I could get used to this.
It has been three days since I 'moved into' my boyfriend's place. What was once a sparse, modest room is now a cluttered haven for my clothes, shoes and books. During the first evening, while I was upstairs soaking in the bath, reveling in the notion that I was just meters away from my boyfriend, he was downstairs speaking to his house-mate, Charlotte.
'She's only been here one night and my room's already a tip'.
Oops.
He remained tight-lipped, unwilling to dash my high spirits, until he stood on my hair straighteners. Plugged in and on full-heat. My clothes have since been swiftly shoved back into my hold-all (Jaimin assures me it's because they won't all fit into his wardrobe, but I'm convinced it's so I'm already packed and ready to leave for when he tires of my being there) and my books have been lined up and hidden behind his curtains.
Yesterday we had a fight. A petty argument that escalated, due to the lack of patience that both of us possess. Having acquired the stubborn gene from my mother, I was capable of ignoring Jaimin afterwards for quite some time.
Later the same evening, having finished a delicious meal of grilled salmon on a bed of rocket, we were curled up in bed. I was checking a friend's essay over, and he was reading a sports related article on his phone.
By 10pm, I was getting to ready to fall asleep, feeling slightly disappointed that my romantic notions of living with my boyfriend hadn't been met. By far.
A tad insecure, I was expecting, or rather hoping, that my boyfriend would pull out all the stops to welcome me into his pad. I'm not quite sure, having said that, just what I expected him to do. Rose petals on the bed and wine on ice in the bath both seem too heavy a gesture.
The problem was that I was romanticizing the norm. I had been looking forward to greeting my boyfriend from work each night, doing a shop for dinner, and cooking together before falling asleep. Which is exactly what we have been doing each night, and many nights before-hand when I've come to visit.
It hit me just how content I had become. No longer satisfied with everyday gestures, and slightly repulsed by over-whelming gestures such as flowers, it seemed I was stuck.
But this morning, when I awoke to my boyfriend playing with my hair, I realised it was the simple things I had been looking forward to all along, and I had simply been too expectant to appreciate them when they had presented themselves to me. I let my disappointment melt away, as I nuzzled into his chest.
Before leaving me to go to work, my boyfriend handed me an Oyster card that he had bought for me. It would single-handedly erase my travel-costs to and from Kingston. I hadn't even considered buying one, so his thoughtfulness was duly noted.
A text came through on my phone earlier, while I was at work.
'Chicken salad tonight? Or sea-food pasta?'
I smile broadly to myself, no doubt looking like a goon to my colleagues sat around me, before replying, 'Sea-food pasta. With mussels and prawns.'
I'm exactly where I want to be, I think, as I swivel away from my phone and back to my laptop.
It's a shame I have to go back.
And as for my jewellery and books and creams and perfumes? Jaimin let me take over his window-sill, as well as letting me steal his only mirror.
I love this man.
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