At our apartment.
It still feels a little surreal. I’ve wondered a couple times if this is a good idea, if moving in with my older boyfriend at twenty-three is the right move. From the outside, it looks weird, like I’m settling down too fast when I should be sowing my wild oats and living a wild life and… whatever you’re supposed to do in your twenties.
But I don’t feel any of that. I know I’m supposed to wonder what it’s like to have sex with other people, but the truth is, I don’t really care. I found my person. What does it matter if anyone else is out there?
I’m still standing there, looking at the living room, when Caleb comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, slings the other over my shoulder, rests his chin on top of my head.
“We should probably get rid of some books before the next time we move,” he says, contemplating boxes.
“I can’t think about moving again right now,” I admit.
“I thought it went pretty well.”
“It did,” I say, hooking my hands over his arms and leaning back. “Though I think I lifted, like, two things, so of course it went well for me.”
It also went well because I got to watch Caleb lift a lot of heavy things, which is one of my favorite sights, even if he didn’t take his shirt off.
Down the hall, in the room that’s destined to be the study, I can hear Bastien and Javier talking, the sound of an air mattress being inflated. They’re spending the night and heading back to the Tidewater tomorrow.
“You’re not going to surprise me by being one of those people who organizes her bookshelf by color, are you?” he asks, his arms still around me.
“What if I am?” I say, still leaning back.
“Well, I’d point out that there are far better ways to organize a bookshelf,” he says, his voice dipping. “And I, for one, value efficiency over looks.”
“I’m gonna make a heart,” I tell him, and point at the bookshelves. “Right there. In the middle.”
He just sighs.
“And I’m gonna mix all your nerdy sci-fi books with my Jane Austen, and your number theory stuff with my neurology stuff, and you know what else?”
“I can’t bear to listen,” he says, laughing quietly.
“I’m not even going to separate fiction from nonfiction,” I whisper dramatically. “It’ll be chaos. You’ll rue the day you decided to live with me.”
“I doubt that,” he says. “Chaos, yes, obviously. Rue the day, never.”
“Textbooks and poetry, side by side,” I threaten.
“You’re gonna have to try way harder than that to get rid of me,” he says, arms still tight. “Thalia, I’ll love you even if you start using bookshelves for non-book items. Like plants, or knickknacks.”
“Even knickknacks?” I tease.
“Even knickknacks,” he confirms. “Even if they’re creepy porcelain dolls.”
I just laugh.
“I won’t,” I promise. “I love you too much for that.”
“Thank you,” he says, and plants a kiss on top of my head, and we stand there for a long moment, just looking at the living room together.
“I like this place,” I say, finally. “I like that it’s ours.”
“I like that too,” he says, softly. “And I like that the next place we live will also be ours, and the next one, and the next one.”
I turn my head so that I fit perfectly under his chin, speak to his shoulder. It’s been a long, hot, hard day, and my whole body feels slightly fuzzy, like I’m out of focus. Like I’m fading into him.
“Promise?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” he says. “You’re gonna have to grow old listening to my opinions about bookshelf organization.”
“Only if you agree to grow old watching me rearrange books to be prettier,” I tease.
“I can’t think of a better way to live,” he says, and I laugh, and I raise his hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles.
“Love you,” I say, softly.
“Love you back,” Caleb says.
I close my eyes. I relax, sinking into him. I try to crystallize this moment in my mind, this second where everything is perfect, because I know it won’t always be. There will be rough times and fights and we’ll get angry with each other, and I might need this moment then.
We’ll get through it. I have complete and utter faith in that, in our love for each other, in the unbreakable chain that binds my heart to his.
I still don’t believe in magic.
But this, I know, is magical.
The End