” Mark asked.

“Only if you make the sauce,” Lena said.

He agreed and added canned tomatoes to the cart. Lena picked out chicken breasts for Sunday lunches, then doubled back for the yogurt Mark had forgotten. At the checkout, they used a coupon for detergent and split the bill through the shared household account.

On the way home, they stopped at a hardware store. Lena found the right air filter for the furnace by checking a photo she had taken of the old one. Mark bought a small tube of caulk for the bathtub.

Back at the duplex, they carried the bags inside together. Mark put away the groceries and started tomato sauce on the stove. Lena changed the furnace filter, then folded the dry sheets at the dining table.

By three, the errands were finished. The apartment smelled like garlic and laundry detergent. Lena opened a window, and Mark turned on the radio. They sat on the couch with iced tea, comparing movie times and deciding whether they had enough energy to go out.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started the laundry, and Marcus was kneeling under the kitchen sink with a flashlight between his teeth. They had lived together for two years in a second-floor apartment outside Columbus, Ohio, long enough to divide most chores without discussing them.

“The pipe isn’t leaking,” Marcus announced. “The garbage disposal is.”

Lena carried a basket of towels past him. “Is that better?”

“Not financially.”

They laughed, but Marcus took a picture of the damp cabinet and emailed the landlord. While he wiped up the water, Lena moved the towels to the dryer and added detergent to their shopping list.

They left around eleven. First they stopped at the post office, where Lena mailed a birthday package to her sister in Arizona. Marcus waited at the counter filling out a change-of-address form for a bank statement that still went to his old apartment. Afterward, they drove to a hardware store for lightbulbs and a plastic tray to protect the cabinet under the sink.

At the supermarket, Lena pushed the cart while Marcus read from the list on his phone. They compared prices on coffee, chose store-brand pasta, and debated whether they would actually eat a large bag of spinach before it spoiled.

“We always believe in our future selves,” Lena said.

“Our future selves are very healthy,” Marcus replied, putting the smaller bag in the cart.

Marcus picked out chicken and ingredients for tacos. Lena chose apples, yogurt, and a box of cereal he claimed tasted like cardboard. At checkout, they used a coupon and split the total through a payment app.

Back home, Marcus carried the heavy bags upstairs while Lena made two trips for the lighter ones. They put everything away together, then replaced the dead bulb in the hallway. The landlord texted that a plumber would come Monday.

By midafternoon, the towels were folded, the refrigerator was full, and the wet cabinet had been lined with the new tray. Lena made coffee while Marcus sliced apples. They sat at the kitchen table, tired in the mild, satisfying way that came from having taken care of their shared life.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was kneeling beneath the kitchen sink with a flashlight between his teeth.

“It’s not leaking,” he said, pulling out a damp bottle of dish soap. “The cap was loose.”

Lena leaned against the counter, holding the grocery list. “Good. I’d rather spend thirty dollars on food than a wrench.”

They had lived together for two years in a one-bedroom apartment outside Columbus, Ohio. Most weekends began with the same negotiation: what needed doing, what could wait, and who had remembered to buy coffee.

Marcus moved the towels to the dryer while Lena sorted the recycling. Then they carried two paper bags of cans and cardboard down to the bins behind the building. On the way back, they checked the mail and found an electric bill, a coupon flyer, and a postcard from Marcus’s sister.

At the grocery store, Lena steered the cart while Marcus compared prices on chicken thighs. They disagreed briefly over cereal—Lena wanted the expensive kind with almonds; Marcus pointed out that the store brand was half the price. They compromised by buying both and skipping the frozen pizza.

In the produce aisle, Marcus chose tomatoes while Lena inspected a bag of spinach.

“This will go bad by Wednesday,” he said.

“Not if you make that pasta.”

“You mean if we make it.”

She smiled and put the spinach in the cart.

Back home, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the pantry items while Lena divided the chicken into freezer bags. When the dryer buzzed, they folded towels together on the couch, matching the frayed edges.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the coffee Marcus had finally brewed. Lena updated their shared budget on her laptop. Marcus wrote “lightbulbs” on next week’s list.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, tired but satisfied, before deciding the vacuuming could wait until Sunday.


By ten on Saturday morning, Lena had already stripped the bed and started a load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, rinsing coffee mugs and checking the weather on his phone.

“If we leave now, we can beat the grocery crowd,” he said.

Lena carried the hamper down the hall. “We also need detergent, and the bathroom lightbulb is out.”

They made a list together at the counter. Marcus checked the refrigerator while Lena opened cabinets. They were low on eggs, rice, coffee, and nearly every vegetable. Marcus added tortilla chips; Lena added toothpaste and crossed out the expensive sparkling water he had written beneath it.

At the supermarket, they divided the work. Lena chose produce while Marcus waited at the deli counter. They met near the dairy case, where he held up two cartons of eggs.

“These are cheaper.”

“One of them is cracked,” she said.

He looked again, sighed, and put it back. At checkout, Lena unloaded the cart while Marcus bagged, placing the bread and tomatoes on top. The total was higher than they expected, so they studied the receipt in the parking lot. Nothing was wrong. Prices had simply gone up.

On the way home, they stopped at a hardware store for lightbulbs and a small bottle of drain cleaner. Marcus wanted to browse the tools, but Lena reminded him that wet laundry was still sitting in the washer.

Back at their apartment, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Lena transferred the clothes to the dryer and began chopping vegetables for soup. Marcus replaced the bathroom bulb, then cleaned the refrigerator shelves before putting away the groceries.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled like onions and laundry detergent. Marcus folded towels at the table while Lena matched socks beside him.

“We forgot trash bags,” she said.

Marcus checked the list. “You never wrote them down.”

Lena leaned against his shoulder. “Next Saturday.”

He nodded, adding them to his phone before either of them could forget again.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already stripped the bed and started a load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, rinsing coffee mugs and checking the grocery list taped to the refrigerator.

“We’re out of dish soap,” he said.

“And trash bags,” Elena called from the hallway. She carried the laundry basket to the utility closet, then added, “Get the kind with the drawstrings this time.”

Marcus wrote it down while Elena gathered the recycling. They worked around each other in the small apartment they had rented together for two years. He wiped the counters and swept the kitchen; she changed the sheets and watered the plants. When the washing machine buzzed, they folded towels at the dining table, debating whether they really needed to replace the worn bath mat.

Around eleven, they drove to a supermarket near their neighborhood. Elena pushed the cart while Marcus compared prices on canned tomatoes. They had planned meals for the week—vegetable chili, chicken tacos, pasta—and tried to stick to the list. Elena chose avocados, rejecting two that were too soft. Marcus picked up a bag of coffee, then put it back when he noticed the price.

“There’s still enough for a few days,” he said.

At the checkout, they divided the groceries into reusable bags and paid from their shared household account. The total was higher than expected, even after Elena removed a box of cookies they had added on impulse.

On the way home, they stopped at a gas station. Marcus filled the tank while Elena cleaned old receipts and empty water bottles from the car. Back at the apartment, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips.

Marcus put away the pantry items while Elena washed the produce. Then they switched the laundry to the dryer and took the trash and recycling downstairs.

By early afternoon, the errands were finished. They made grilled cheese sandwiches and ate them on the couch, tired but satisfied. The clean sheets waited in the bedroom, the refrigerator was full, and the rest of Saturday was still theirs.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was crouched beneath the kitchen sink, trying to understand why the cabinet floor was damp.

“It’s the drainpipe,” he called. “Not an emergency, but we need plumber’s tape.”

Lena added it to the list on her phone. They had lived together in their Ohio apartment for nearly two years, long enough to know that one errand usually created another.

While the towels spun, Marcus gathered the recycling and carried it to the bins behind the building. Lena sorted the mail, setting aside the electric bill and throwing away a stack of grocery flyers. Then they changed the sheets together, each taking two corners of the fitted sheet and disagreeing briefly about which way it went.

At eleven, they drove to the hardware store. Marcus found the tape and a replacement washer, while Lena picked up lightbulbs for the hallway fixture. In the parking lot, they checked their grocery list before heading to the supermarket across town.

Inside, Lena chose vegetables and compared prices on chicken. Marcus pushed the cart, crossed items off the list, and went back for coffee when they realized they had passed the correct aisle. They debated buying ice cream, then settled on a smaller carton because their freezer was crowded.

At checkout, Lena unloaded the cart while Marcus packed the reusable bags, keeping the eggs away from the canned tomatoes. The total was higher than they expected, so Lena checked the receipt in the car. Everything was correct.

Back home, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus repaired the pipe and wiped the cabinet dry. Lena put away the groceries and moved the towels to the dryer. By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the coffee they had brewed.

They sat at the kitchen table, tired but satisfied, sharing an apple before deciding what to make for dinner.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had stripped the sheets from the bed and started a load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, rinsing their coffee mugs and studying the grocery list taped to the refrigerator.

“We’re out of rice,” he called.

“And dish soap,” Lena said from the hallway. “The unscented kind.”

Marcus added both items, then opened the pantry to check what else they needed. Together they planned three dinners for the coming week and added chicken, black beans, broccoli, and tortillas to the list. Lena checked the bathroom cabinet while Marcus gathered the recycling.

They carried two bins and a bag of flattened cardboard down from their second-floor apartment. After dropping everything at the recycling area, they drove to the supermarket. The parking lot was crowded, and Marcus waited while Lena returned an abandoned cart blocking an open space.

Inside, they divided the work. Lena chose produce while Marcus compared prices on coffee. They met near the dairy case, where he put a large container of yogurt in the cart.

“That’s vanilla,” she said. “We usually get plain.”

“It was on sale.”

“We’ll never use it for the sauce.”

