There aren’t any books on my bookshelves, but the kitchen is organized and clean. There’s even shelf paper in the cabinets. I even have things to put on top of the shelf paper: brightly colored dishes and brand-new drinking glasses, as well as food and mugs and boxes of tea and coffee filters.
I unloaded the two boxes of cookware that I’d saved from my late grandparents’ kitchen. It was a bit like Christmas, finding all the things I needed in those oversized cardboard moving boxes. Stoneware mixing bowls, vintage spatulas and mixing spoons, even a crockery pot to keep them in. There were baking dishes, pots, and glory hallelujah, there were two pie plates. My grandmother’s massive turquoise-green mixing bowl now adorns their dining room table, filled with our collection of fruit and sitting atop a brightly colored placemat. My grandmother would be so pleased.
I’m playing big band music in the living room, just for her.
I haven’t put my clothes away, but I managed to make my bed. The kitchen took longer than I’d planned. Of course, when I made my bed I realized I’d forgotten to bring my pillow. I always forget to bring my pillow.
We’ve got a coffee table with matching end tables. There’s a futon and a floor lamp. We’ll have shelves soon, once I put the kit together. Except for the bare walls, it almost looks like a home. Needs more color. Pillows and throws will do the trick. It’s beautiful, small, and homey. I love it.
My roommate’s out for the evening, and a strangeness fills my mind. Not quite loneliness, but I’m not sure what it is. I’m looking around at everything and I’m wondering what the future hold, and what my younger self would have thought of this.
Now “Moon River” is playing from the speaker on the end table, and I know I’m not alone, nor will I ever be.
It’s not easy to be excited, and it’s even harder not to be apprehensive about this whole “adulthood” thing. But regardless, I’m content. I know I’m where I ought to be.
And that’s enough.