The Last

Where

Where I loved was a girl I met in London.

I was there for a simple 6-month internship after college. I had my whole life planned out. But when I met her, it was like nothing mattered anymore, except her.

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One of our favorite things to do together was go to furniture shops. And for some reason, there was a lot of those in London. There was just something fresh and adventurous about wandering around a large, quiet building with little sections of a house placed strategically every couple of feet. I lived in an old apartment at the time, one that she would often make fun of, for being too small and too shabby for a youthful man like myself. She lived in an apartment herself. One that, sad to say, was not as bad as mine. But when we were together, she helped me to imagine a new future, one where we would live together in a large, 3-story house, filled with the best and most modernized furniture that we could find. One where we both had a good-paying job and a bright, bright future in the city of London.

So when we went to wander around furniture shops, her favorite thing to do would be to design our house. We had similar taste, but would disagree plenty, especially when shopping for our ideal kitchen.

The thing about June was that she didn't cook. She couldn't cook. I wasn't the best chef either, but I knew for a fact that I was better than her. However, she would always want to try out her latest recipe that she had found online, and when it didn't turn out like the article said it would, I would have to choke down the leftovers every morning for breakfast. I'd told her dozens of times that when we got a house together, I would be the one to cook, so therefore, I should be the one to decide on our kitchen. But she said that when we got a house together, she would learn how to cook, just for me. How could I argue with that?

She stopped in front of a design and plopped on the chair beside the counter.

"This is it," she said, with a tone of finality in her voice. I shook my head. No way. June had stopped in front of one of the girliest kitchens I had ever seen in my life. White cabinets, stainless steel appliances, black, polished marble counters, paired with white stools with wooden legs and even a turquoise-colored poster, with "No Soup for You" written on it, designed with all kinds of vegetables and utensils, that hung on the right wall. I could puke just looking at it.

"Not a chance!" I scolded, grabbing her purse from where she'd slung it on one of the chairs and walking away towards my kind of kitchen. She scurried towards me, her flats making a scraping noise on the white, marble floor of the furniture shop.

"No soup for you!" She gently smacked my head and grabbed her purse away, trying to hide her laugh as she stalked toward the chair of the vintage kitchen ahead.

"Look how good this one is," I crooned, coming behind her to wrap my arms around her waist. The cabinets were a rich, brown color, complete with patterns designed to make it look like real wood. A simple, yet elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling and the cabinets were a white color, paired with the grey of the sink and oven. To finish off the touch, light green chairs were placed in front of the island counter. No posters. No girly touches. Much better.

Of course, June didn't agree.

"I'm choosing the kitchen, since I'll be the one doing the cooking. You can choose the bedroom." She smiled at me, as if I were a little kid that needed comforting, then walked off towards the other section of the store. Groaning, I hurried after her, wrapping her purse around my hand. I already knew what was going to happen. I would fall in love with one of the designs and she would quickly point out all of its flaws and choose one of her own.