Marcus sighed, returned it, and came back with plain yogurt. Lena, meanwhile, swapped the expensive strawberries she had picked for a cheaper bag of apples.

At checkout, they realized they had forgotten dish soap. Marcus ran back for it while Lena unloaded the cart and entered their rewards number. They split the bill through their shared household account.

Back home, Marcus carried the heavier bags upstairs, and Lena put away the cold items. They ate sandwiches before tackling the rest of the chores. He vacuumed the living room and bedroom while she cleaned the bathroom. Then they switched: Lena folded the laundry, and Marcus changed the sheets.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. They sat on the couch with fresh coffee, tired but satisfied. The only task left was taking out the trash, and they silently agreed it could wait until evening.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was crouched under the kitchen sink, trying to tighten the loose pipe that had been dripping into a plastic bowl all week.

“Hand me the wrench?” he asked.

She passed it over, then checked the grocery list on her phone. They were out of coffee, eggs, rice, and nearly everything that could be packed for lunch. Marcus added dish soap and lightbulbs while Lena moved the towels to the dryer.

They left their apartment just before ten. In the parking lot, Lena carried a bag of recycling to the bins while Marcus scraped an old parking sticker from the windshield. Their first stop was the pharmacy, where Lena picked up a prescription and Marcus bought batteries for the smoke detector. Then they drove to the supermarket.

Inside, they divided the list. Lena chose produce while Marcus went to the deli counter. They met near the dairy case, where he held up two cartons of eggs.

“The cheaper ones have one cracked,” he said.

“Get the other carton.”

They compared prices on coffee, debated whether they would actually eat a large bag of spinach before it spoiled, and decided against buying ice cream because their freezer was already crowded. At checkout, Marcus unloaded the cart while Lena organized the bags so the bread would not be crushed.

Back home, they carried everything up two flights of stairs. Marcus put away the pantry items and replaced the kitchen lightbulb. Lena washed the berries and portioned chicken into freezer bags. When the dryer buzzed, they folded towels together at the dining table.

The pipe under the sink still leaked, though more slowly. Marcus placed the bowl back underneath and submitted a maintenance request through the apartment website.

By early afternoon, the errands were done. Lena made grilled cheese sandwiches while Marcus heated tomato soup. They ate on the couch, shoes off, with the clean towels stacked beside them, and agreed not to plan anything else until dinner.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already stripped the sheets from the bed, while Marcus stood in the kitchen comparing the grocery list to the contents of the refrigerator.

“We have three kinds of mustard and no milk,” he called.

“That sounds like your department,” Elena said, carrying the laundry basket down the hall.

They had lived together in a small apartment outside Columbus for nearly two years. Saturday mornings had gradually become their time for errands, though neither of them remembered agreeing to it.

At the laundromat, Elena loaded the sheets into a washer while Marcus fed quarters into the machine. While they waited, he walked next door to the hardware store for lightbulbs. Elena answered a few emails on her phone and moved the laundry to a dryer. Marcus returned with lightbulbs, batteries, and a small houseplant he admitted had not been on the list.

Their next stop was the supermarket. Elena pushed the cart while Marcus checked off items on his phone. They chose chicken thighs for dinner, pasta, spinach, coffee, and enough yogurt for the week. In the produce section, Elena picked up avocados, frowned at the price, and put them back.

“We can survive without toast looking photogenic,” she said.

Marcus added bananas to the cart instead. At the checkout, they divided the bags by weight so neither would have to carry all the heavy items upstairs.

Back home, Marcus put away the groceries and cleaned a sticky shelf in the refrigerator. Elena folded the warm sheets, then stood on a chair while he replaced the burned-out bulb above the sink. Afterward, they made sandwiches and ate at the kitchen table, the new plant between them.

They still needed to vacuum and take a box of old clothes to the donation center, but neither moved immediately. Sunlight came through the blinds, and the apartment smelled faintly of clean laundry and coffee.

“Twenty-minute break?” Marcus asked.

Elena set a timer on her phone. “Fifteen.”

They both knew it would be closer to thirty.


By nine on Saturday morning, Maya had started the laundry, and Ben was standing in the kitchen, trying to decide whether the milk was still good.

“It smells fine,” he said.

Maya leaned over the carton, sniffed, and shook her head. “It smells like the inside of a refrigerator. Put milk on the list.”

They rented a second-floor apartment in Columbus, Ohio, above a family with two loud children and a quiet dog. While the washer thumped in the hall closet, Ben gathered recycling from the kitchen and bathroom. Maya stripped the bed and discovered they were down to one clean pillowcase.

Their first stop was the recycling center behind the public library. Ben fed cans into the proper bin while Maya broke down a shipping box she had forgotten about for three weeks. Then they drove to a hardware store for lightbulbs and a replacement filter for the furnace. Maya compared package numbers on her phone; Ben found the bulbs and argued for warm white instead of daylight.

At the grocery store, they split the list. Maya picked out vegetables, pasta, and coffee while Ben went for milk, eggs, and cat food. They met near the freezer aisle, where Ben had added frozen pizza to the cart.

“That wasn’t on the list,” Maya said.

“It’s for tonight, after we finish everything.”

She considered this and added a bag of salad.

At checkout, they discovered they had both picked up coffee. Ben returned his bag while Maya unloaded the cart. Back in the parking lot, they divided the groceries between two canvas bags and a paper sack with a weak handle.

At home, Maya transferred the laundry to the dryer while Ben put away groceries. He replaced the furnace filter, and she changed the bed. By three, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and the lemon cleaner Ben had used on the counters.

They sat on the couch with cold drinks, listening to the dryer turn.

“We still have to vacuum,” Maya said.

Ben looked toward the closet.

“In ten minutes,” he replied.

She set a timer, and for exactly ten minutes, neither of them moved.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of towels, while Marcus stood at the kitchen counter comparing the grocery list with the contents of the refrigerator.

“We still have eggs,” he called.

“Two eggs,” Elena said from the hallway. “That’s not eggs. That’s a future argument.”

Marcus added eggs to the list.

They had lived together in a rented duplex outside Columbus for almost three years. Saturday errands had gradually become a routine: laundry, groceries, gas, and whatever small household problem had appeared during the week. This time it was the bathroom lightbulb and a slow kitchen drain.

Elena transferred the towels to the dryer while Marcus gathered recycling from the kitchen and back porch. Together they carried the bins out, then drove to the hardware store. Elena found the correct LED bulbs by checking a photo she had taken of the old package. Marcus chose a drain snake after rejecting a chemical cleaner that smelled harsh even through the sealed bottle.

At the supermarket, they split the list. Elena picked out vegetables and compared prices on coffee. Marcus collected milk, pasta, chicken thighs, and the eggs he had nearly forgotten. They met near the frozen foods, where he put a carton of ice cream in the cart.

“That wasn’t on the list,” Elena said.

“Neither were the fancy olives.”

She considered this, then moved the ice cream aside to make room.

Back home, Marcus put away the groceries while Elena folded the warm towels on the couch. Then she replaced the bathroom bulb, standing on a step stool while he held it steady. Marcus cleared the drain, pulling out a disgusting knot of hair that made both of them recoil.

By early afternoon, the refrigerator was full, the laundry was done, and the sink drained without gurgling. Elena made sandwiches while Marcus wiped down the counter.

They ate at the small kitchen table, discussing whether to spend the rest of the day at the park or on the couch. Neither choice felt urgent, which was exactly what they liked about Saturdays.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing on a chair in the kitchen, replacing the bulb above the sink.

“Try it now,” he said.

Lena flipped the switch. The new bulb came on, brighter than the old one. “Perfect. Now I can see how dirty the counter is.”

They rented a small apartment in Columbus, Ohio, and weekends often began with a list taped to the refrigerator. Marcus added “light bulb” to the completed side while Lena checked the washing machine. Then they gathered the recycling, carried two bins down to the collection area, and stopped at the leasing office to drop off a form about their parking permit.

Back upstairs, they made a grocery list. Lena checked the pantry and called out what they needed: rice, coffee, canned tomatoes. Marcus opened the refrigerator and added eggs, spinach, yogurt, and mustard.

At the supermarket, Lena pushed the cart while Marcus compared prices on chicken. They disagreed briefly about whether they would actually eat a large bag of avocados before they spoiled. They bought three instead. In the cereal aisle, Marcus remembered they were almost out of dish soap, and Lena went back for it while he picked up oatmeal.

The checkout line was long, so they discussed dinner. Marcus suggested tacos; Lena pointed out that they had already chosen pasta ingredients. They settled on pasta for Saturday and tacos on Sunday.

At home, Marcus carried most of the bags up the stairs while Lena took the eggs and a sack of laundry detergent. They put everything away together, then moved the towels to the dryer. Lena wiped the kitchen counters, and Marcus took out the trash.

By early afternoon, the list on the refrigerator was mostly crossed off. They sat on the couch with coffee and shared the last blueberry muffin, both agreeing that vacuuming could wait until later.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of towels, while Marcus stood at the kitchen counter comparing the grocery list to the nearly empty refrigerator.

“We still have eggs,” he said.

“Two eggs,” Elena replied, carrying the laundry basket down the hall. “And one of them might be questionable.”

Marcus added eggs to the list. They had lived together for almost three years, long enough to develop a system for weekends: chores first, then something enjoyable if they still had energy.

While the towels washed, Marcus took the recycling to the bins behind their apartment building. Elena wiped down the bathroom and replaced a burned-out bulb above the mirror. Afterward, they drove to a hardware store for air filters and a small bottle of wood glue to repair a loose dining chair.

At the grocery store, Marcus pushed the cart while Elena checked their list. They moved through produce, choosing apples, spinach, onions, and a bag of potatoes. Marcus picked up avocados, squeezed one, and put it back.

