I will always remember the day you kissed my lips, light as a feather, and it went just like this. No, it's never been better than the summer of 2002....
2014 (Present Day) - Selena's POV
"I can't believe we're finally moved in," Demi says. Standing in our new living room, we survey the bare white walls, the hand-me-down furniture from our parents that have yet to be properly placed, and the seemingly neverending amount of boxes that hold everything we couldn't bear to part with. "Well, more or less," she adds, then grimaces. "We've got so much work to do."
With a smile and a roll of my eyes, I wrap my arms around her waist. "I think it's perfect." I kiss her shoulder, exposed by her tank top, and taste the salt and sun from a long day of moving everything into our new apartment. "And I think you're perfect." I kiss her cheek. "And I think our life together is going to be perfect." I kiss her lips, pleased at how they curve upwards to form a smile despite the negative thoughts bouncing around in her head.
"If you say perfect one more time, I have to break up with you."
I scoff in feigned offense, loving how her contagious, obnoxious laughter echoes off of the empty walls.
"Dragging me all the way to L.A. just to break up with me does sound like something you would do," I joke as she makes herself comfortable on the crooked sofa.
She flips me off with a giggle. "I wasn't the one who suggested we move in together."
Sitting beside her, I place my head on her shoulder and stare at all of the work in front of us that needs to be done.
"You're not regretting it already, are you?" I wonder.
She places a kiss on the crown of my head. "Not in this lifetime, babe."
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When the sky replaces all of the puffy white clouds with silver streaks of moonlight, we order Chinese takeout and assign ourselves a box to unpack. Demi is on kitchen duty because, according to her, we can't live off of takeout forever. Since I disagreed, I am stuck with organizing the living room.
The white walls are looking less bare with each box that I unpack. Photos of our parents and siblings that we left behind in Texas brighten the room.
"We should take a break soon and call our parents," I suggest. "Let them know that we're settling in okay."
"Yeah, I really need to talk to my mother about some of the appliances that she bought us. I mean, what I am supposed to do with this?"
Looking over my shoulder, I see her standing in the kitchen doorway, squinting at a new slow cooker as if the words on the box are in a foreign language. How she, with her next to nothing cooking skills, thinks that we can't live off of takeout, I have no clue.
"Could you also let Dianna know that I am officially on cooking duty around here? Thanks, baby."
She playfully glares at me. "Why am I in love with such a smartass?"
I stick my tongue out at her before sorting through the boxes of childhood sentimentals that our parents begged us not to get rid of, though they claimed that they didn't have the room for.
"On the plus side," she continues, "Dallas got us a mini refrigerator just for wine."
"Sounds like the greatest invention of all time." I throw all of our childhood drawings and holiday-themed school art projects into one box. I make a mental note to tell my mother that they're all going in the trash if she doesn't take them. I then make another mental note to not give in, regardless of how much she begs and cries about us throwing away precious memories. With a grimace, I tell Demi to add wine to the grocery list.