“Too hard,” he said.

“They’ll ripen,” Elena said, returning it to the cart.

They debated which coffee to buy, settled on the cheaper brand, and added pasta, chicken, yogurt, cereal, and the eggs Marcus had nearly forgotten. At checkout, Elena unloaded the cart while Marcus packed the reusable bags, putting the bread and tomatoes on top.

Back home, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Elena put away the refrigerated food as Marcus transferred rice and cereal into containers. Then they ate leftover soup for lunch while the second load of laundry tumbled in the dryer.

Before sitting down, Marcus tightened the loose chair and Elena changed the air filter. By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. The errands were finished, the refrigerator was full, and they had no plans until dinner.

Elena stretched out on the couch. Marcus sat beside her and turned on a baseball game neither of them cared much about. Within ten minutes, both were asleep.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was kneeling beside the kitchen sink, trying to tighten a loose faucet handle.

“Turn it on,” he said.

Elena lifted the handle. Water ran without the usual wobble.

“Good enough,” she said. “Now we need groceries before everyone else in Ohio decides to go shopping.”

They lived together in a rented duplex outside Columbus, where Saturday errands had gradually become a shared routine. Marcus moved the laundry into the dryer while Elena checked the refrigerator. She called out what they needed—eggs, spinach, yogurt, chicken—and he added coffee and dish soap to the list on his phone.

Before leaving, they carried two bags of recycling to the bins behind the building. Elena flattened a cardboard box while Marcus sorted glass bottles. Then they drove to the supermarket, listening to a public radio quiz show and arguing cheerfully over an answer neither of them knew.

Inside, they split up. Elena chose vegetables and compared prices on olive oil. Marcus found coffee, cereal, and the specific brand of tortilla chips she liked. They met near the dairy case.

“Did you get milk?” she asked.

“I thought you were getting milk.”

They both looked at the cart, then laughed. Marcus went back for it while Elena picked out a carton of eggs, opening the lid to check for cracks.

At checkout, they used coupons from the store app and packed the bags themselves. The total was higher than expected, so Elena studied the receipt in the parking lot. Marcus pointed out the sale price on the chicken had not been applied. They returned to customer service and received a refund of six dollars.

Back home, Marcus put away the groceries while Elena folded the warm towels. They made sandwiches for lunch, then sat at the small kitchen table.

“We still need to vacuum,” Elena said.

Marcus glanced toward the living room. “After coffee.”

She agreed, and for ten quiet minutes, the rest of Saturday could wait.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had stripped the sheets from the bed and started a load of laundry. In the kitchen, Marcus stood in front of the open refrigerator, holding an empty carton of eggs.

“We’re out of everything,” he called.

Lena carried the hamper down the hall. “Make a list before you forget.”

They sat at the small table in their rented apartment outside Columbus, Ohio. Marcus checked the pantry while Lena opened the grocery store app and looked for coupons. They needed eggs, coffee, chicken, rice, spinach, dish soap, and cat litter. Marcus added salsa and tortilla chips. Lena added toothpaste.

Before leaving, they divided the other errands. Lena returned a library book through the outdoor slot while Marcus went next door to the pharmacy for allergy medicine. Then they met at the car, where Marcus noticed one tire looked low. He used the air pump at a gas station while Lena cleaned old receipts and two empty water bottles from the passenger-side floor.

The grocery store was crowded with families and employees pushing tall carts for online orders. Lena chose produce while Marcus compared prices on chicken thighs. They debated buying strawberries, decided they were too expensive, then doubled back when Lena found a digital coupon.

At checkout, Marcus bagged the groceries while Lena watched the total and pointed out that the dish soap had rung up at the wrong price. The cashier corrected it without fuss.

Back home, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the cold items and portioned the chicken for the freezer. Lena changed the laundry and discovered a damp tissue stuck to several black shirts. Together they picked off the white scraps, laughing at how much work one forgotten tissue could create.

By early afternoon, the refrigerator was full, the bed was remade, and the cat had fresh litter. Marcus opened the chips, and Lena made coffee. They sat on the couch with the grocery receipt between them, planning what to cook for dinner.


On Saturday morning, Maya woke to the sound of Daniel opening and closing kitchen cabinets. When she came downstairs, he was standing beside the coffee maker with a nearly empty bag of beans.

“We’re out of everything,” he said.

“Not everything.” Maya opened the refrigerator and held up a jar of mustard. “We could survive for weeks.”

They made a list over toast, dividing it into groceries, hardware, and pharmacy items. Their apartment’s bathroom faucet had been dripping for days, and Daniel wanted to replace the worn washer. Maya needed allergy medicine and shampoo. Both of them added snacks to the grocery list when the other wasn’t looking.

They left around ten. Maya drove while Daniel checked the hardware store’s website on his phone. At the store, they spent fifteen minutes comparing faucet washers before an employee helped them find the right size. Maya also picked up felt pads for the dining chairs, which had been scratching the floor.

Next they stopped at the pharmacy. Daniel waited in line with the allergy medicine while Maya wandered into the seasonal aisle and returned with a small basil plant.

“We don’t need that,” he said.

“We need hope,” she replied, placing it in the basket.

The supermarket was crowded. Daniel pushed the cart and chose vegetables while Maya checked prices and crossed items off the list. They debated pasta sauce, agreed on the cheaper brand, and bought chicken, rice, yogurt, apples, coffee, and more mustard, despite Daniel pointing out that they already had some.

Back home, they carried the bags up two flights of stairs. Maya put away the groceries while Daniel replaced the faucet washer. When he turned the water back on, the dripping had stopped.

They ate sandwiches at the kitchen table, the basil plant between them. Afterward, Maya attached felt pads to the chairs, and Daniel started a load of laundry. By midafternoon, the apartment was quieter, better stocked, and only slightly cleaner. They sat on the couch with coffee, pleased to have nothing else planned.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was kneeling beside the bathroom sink with a wrench. They had lived together for three years, long enough to divide chores without discussing every detail, though not long enough to stop debating whose turn it was to clean the refrigerator.

“You bought the wrong washer,” Marcus called.

Elena checked the package on the counter. “I bought the one you texted me.”

He looked at his phone, then laughed. “I texted you the wrong washer.”

They added the correct size to their shopping list.

While the laundry ran, Elena stripped the bed and Marcus gathered recycling from the kitchen and office. Together they carried two bins down the stairs to the collection area behind their apartment building. On the way back, they stopped at the mailbox and found a utility bill, a coupon flyer, and a birthday card for Marcus from his aunt.

Around eleven, they drove to a hardware store. Marcus found the washer, while Elena picked up lightbulbs and a small bottle of wood glue for a loose dining chair. Then they crossed the parking lot to the supermarket.

Elena pushed the cart and checked their shared list. Marcus compared prices on coffee and chose the store brand. They bought eggs, rice, spinach, chicken, yogurt, and ingredients for tacos. In the produce section, Elena selected avocados while Marcus went back for onions they had forgotten.

At checkout, they realized the coupon for laundry detergent was still on the refrigerator. Elena shrugged. “Next time.”

Back home, Marcus repaired the faucet while Elena put away groceries. When he finished, he tested the sink twice and wiped the cabinet dry. Elena moved the towels into the dryer, then held the chair steady while he glued the loose joint.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. They sat at the kitchen table with leftover soup, reviewing the week’s schedule. Nothing about the day had been exciting, but the errands were done, the faucet no longer dripped, and dinner was already planned.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was crouched beneath the kitchen sink, trying to determine why the cabinet floor was damp.

“It’s the spray bottle,” he announced, holding up a leaking bottle of cleaner.

Lena leaned over his shoulder. “Better than a pipe.”

They added all-purpose cleaner to the shopping list, along with eggs, coffee, spinach, and the dozen other things they had forgotten during the week. While the towels turned in the dryer, Marcus broke down a stack of delivery boxes for recycling. Lena gathered empty shampoo bottles from the bathroom and replaced the burned-out bulb above the mirror.

They left their apartment just before eleven. At the post office, Lena mailed a birthday package to her sister while Marcus bought stamps and checked the tracking number on a return. Next, they stopped at the hardware store for lightbulbs, felt pads for the dining chairs, and a replacement air filter.

The grocery store was crowded. Marcus steered the cart while Lena compared prices on olive oil. In produce, he chose avocados, rejecting three before finding two that were firm but not hard. Lena picked up apples and reminded him they already had onions.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I moved them this morning.”

They divided briefly near the dairy aisle—Marcus went for yogurt and eggs while Lena found pasta and canned tomatoes—then met by the frozen foods. They debated buying pizza but decided they could make dinner from what was already at home.

At checkout, Marcus loaded the belt, and Lena arranged the bags so the bread and eggs stayed on top. Back at the apartment, they carried everything upstairs in two trips.

Lena put away the groceries while Marcus changed the air filter. Then they folded the towels together on the couch, matching corners imperfectly. By two, the errands were done. Marcus made coffee, Lena sliced an apple, and they sat by the window, pleased by the quiet satisfaction of having nothing urgent left to do.


On Saturday morning, Maya woke to the sound of a cabinet door closing. In the kitchen, her boyfriend, Daniel, was making coffee and examining the nearly empty refrigerator.

“We have mustard, half an onion, and something I’m afraid to open,” he said.

Maya tied her hair back and took the milk carton from him. It was empty. Daniel had put it back by mistake, so he rinsed it and added it to the recycling while she opened the grocery list on her phone.

They spent the next hour dividing chores. Maya stripped the bed and started a load of laundry. Daniel carried the recycling downstairs and vacuumed the living room. When the vacuum stopped working, they both crouched over it until Maya found a thread wrapped around the brush. Daniel cut it loose with small scissors, and the machine started again.

By noon, they drove to the supermarket. Maya pushed the cart while Daniel checked their list. They compared prices on pasta sauce, chose chicken for dinner, and debated whether they would actually eat a large bag of spinach before it spoiled. They settled on the smaller one.

At the checkout, Daniel realized they had forgotten dish soap. He ran back for it while Maya unloaded the cart. They packed the groceries together, putting the eggs and bread in a separate bag so they would not get crushed.

On the way home, they stopped at a gas station. Daniel filled the tank while Maya cleaned old receipts and an empty coffee cup from the car.

Back at their apartment, Maya put away the refrigerated food. Daniel divided the chicken into freezer bags and labeled them with the date. Then they moved the laundry to the dryer and made sandwiches for lunch.

By three, the errands were finished. The apartment smelled faintly of detergent, the refrigerator was full, and the bed still needed fresh sheets. They agreed to handle that after one episode of a show, though both suspected it might become two.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, trying to decide whether the milk had gone bad.

“It smells fine,” he said.

Lena leaned over the open carton and shook her head. “It expires today. Put milk on the list.”

They lived in a one-bedroom apartment outside Columbus, Ohio, and most Saturdays followed the same loose pattern: chores first, then whatever they actually wanted to do. While Lena moved the towels to the dryer, Marcus gathered the recycling and carried it to the bins behind their building. When he came back, they compared notes at the kitchen counter.

They needed milk, eggs, rice, coffee, dish soap, and something for dinner. Lena added apples and yogurt. Marcus added frozen pizza, then crossed it out when she reminded him they had promised to cook.

At the supermarket, Marcus pushed the cart while Lena checked prices on chicken thighs. He found a discounted family pack and suggested freezing half. She agreed and went to choose vegetables while he picked up coffee and cereal. They met near the dairy case, where Lena caught him placing an expensive pint of ice cream in the cart.

“Only if it’s coming out of your snack budget,” she said.

“Fair,” he replied.

Back home, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the groceries and divided the chicken into freezer bags while Lena cleaned the refrigerator shelf where the old milk had leaked. After lunch, they folded towels together on the couch, each making a separate pile.

Later, Lena drove them to the hardware store for lightbulbs and a replacement air filter. Marcus checked the filter size on his phone before they went inside, preventing the mistake they had made last time.

By four, the errands were finished. They made coffee, opened the windows, and sat at the small kitchen table. The apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the lemon cleaner Lena had used. Nothing about the day had been exciting, but the fridge was full, the lights worked, and neither of them had to do anything else until dinner.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of laundry, and Marcus was kneeling beside the kitchen sink, trying to tighten a loose faucet handle with a borrowed wrench.

“Turn it on,” he said.

Elena tested the handle. It wobbled less but still squeaked. “Better. Not fixed.”

“I’ll take better.”

They had lived together for two years in a small apartment outside Columbus, Ohio. Saturday was their errand day, although they often spent the first hour negotiating which errands could wait.

Elena moved the laundry to the dryer while Marcus gathered the recycling and carried it to the bins behind the building. Then they made a grocery list at the kitchen table. Marcus checked the refrigerator and called out what they needed. Elena added coffee, dish soap, and the yogurt she liked.

At the supermarket, Marcus pushed the cart while Elena compared prices on chicken. They split up in produce: he chose apples and spinach, while she picked onions, tomatoes, and a bunch of cilantro. In the cereal aisle, Marcus reached for a sugary brand.

“That wasn’t on the list,” Elena said.

“Neither were those cookies.”

She looked down at the package in her hand. “Fair.”

They bought both.

After groceries, they stopped at a hardware store for a faucet washer and lightbulbs. Back home, Elena put away the food while Marcus replaced the washer. This time, when she tested the faucet, the handle turned smoothly.

“Actually fixed,” she said.

Marcus bowed.

They folded laundry together on the couch, matching socks and setting aside a shirt with a missing button. Elena sewed it back on while Marcus started a pot of rice and chopped vegetables for dinner.

By late afternoon, the apartment smelled like garlic and laundry detergent. The chores were done except for vacuuming, which they silently agreed could wait until Sunday. They ate the cookies over the sink so they wouldn’t dirty plates, then sat by the window with coffee, watching cars move through the parking lot.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was crouched beneath the kitchen sink, trying to find the source of a slow drip.

“It’s the connection,” he said, reaching for a wrench. “I think.”

“You said that last week.”

“Last week I said it might be the connection.”

Lena smiled and added paper towels to the shopping list. They had lived together for two years, long enough to know which small problems could wait and which would become expensive if ignored.

While Marcus tightened the pipe, Lena sorted the mail into recycling, bills, and a growing pile of coupons they rarely used. Then they switched jobs: Marcus moved the towels to the dryer, and Lena tested the faucet. The cabinet stayed dry.

Around eleven, they drove to the grocery store. Lena pushed the cart while Marcus read from the list on his phone. They compared prices on coffee, chose store-brand pasta, and debated whether they would actually cook the bag of spinach before it wilted.

“We will,” Lena said.

“We always say that.”

“This time we’re making omelets tomorrow.”

Marcus put the spinach in the cart. He picked out apples while Lena waited at the deli counter, and they met again near the frozen foods. A sale on pizza tempted them, but they had leftovers at home, so they passed.

At checkout, Marcus bagged the groceries as Lena watched the total climb higher than expected. In the parking lot, they realized they had forgotten dishwasher detergent. Marcus went back inside while Lena loaded the trunk.

On the way home, they stopped for gas and dropped a box of old clothes at a donation center. By early afternoon, the groceries were put away, the towels were folded, and the sink was still dry.

Lena reheated soup for lunch while Marcus sliced bread. They ate at the small kitchen table, tired in the mild, satisfying way that came from finishing ordinary tasks together.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started the laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen holding two nearly empty bottles of dish soap.

“Why do we have two of these?” he asked.

“Because you keep buying the wrong kind,” Lena said, sorting mail at the table. She pulled out an electric bill and placed it beside her phone. “We need lightbulbs, too. The hallway one finally died.”

They made a list together. Marcus checked the refrigerator while Lena searched the pantry. They needed milk, eggs, rice, coffee, onions, and something for dinner. After a brief debate, they agreed on tacos.

Before leaving, they carried recycling to the bins behind their apartment building. Marcus flattened cardboard boxes while Lena separated glass from plastic. Then they drove to a hardware store, where Lena compared LED bulb prices and Marcus found an air filter for the furnace. At the register, they remembered batteries but forgot picture hooks.

The grocery store was crowded with families and employees restocking shelves. Lena pushed the cart while Marcus crossed items off the list on his phone. She chose avocados, rejecting two that were too soft, and he picked out chicken thighs and tortillas. In the coffee aisle, they disagreed over whether the larger bag was actually cheaper until Lena calculated the price per ounce.

“It is,” she said.

Marcus put it in the cart. “I never doubted you.”

“You doubted me for three full minutes.”

Back home, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the groceries while Lena moved the laundry to the dryer. He wiped down the refrigerator shelves after discovering a leaking jar of salsa, and she replaced the hallway bulb, standing carefully on a kitchen chair while he held it steady.

By early afternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. They sat at the table to pay the electric bill and plan dinner. Several chores remained, but the refrigerator was full, the hallway was bright again, and neither of them felt like going back out.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had stripped the sheets from the bed and started the first load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, rinsing coffee mugs and checking the list on the refrigerator.

“We’re out of dish soap,” he called.

“And trash bags,” Lena said, carrying the hamper down the hall. “The sturdy kind. Last time you bought the ones that tear if you look at them.”

Marcus added both items to the list, then opened the fridge. A carton of eggs, half a lemon, and several condiment bottles occupied most of the shelves. Together they planned four dinners for the week, settling on tacos, pasta, chicken with rice, and soup.

Before leaving, they divided the remaining chores. Marcus vacuumed the living room while Lena cleaned the bathroom sink and replaced a burned-out bulb. Then they switched jobs: Lena folded the dry towels, and Marcus took recycling to the bins behind their apartment building.

At the grocery store, Marcus pushed the cart while Lena compared prices on canned tomatoes. They had agreed to stay under ninety dollars, so when Marcus picked up an expensive bag of coffee, Lena raised an eyebrow.

“It’s on sale,” he said.

“It’s still twelve dollars.”

He returned it and chose the store brand. Later, Lena reached for strawberries, but several were already soft. Marcus found a better container near the back of the display.

They split up briefly—he went for milk and eggs while she chose vegetables—then met near the checkout with two nearly identical bags of tortilla chips. Laughing, they put one back.

Their total came to eighty-six dollars and change. At home, Lena carried the lighter bags upstairs while Marcus made two trips with the heavier ones. They put everything away together, wiping a sticky refrigerator shelf before loading it.

By early afternoon, the laundry was folded, the kitchen was stocked, and the apartment smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. Marcus made sandwiches while Lena updated the budget on her laptop. They ate at the small table by the window, tired but satisfied, and discussed whether they had enough energy to assemble the new bookshelf—or whether that could wait until Sunday.


By nine on Saturday morning, Maya had already started a load of towels, and Ben was standing in the kitchen, holding two nearly empty bottles of dish soap.

“Why do we have two of these?” he asked.

“Because you bought the wrong kind last time, and I refused to throw it away.”

He added dish soap to the grocery list anyway. Maya checked the refrigerator and called out what they needed: eggs, spinach, yogurt, onions. Ben opened the freezer, discovered an abandoned bag of peas, and suggested soup for dinner. Together they added broth and bread.

Before leaving, they carried the recycling down to the bins behind their apartment building. Ben flattened the cardboard while Maya sorted glass from plastic. Then they drove to the supermarket, where the parking lot was already crowded.

Inside, they divided the list. Maya went to produce while Ben picked up coffee and cereal. They met near the dairy case, where Ben had chosen an expensive brand of eggs.

“Those are seven dollars,” Maya said.

“They’re from happy chickens.”

“For seven dollars, they should write us thank-you notes.”

He exchanged them for the store brand. Maya added a small bunch of flowers to the cart, and when Ben raised an eyebrow, she reminded him they had saved four dollars on eggs.

Back home, they carried the bags up two flights of stairs. Ben put away the groceries while Maya moved the towels into the dryer. They ate sandwiches at the kitchen counter, then tackled the bathroom. Maya scrubbed the sink and mirror; Ben cleaned the tub and replaced the empty roll of toilet paper that had been sitting on the holder all week.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of cleaner and fresh bread. Ben started the soup, chopping onions while Maya folded warm towels at the table. Neither chore was finished perfectly—the recycling bin still needed a new liner, and they had forgotten toothpaste—but the refrigerator was full, the bathroom was clean, and the rest of Saturday was theirs.


By ten on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels and made a list of everything they needed from the grocery store. Marcus stood at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and checking the refrigerator.

“We’re almost out of mustard,” he said.

“We’ve been almost out of mustard for three months.”

“Then today’s the day.”

They had lived together in a small apartment outside Columbus for two years, long enough to divide most chores without discussing them. Lena handled the list and coupons; Marcus checked the pantry and carried the heavy bags. Neither system was official, but both worked.

Before leaving, they stripped the bed. Marcus wrestled the fitted sheet off one corner while Lena gathered pillowcases. They found a missing sock underneath the bed and seventy-five cents on the floor.

At the supermarket, Saturday traffic clogged the parking lot. Lena pushed the cart while Marcus selected produce, rejecting two bruised avocados before finding acceptable ones. They compared prices on pasta sauce, bought chicken thighs on sale, and debated whether they would actually eat a large container of spinach before it spoiled.

“We will,” Lena said.

“We always say that.”

They bought it anyway.

At checkout, Marcus remembered the mustard and ran back for it while Lena unloaded the cart. Their total was higher than expected, so in the parking lot they studied the receipt and discovered the coffee had not received the advertised discount. Lena went to customer service while Marcus loaded the trunk and returned the cart.

Back home, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away frozen food and canned goods while Lena washed the produce. Then they moved the towels to the dryer and started the sheets.

By early afternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the rotisserie chicken they had bought for lunch. They ate sandwiches at the kitchen table, tired but satisfied.

Marcus glanced at the spinach in the refrigerator.

“Salad tonight?”

Lena nodded. “Before we forget it exists.”


By nine on Saturday morning, Leah had stripped the bed and started a load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, comparing the grocery list on the refrigerator with the contents of the pantry.

“We’re out of rice,” he called.

Leah came in carrying the empty detergent bottle. “And this. Also, we need lightbulbs for the hallway.”

They added both items to the list, then divided the chores. While the washing machine ran, Marcus took the recycling down to the bins behind their apartment building. Leah wiped the bathroom sink and watered the plants. When he returned, they folded the dry towels together, debating whether the fitted sheet was actually folded or merely compressed into a smaller shape.

Around eleven, they drove to a supermarket across town. Marcus pushed the cart while Leah checked produce. She chose tomatoes and rejected a bag of wilted spinach. At the meat counter, they agreed chicken was too expensive that week and picked up black beans and ground turkey instead.

Marcus remembered coffee before they reached the checkout. Leah doubled back for detergent, then returned with lightbulbs and a discounted box of granola bars.

“You were gone long enough to manufacture them,” he said.

“There were six kinds of bulbs,” she replied. “Our hallway apparently requires research.”

They used a coupon at the register and packed the groceries into reusable bags. On the way home, they stopped at a gas station. Leah filled the tank while Marcus cleaned old receipts and two empty water bottles from the car.

Back at the apartment, they carried everything upstairs in one trip, each refusing to admit the bags were too heavy. Marcus put away the pantry items and started rice for lunch. Leah changed the hallway bulb, then moved the laundry into the dryer.

By two, the apartment smelled like turkey, onions, and cumin. They ate at the small kitchen table, tired but satisfied. The fitted sheet still sat unfolded on the couch, waiting for one of them to surrender.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was kneeling beside the kitchen sink with a flashlight. The faucet had been dripping all week.

“It’s the cartridge,” he said, though he sounded only half certain.

Lena leaned against the counter, scrolling through a hardware store website. “They have one in stock. We can pick it up after the post office.”

They made a list over coffee: mail Lena’s return, buy the faucet part, drop off recycling, and get groceries. Marcus added dish soap. Lena added coffee, then underlined it.

Outside their apartment building, they loaded two bags of bottles and cardboard into Marcus’s hatchback. The recycling center was crowded, and they spent ten minutes sorting glass by color while a little boy nearby tried to toss cans into the bins like basketballs.

At the post office, Lena discovered she had left the return label on the kitchen table. She sighed, but Marcus reminded her that the package store near the supermarket could print one. She used her phone to email it while he drove.

The hardware store employee helped them find the correct cartridge. Marcus also picked up plumber’s tape, and Lena stopped him from buying a set of screwdrivers they already owned.

At the grocery store, they split the list. Lena chose vegetables, yogurt, and chicken while Marcus found rice, cereal, and canned tomatoes. They met near the bakery, where he placed a loaf of sourdough in the cart.

“That wasn’t on the list,” she said.

“Neither were the cookies.”

She looked at the package in her hand and nodded. “Fair.”

Back home, Lena moved the towels to the dryer and put away groceries. Marcus replaced the faucet cartridge, turning the water on cautiously afterward. No drip appeared.

They ate sandwiches at the kitchen table, surrounded by grocery bags and opened mail. The return package still needed to be dropped off, and the bathroom needed cleaning, but the sink was quiet and the refrigerator was full. For a Saturday afternoon, that felt like enough.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had stripped the sheets from the bed and started a load of laundry. Marcus stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee and studying the list on the refrigerator.

“We’re out of dish soap,” he said.

“And trash bags,” Lena called from the hallway. She came in carrying the bathroom wastebasket. “Also, the sink is draining slowly again.”

Marcus added drain cleaner to the list. They had lived together for two years in a rented apartment outside Columbus, long enough to divide most chores without discussing them. Lena handled the laundry because she remembered which clothes needed cold water. Marcus usually cleaned the kitchen and kept track of household supplies.

After breakfast, they carried two bags of recycling down to the bins and drove to the grocery store. Lena pushed the cart while Marcus checked items off on his phone. In produce, she chose apples and rejected a soft avocado. He compared prices on chicken breasts and picked a family pack they could freeze in portions.

They disagreed briefly about cereal.

“The generic one tastes like cardboard,” Marcus said.

“It’s two dollars cheaper.”

They compromised by buying the name-brand box and skipping the sparkling water.

At the checkout, Lena unloaded the cart while Marcus bagged the groceries, keeping the eggs and bread separate. The total was higher than either expected. In the parking lot, they looked over the receipt and discovered that a digital coupon had not applied. Lena went back inside to customer service while Marcus loaded the car.

On the way home, they stopped at a hardware store for drain cleaner and a replacement bulb for the stove hood. Back at the apartment, Marcus put away groceries and divided the chicken into freezer bags. Lena moved the laundry to the dryer, then wiped down the bathroom sink.

By early afternoon, the stove light worked, the drain ran more freely, and clean sheets were tumbling dry. Lena made sandwiches while Marcus swept the kitchen floor. They ate at the small table by the window, comparing what remained on the list and deciding that vacuuming could wait until Sunday.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was crouched beneath the kitchen sink with a flashlight between his teeth.

“It’s not leaking now,” he said.

“That’s because I haven’t turned on the faucet.”

Marcus removed the flashlight. “Good point.”

They had lived together for three years in a rented duplex outside Columbus, Ohio. Most weekends began with a list on the refrigerator, written in Lena’s neat block letters and amended by Marcus with arrows and question marks.

While he tightened the loose pipe fitting, Lena folded the dry laundry and sorted a pile of mail. She set aside the electric bill, recycled two catalogs, and found a coupon for the grocery store. Then they carried an old bookcase to the curb, pausing twice on the porch because it was heavier than either remembered.

At eleven, they drove to the supermarket. Marcus pushed the cart while Lena checked the list on her phone. They chose chicken thighs, rice, spinach, coffee, and enough yogurt for the week. In the cereal aisle, Marcus reached for an expensive granola.

“We already have oatmeal,” Lena said.

“Oatmeal isn’t crunchy.”

She considered this, then put the granola in the cart. Later, he talked her out of buying strawberries that were pale and overpriced. They compared prices on laundry detergent and stood aside while an employee maneuvered a pallet of bottled water through the aisle.

On the way home, they stopped for gas and dropped a bag of clothes at a donation center. Marcus pumped the gas while Lena cleaned old receipts from the glove compartment.

Back at the duplex, they carried the groceries inside in two trips. Lena put away the refrigerated food as Marcus divided the chicken into freezer bags. The repaired sink stayed dry when she tested it.

By midafternoon, the towels were folded, the bills were scheduled for payment, and the refrigerator was full. Marcus made coffee, and they sat on the back steps, sharing the last two cookies from a package they had forgotten was in the pantry.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels, and Marcus was kneeling in the hallway with a screwdriver, tightening the loose handle on the closet door. They had lived together in their Ohio apartment for almost two years, long enough to divide most chores without discussing them.

“We’re out of detergent,” Lena called from the laundry nook.

Marcus tested the handle. “Add it to the list. And coffee filters.”

They ate toast while comparing the grocery list with the contents of the refrigerator. Lena wanted vegetables for stir-fry; Marcus suggested soup instead, since the forecast called for rain. They settled on both, planning leftovers for Monday lunches.

Before leaving, they carried recycling to the bins behind the building. Marcus flattened cardboard boxes while Lena sorted glass and cans. Then they drove to the pharmacy, where Lena picked up a prescription and Marcus bought batteries for the smoke detector. He replaced them in the parking lot stash of household supplies they kept in the trunk, then laughed when Lena reminded him that the detector itself was still at home.

At the supermarket, Marcus pushed the cart while Lena checked prices on her phone. They chose chicken thighs, rice, broccoli, onions, canned tomatoes, and a loaf of bread. Marcus went back for milk after they had already reached the checkout line. Lena unloaded the cart and remembered the detergent just before he returned.

On the way home, rain began tapping against the windshield. They carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the pantry items while Lena washed the produce and started the soup. When the dryer buzzed, he folded the towels at the kitchen table, making uneven stacks that Lena quietly straightened.

By three, the groceries were stored, the laundry was done, and the closet door closed properly. They ate bowls of soup on the couch and made a short list for Sunday: vacuum the bedroom, call Marcus’s mother, and finally hang the framed print leaning against the wall.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open.

“We have mustard, half a lemon, and three kinds of hot sauce,” he announced.

Elena carried the hamper down the hall. “So, basically dinner.”

They had lived together for two years in a small apartment outside Columbus, Ohio. Saturdays were usually for catching up on whatever they had ignored during the week. Marcus made coffee while Elena wrote a grocery list. He added cereal, coffee filters, and frozen pizza. She added vegetables and crossed out one of the two bags of chips he had written down.

Before leaving, they divided the chores. Elena wiped down the bathroom while Marcus vacuumed the living room and discovered two missing socks under the couch. Then they drove to the recycling center with a trunk full of cardboard boxes and glass bottles.

At the supermarket, Marcus pushed the cart while Elena compared prices on chicken. They debated whether they would actually use a large bag of spinach before it spoiled.

“We will,” Marcus said. “I’ll put it in eggs.”

“You said that last time.”

“This time I mean it.”

They bought the smaller bag.

At checkout, Elena remembered they needed dish soap and hurried back while Marcus unloaded the cart. He noticed the cashier had scanned the apples twice and politely asked her to correct it. Outside, they loaded the groceries into the car, keeping the milk and meat together so they could carry the cold items upstairs first.

Back home, Marcus put away the food while Elena moved the laundry into the dryer. They ate sandwiches at the kitchen counter, then made a quick trip to the hardware store for lightbulbs and a replacement air filter.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. Marcus changed the filter, Elena folded towels, and the groceries were put away. They sat on the couch, tired but satisfied, and agreed to leave the remaining chores for Sunday.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had started the laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, holding two nearly empty cereal boxes.

“Do we need both of these?” he asked.

“We need neither of those,” Elena said, adding detergent to the shopping list. “You’ve been combining the crumbs for a week.”

Marcus poured the remaining cereal into one box and put the other in recycling. They had lived together for three years, long enough to share a lease and a grocery budget, though they still disagreed about whether nearly empty containers counted as food.

While the washing machine ran, they divided the chores. Elena cleaned the bathroom and changed the sheets. Marcus vacuumed the living room, then tightened a loose screw on one of the dining chairs. At eleven, they carried two bags of old clothes to the car, along with a box of glass bottles for the recycling center.

Their first stop was a donation store, where Elena handed over the clothes and asked for a receipt. Marcus waited beside the car, checking the grocery list on his phone.

At the supermarket, they split up. Elena picked out vegetables, comparing prices on peppers, while Marcus went to the pharmacy aisle for toothpaste and allergy medicine. They met near the meat counter.

“Chicken’s on sale,” he said.

“Then get enough for Monday too,” she replied.

They added rice, yogurt, coffee, eggs, and a frozen pizza for dinner. Marcus reached for an expensive bag of granola, but Elena pointed to the store brand.

“It’s two dollars less.”

“It has raisins.”

“You like raisins.”

“I tolerate raisins.”

He bought it anyway.

Back home, Marcus carried in the heavier bags while Elena cleared space in the refrigerator. They folded the laundry together at the kitchen table, matching socks and discussing whether to visit friends that evening.

By three, the errands were done. Elena made coffee, Marcus opened the pizza box to check the cooking instructions, and they agreed that staying home sounded better.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, shaking the last crumbs from a cereal box into his bowl.

“We need groceries,” he said.

“We needed groceries on Thursday,” Lena replied, adding detergent to the list on her phone.

They divided the apartment chores before leaving. Marcus carried two bags of recycling down to the bins and vacuumed the living room while Lena changed the sheets and wiped down the bathroom sink. When the washing machine buzzed, they folded the warm towels together, arguing mildly about whether washcloths needed to be folded at all.

At the grocery store, Marcus pushed the cart while Lena checked their list. They compared prices on coffee, chose chicken thighs over breasts because they were cheaper, and debated which vegetables they would realistically cook before they spoiled.

“Not kale,” Marcus said. “We always have good intentions with kale.”

Lena put the kale back and picked up broccoli instead.

In the pasta aisle, they ran into their upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, who asked whether they had heard the loud music on Wednesday night. They had. Marcus promised to help her move a small cabinet the next afternoon, and Lena added a reminder to their shared calendar.

At checkout, they realized they had forgotten trash bags. Marcus jogged back while Lena unloaded the cart and arranged the groceries so the bread would not be crushed. The total was higher than they expected, so in the parking lot they reviewed the receipt and discovered the coffee had not rung up at the sale price. Lena went to customer service for the refund while Marcus loaded the car.

Back home, they carried everything up two flights of stairs. Marcus portioned the chicken for the freezer, and Lena washed the broccoli and put it in a container. They made sandwiches for lunch, then sat at the kitchen table while the dryer thumped in the hall.

“We still need to clean the fridge,” Lena said.

Marcus glanced toward it. “Next Saturday?”

She smiled. “Next Saturday.”


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, holding an empty carton of milk.

“We’re also out of coffee,” he said.

Lena looked up from the grocery list on her phone. “That explains why you’re telling me this like it’s an emergency.”

They lived together in a one-bedroom apartment outside Columbus, Ohio, and Saturday mornings had gradually become their time for errands. Neither had planned it that way. It had simply happened after two years of shared rent, crowded closets, and weekday dinners assembled from whatever was left in the refrigerator.

While the washing machine ran, Marcus stripped the bed and gathered the recycling. Lena wiped down the bathroom sink, then checked the pantry. They debated whether they needed more rice and decided they did not after Marcus found an unopened bag behind the cereal.

At the grocery store, Lena pushed the cart while Marcus compared prices on chicken thighs. They bought milk, coffee, spinach, pasta, onions, yogurt, and a frozen pizza for the evening. Marcus added a bag of tortilla chips; Lena added salsa without comment. Near the checkout, they remembered dish soap and doubled back together.

After loading the groceries into Marcus’s car, they stopped at the pharmacy so Lena could pick up a prescription. Marcus waited outside, answering a work email he had ignored Friday afternoon.

Back home, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Lena put away the cold items while Marcus divided the chicken into freezer bags. Then they switched the laundry and made sandwiches for lunch.

By one o’clock, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. The errands had taken most of the morning, and there were still clean sheets to put on the bed. Marcus turned on music from his phone. Lena tossed him one end of the fitted sheet.

“Corners first,” she said.

“I know how beds work.”

“You said that last time.”

They laughed and pulled the sheet tight between them.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, while Marcus stood at the kitchen counter comparing their bank balance with the grocery list.

“We can get coffee,” he said, “but not the fancy kind.”

“The fancy kind is on sale,” Lena replied, tying her hair back. She added dish soap to the list and crossed out paper towels. They still had two rolls under the sink.

They had lived together in a rented duplex in Ohio for almost three years, long enough to divide chores without discussing every detail. Marcus carried the recycling to the bins behind the garage while Lena moved the towels into the dryer. Then they stripped the bed together, each tugging a corner of the fitted sheet until it came loose.

Before the grocery store, they stopped at the post office. Lena mailed a birthday card to her sister, and Marcus bought stamps while an older man ahead of them argued politely about a package.

At the supermarket, Marcus pushed the cart and checked prices. Lena chose vegetables, rejecting two bruised peppers before finding better ones. They debated whether they would actually cook the bag of spinach.

“We always say we will,” Marcus said.

“This time we will,” Lena insisted, placing it in the cart.

They bought chicken, rice, yogurt, cereal, onions, and the discounted coffee. Marcus remembered laundry detergent just before checkout, and Lena went back for it while he stood in line.

On the way home, they stopped for gas. Marcus filled the tank while Lena cleaned old receipts from the glove compartment and found a missing library book under the passenger seat.

Back at the duplex, they carried the bags in together. Lena put away the cold items while Marcus stacked cans in the pantry. The dryer buzzed, and he went downstairs for the towels.

By early afternoon, the errands were finished. They made sandwiches and sat at the small kitchen table, tired in the mild, ordinary way that made the rest of Saturday feel earned.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had started the laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, trying to decide whether the milk was still good.

“It smells fine,” he said.

Elena leaned over the carton. “That is not a scientific test.”

They added milk to the grocery list, along with eggs, rice, coffee, and the ingredients for chicken tacos. While the washer ran, Marcus gathered empty bottles from the bathroom and replaced a burned-out bulb in the hallway. Elena sorted the mail at the dining table, setting aside a utility bill and recycling two catalogs addressed to the apartment’s previous tenant.

They left just before eleven. Their first stop was the post office, where Elena mailed a birthday package to her sister in Arizona. Marcus waited by the self-service kiosk and checked the list on his phone.

At the supermarket, they split up. Elena went to produce while Marcus found canned beans and tortillas. They met near the dairy case, where Marcus had chosen the more expensive coffee creamer.

“We’re already over budget,” Elena said, looking into the cart.

“It’s two dollars more.”

“And last week you said that about the fancy mustard.”

He put the creamer back, though Elena later slipped a bag of chocolate-covered almonds into the cart without comment. At checkout, they used coupons from the store app and packed their own bags.

On the way home, Marcus stopped for gas while Elena wiped dust from the dashboard with a napkin. Back at the apartment, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the groceries, and Elena moved the laundry to the dryer.

By two, the errands were mostly done. They ate leftover pizza at the kitchen counter and reviewed the afternoon: vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, and calling the landlord about the dripping faucet.

“Or,” Marcus said, “we could do one of those things and watch a movie.”

Elena considered the faucet’s steady plink from the sink.

“Call the landlord,” she said, “and then we’ll negotiate.”


On Saturday morning, Maya woke to the sound of the washing machine thumping unevenly in the hall closet. She found Daniel crouched in front of it, holding a damp towel.

“You put the bath mat in with everything else, didn’t you?” she asked.

Daniel nodded. “It seemed efficient.”

Together they redistributed the load, then made coffee and wrote a list of errands on the back of an envelope. They needed groceries, detergent, lightbulbs for the kitchen, and a padded mailer so Maya could return a sweater she had ordered online.

They drove to the post office first. While Maya waited at the counter, Daniel used the self-service machine to mail a birthday card to his sister. Afterward, they stopped at a hardware store. Maya compared lightbulb prices while Daniel searched for the right air filter for the apartment’s furnace. They debated whether they needed a new shower curtain liner and decided they could clean the old one.

At the grocery store, Daniel pushed the cart while Maya checked their list. He picked out vegetables for a stir-fry, and she went to find rice and soy sauce. They met again near the dairy case, where Daniel had added ice cream to the cart.

“That wasn’t on the list,” Maya said.

“Neither were the cookies you’re holding.”

She put the cookies beside the ice cream.

Back home, Maya carried in the lighter bags and held the building door while Daniel brought up two heavy loads. They put away the groceries together, wiping a sticky shelf in the refrigerator before fitting in the milk. Daniel replaced the kitchen bulbs while Maya moved the laundry to the dryer.

By midafternoon, the errands were done. Daniel started chopping broccoli for dinner, and Maya folded warm towels at the table. Nothing about the day had been remarkable, but the apartment felt brighter, cleaner, and better stocked. They opened the ice cream early and ate it from two mismatched bowls.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator.

“We have mustard, half an onion, and three kinds of hot sauce,” he announced.

Lena came in carrying the laundry basket. “So, no actual food?”

“There’s one egg.”

They made a grocery list at the table. Lena checked the cabinets while Marcus added items to the shared list on his phone. They debated whether they needed coffee, then agreed they always needed coffee.

Before leaving, Marcus took the recycling down to the bins behind their apartment building. Lena moved the towels to the dryer and wiped detergent from the top of the washing machine. When he returned, they gathered reusable bags from the hall closet and drove to the supermarket.

The store was crowded with families and employees restocking shelves. Marcus picked out vegetables while Lena compared prices on chicken. He wanted avocados, but she pointed out that the last two had gone bad on the counter.

“We’ll eat them this time,” he promised.

They bought two.

At the checkout, Lena noticed they had forgotten dish soap. Marcus jogged back for it while she unloaded the cart. Their total was higher than expected, so in the parking lot they studied the receipt and discovered the coffee had not been discounted. Lena went to customer service and got the difference refunded while Marcus loaded the trunk.

Back home, they carried everything upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the groceries, arranging the cans with unnecessary precision, while Lena folded the warm towels on the couch. Then they changed the sheets together, each taking a side of the bed and arguing mildly about which direction the fitted sheet went.

By early afternoon, the apartment smelled like clean laundry and fresh coffee. Marcus made sandwiches, and Lena sliced one of the avocados. They ate at the kitchen table, tired but satisfied, with the rest of Saturday still ahead of them.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, trying to decide whether the milk was still good.

“It expired yesterday,” he said.

Lena carried the laundry basket past him. “Smell it.”

Marcus did, made a face, and poured it down the sink. He added milk to the grocery list stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet from a plumbing company.

They had lived together in a rented townhouse outside Columbus for two years. Their weekends often began with the same negotiation: what needed to be done, what could wait, and who had enough energy for which task.

While Lena moved the towels to the dryer, Marcus gathered the recycling and broke down a stack of shipping boxes. Then they drove to the bank, where Lena deposited a check from a freelance project, and stopped at the hardware store for furnace filters and a replacement bulb for the porch light.

At the grocery store, Marcus pushed the cart while Lena checked their list. They compared prices on coffee, chose chicken thighs for dinner, and argued mildly over cereal.

“That one is basically dessert,” Lena said.

“That’s why it’s good,” Marcus replied, putting it in the cart anyway.

Lena added spinach, apples, rice, and the yogurt Marcus always forgot to buy. At the checkout, he unloaded the cart while she searched the store app for a coupon. They saved four dollars and felt disproportionately pleased.

Back home, Marcus replaced the porch bulb and carried the groceries inside. Lena put away the cold items, then discovered they had forgotten dish soap.

For a moment, they stared at each other across the kitchen.

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” Marcus said.

Lena nodded and handed him the clean towels to fold. By midafternoon, the refrigerator was full, the recycling was gone, and the dryer hummed in the hallway. They sat on the couch with coffee, tired but satisfied, discussing whether ordering pizza would undo all their responsible choices.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, shaking the last few grounds from the coffee bag.

“We’re out,” he said.

“I put it on the list.”

The list was taped to the refrigerator beside a wedding invitation from Marcus’s cousin and an overdue reminder from the dentist. They had lived together for three years, long enough to divide most chores without discussion, though not always without negotiation.

While Lena transferred the towels to the dryer, Marcus gathered recycling from the apartment. He flattened cereal boxes and rinsed two jars she had missed. Then they carried everything downstairs, stopping at the mailboxes on the way. Lena sorted out a utility bill; Marcus held up a pizza coupon.

“Dinner solved,” he said.

“Only if we finish everything else.”

They drove first to the hardware store for air-conditioner filters and a replacement bulb for the hallway fixture. Marcus compared filter sizes while Lena checked the photo she had taken of the old one. Neither trusted the other’s memory, and both were relieved when the numbers matched.

At the grocery store, they split up. Lena chose vegetables and bread while Marcus found coffee, detergent, and the yogurt he liked. They met near the meat counter, where they debated chicken prices and decided on beans for dinner instead. Marcus added tortilla chips to the cart. Lena removed one of the two bags.

At home, they carried the groceries up in one trip, each refusing to admit the bags were too heavy. Marcus changed the filter and replaced the bulb. Lena folded the towels, then wiped out the refrigerator before putting away the food.

By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. They sat on the couch with cold drinks, the utility bill paid online and the empty grocery bags folded under the sink.

“Pizza?” Marcus asked.

Lena looked toward the kitchen, where the beans were soaking.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight we cook.”

He sighed, but got up to chop the onions.


Saturday began with the smoke detector chirping at 7:12 a.m.

Maya pulled the blanket over her head while Ben stood beneath the detector in sweatpants, squinting up at it.

“We need batteries,” he said.

“We’ve needed batteries for two weeks.”

By nine, they had made a list on the back of an envelope: batteries, laundry detergent, coffee, chicken, spinach, yogurt, and something for dinner. Maya added lightbulbs; Ben added tortilla chips.

They carried two baskets of laundry down to the machines in their apartment building’s basement. Ben loaded the washer while Maya wiped spilled detergent from the top. When the machine started, they drove to the grocery store.

The parking lot was crowded. Maya steered the cart, comparing prices on coffee, while Ben checked the produce. He rejected a bruised bag of apples and chose four loose ones instead. At the meat case, they debated whether chicken thighs were worth buying in the larger package.

“We can freeze half,” Ben said.

“If we remember to,” Maya replied, but she put them in the cart.

They split up briefly. Maya found detergent and batteries in the household aisle. Ben returned with spinach, yogurt, and two kinds of salsa.

“We only need one,” she said.

“They’re different.”

At checkout, they bagged the groceries together, placing the eggs and bread on top. The total was higher than either expected, so Ben removed a frozen pizza they had added impulsively.

Back home, they moved the laundry to the dryers, carried the groceries upstairs, and put everything away. Maya divided the chicken into freezer bags while Ben replaced the smoke detector battery and changed the burned-out bulb over the kitchen sink.

After folding warm towels on the couch, they realized it was nearly two. Ben made grilled cheese sandwiches, and Maya sliced the apples. They ate at the small kitchen table, surrounded by grocery bags waiting to be recycled.

“Anything else on the list?” Ben asked.

Maya looked at the envelope.

“Vacuuming.”

They both stared at the crumbs under the table.

“Tomorrow,” they said together.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had already started a load of towels and discovered they were nearly out of detergent. Marcus stood in front of the open refrigerator, holding an empty carton of eggs.

“I thought we had another dozen,” he said.

“We did on Monday.”

They added eggs and detergent to the grocery list, along with coffee, spinach, rice, chicken thighs, and the yogurt Lena liked. Before leaving, Marcus stripped the bed while Lena moved the towels to the dryer. They worked around each other in the small apartment, opening drawers and stepping aside without much discussion.

Their first stop was the post office, where Lena mailed a birthday package to her sister in Arizona. Marcus waited near the door, comparing prices for replacement air filters on his phone. Afterward, they drove to the hardware store. He found the correct filter while Lena picked up two LED bulbs for the kitchen fixture that had been flickering all week.

The supermarket was crowded with families and employees restocking shelves. Marcus pushed the cart, and Lena checked items off her phone. They debated whether to buy strawberries, which looked good but cost more than expected.

“Let’s get bananas,” Marcus said.

“And one pint of strawberries,” Lena replied, placing both in the cart.

At the meat counter, Marcus chose a package of chicken thighs and suggested roasting them with potatoes. Lena went back for lemons and fresh parsley. They split up again near the end: she found detergent and dish soap while he got coffee and eggs.

At home, Marcus carried the heavier bags upstairs. Lena put away the cold food, then realized they had forgotten onions. After a brief silence, they both laughed.

“I’ll use the scallions,” she said.

Marcus replaced the air filter and changed the kitchen bulbs. Lena folded the towels and remade the bed. By midafternoon, the apartment smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. They sat at the kitchen table with sandwiches, reviewing what remained on their list.

“Vacuuming,” Lena said.

Marcus took another bite. “After lunch.”

This time, neither of them argued.


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had started the laundry, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, holding two nearly empty cereal boxes.

“Do these count as food?” he asked.

“Only if you combine them,” Elena said, adding detergent to the shopping list.

They had lived together in a small apartment outside Columbus for almost two years. Weekdays were too busy for much beyond dinner and dishes, so Saturday had become their day for errands.

While the washing machine ran, Marcus gathered recycling from the kitchen and bathroom. Elena changed the sheets and found three missing socks behind the bed. They carried everything downstairs together: laundry to the shared machines, recycling to the bins, and a bag of clothes they had been meaning to donate.

Their first stop was the post office, where Elena mailed a birthday gift to her sister. Then Marcus drove to a pharmacy so they could pick up toothpaste, allergy medicine, and a prescription. In the parking lot, they compared grocery lists.

“You forgot coffee,” Marcus said.

“You used the last of it,” Elena replied, taking the pen and adding it.

At the supermarket, they split up. Elena chose vegetables, yogurt, and chicken while Marcus found rice, canned tomatoes, and coffee. They met near the frozen foods, each carrying more than planned. Marcus had added ice cream; Elena had picked up flowers marked down to four dollars.

They debated buying paper towels in bulk, checked the price per roll, and decided they had enough storage under the sink. At checkout, Marcus loaded the belt while Elena scanned digital coupons on her phone. The total was slightly under their weekly budget.

Back home, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the groceries and Elena moved the laundry to the dryer. Afterward, they ate sandwiches at the kitchen counter.

They still needed to vacuum and clean the bathroom, but neither moved immediately. Sunlight fell across the clean sheets, and the apartment smelled faintly of coffee and the inexpensive yellow flowers. For ten quiet minutes, Saturday felt finished.


On Saturday morning, Maya woke to the sound of the washing machine thumping in the hallway closet. Ben had started a load of towels without checking the pockets, and one of his work gloves was now knocking against the drum.

“You could pause it,” Maya called from the kitchen.

“I’m hoping it learns a lesson,” Ben said.

They had lived together for two years in a second-floor apartment outside Columbus, Ohio. Saturdays were when they caught up on the tasks they had ignored all week. Maya made coffee and wrote a grocery list while Ben stripped the bed and carried the recycling downstairs. When he returned, they compared plans.

“We need detergent,” he said.

“And actual food,” Maya added. “Crackers aren’t dinner.”

They drove to the supermarket just before noon. Maya pushed the cart while Ben checked prices on chicken and ground turkey. They disagreed briefly about tomatoes—Maya wanted fresh ones; Ben pointed out that they already had canned tomatoes at home—then bought both. Ben chose ingredients for chili, and Maya added yogurt, spinach, apples, and a loaf of bread. At the checkout, she remembered the detergent and ran back while he unloaded the cart.

Afterward, they stopped at the hardware store for lightbulbs and a replacement filter for the air conditioner. Ben found the correct filter size on a photo he had taken that morning. Maya picked up felt pads for the kitchen chairs, which had been scratching the floor.

Back home, they divided the work without discussing it. Ben put away groceries and started the chili. Maya changed the sheets, moved the towels to the dryer, and stuck the felt pads under the chair legs. Then they replaced the burned-out bulb over the bathroom mirror together, Ben holding the step stool steady while Maya screwed it in.

By three o’clock, the apartment smelled like onions and cumin. They sat at the kitchen table with coffee, listening to the dryer tumble.

“We forgot trash bags,” Maya said.

Ben sighed and reached for his phone. “I’ll add them to next Saturday’s list.”


On Saturday morning, Lena woke to the sound of the washing machine thumping unevenly in the hall closet. She found Marcus crouched in front of it, holding a damp towel.

“You put the bath mat in with the sheets, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I thought it would balance them.”

Together they redistributed the load, then stood in the kitchen making a list while coffee brewed. They were out of eggs, rice, dish soap, and nearly everything needed for the chili Marcus planned to cook on Sunday. Lena checked the refrigerator and added milk and spinach. Marcus opened the cabinet under the sink and found only one trash bag left.

Before leaving, Lena started the dishwasher while Marcus carried recycling down to the bins behind their apartment building. At the car, they realized they had forgotten the reusable grocery bags. Lena went back upstairs while Marcus checked the tire that had looked low all week. It seemed fine, though he made a note to stop at the gas station later.

The supermarket was crowded. Marcus pushed the cart and compared prices on canned tomatoes while Lena selected produce. They debated whether they would actually eat a large bag of avocados before they spoiled and settled on two individual ones. At the deli counter, Lena ordered turkey for lunches. Marcus remembered coffee just before they reached the checkout line.

Back home, they each took several bags upstairs. Lena put away the cold items and washed the spinach. Marcus divided chicken into freezer bags and labeled them with the date. When the washing machine buzzed, he moved the sheets to the dryer, checking first for the missing sock Lena had mentioned.

By early afternoon, the groceries were stored, the dishwasher was empty, and the apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent. Lena sat at the table to review their monthly budget. Marcus filled two glasses with water and joined her. They still needed to buy a new shower curtain, but neither felt like going out again.

“Next Saturday,” Lena said.

Marcus nodded. “Definitely next Saturday.”


By nine on Saturday morning, Elena had already started a load of towels, and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, holding the empty coffee container upside down as if grounds might appear through persistence.

“We’re officially out,” he said.

Elena added coffee to the grocery list on her phone. They had lived together for two years, long enough to know that running errands without a list led to three kinds of chips and no dish soap.

While the washing machine thumped down the hall, Marcus gathered the recycling and carried it to the bins behind their apartment building. Elena stripped the bed and checked the refrigerator. Half a lemon, mustard, and a questionable container of rice occupied the top shelf. She threw out the rice and texted Marcus to add trash bags.

They drove to the supermarket just before noon. The parking lot was crowded with families and loose shopping carts. Inside, Elena chose vegetables while Marcus compared prices on chicken. They debated whether they would actually cook broccoli before it went bad.

“We will if we do it tonight,” Marcus said, putting two crowns in the cart.

Elena selected one and returned the other.

They split up to save time. Marcus found coffee, detergent, and trash bags; Elena picked up eggs, yogurt, tortillas, and ingredients for chili. At the checkout, Marcus noticed they had forgotten onions and jogged back to produce while Elena unloaded the cart.

On the way home, they stopped at a gas station. Elena filled the tank while Marcus cleaned old receipts and an empty water bottle from the car.

Back at the apartment, they carried the bags upstairs in two trips. Marcus put away the pantry items, and Elena washed the broccoli before placing it where they could see it. Then they moved the towels to the dryer and remade the bed together, tugging the fitted sheet over opposite corners.

By midafternoon, the errands were done. Elena made fresh coffee, and Marcus opened the windows. They sat on the couch with their mugs, tired in the mild, satisfying way that came from having restored order to their small shared life.


By nine on Saturday morning, Lena had started a load of towels and Marcus was standing in the kitchen, holding the empty coffee container upside down as if persistence might produce one last scoop.

“We’re officially out,” he said.

Lena added coffee to the grocery list on her phone. They had lived together for two years, long enough to know that running errands without a list meant buying tortilla chips and forgetting dish soap.

While the washer ran, Marcus gathered the recycling from under the sink and carried it to the bins behind their apartment building. Lena stripped the bed and opened the windows for a few minutes, despite the chilly March air. When he came back, they worked together to wrestle the fitted sheet onto the mattress.

At eleven, they drove to the supermarket. The parking lot was crowded with families and employees collecting carts. Inside, Lena chose vegetables and compared prices on chicken, while Marcus picked up coffee, oatmeal, and the cereal he liked. They debated whether they needed more olive oil.

“There’s maybe an inch left,” Lena said.

“That’s enough for one dinner,” Marcus replied, placing a bottle in the cart.

At the checkout, they split the cost through their shared household account. Marcus loaded the bags into the trunk while Lena returned the cart.

On the way home, they stopped at the hardware store for lightbulbs and a replacement filter for the furnace. Marcus checked the size against a photo he had taken; Lena found a small pack of picture hooks so they could finally hang the framed print leaning against the hallway wall.

Back at the apartment, they put away the groceries together. Lena transferred the towels to the dryer, and Marcus replaced the furnace filter, reading the arrows twice before sliding it into place.

By midafternoon, the refrigerator was full, the bed was remade, and the hallway print hung slightly crooked. They stood beneath it, considering.

“Good enough?” Marcus asked.

Lena tilted her head. “For today.”

They made coffee and sat on the couch while the dryer hummed down the hall.