Of Mochas and Macchiatos

two. anchor to normalcy

"Seriously though, I am telling you that I very nearly died. Do you even care at all?"

Noah laughs at that and tugs on my arm so that we stop walking for a minute. "Evie, darling," he says, adjusting my scarf, "I am ever so grateful that you are still alive. But are you sure that you didn't really die? I mean, to be saved by Rafe Archer. You must be in heaven." Noah sighs emphatically, pretending to fan himself as I roll my eyes.

"Noah Covington! I, unlike you, am not crushing on Rich Boy Archer!" Stalking off in false exasperation, I grin inwardly, knowing that his apology is coming any second.

"Oh Evie. I'm sorry. I won't say another word about it. Okay? And I'm not crushing on Archer." But a wicked smirk betrays him. "You are".

*

It's been a few days since the "Astoria Eviction" occurred (as Noah and I are referring to it by) and I am yet to find a suitable study spot. Noah says that I am wayyy too persnickety and that I should just go to one of the school libraries. I don't want to tell him the truth about how claustrophobic I feel surrounded by hundreds of students I don't know, so instead I just mumble yeah, maybe I am persnickety, but it doesn't change the fact that I am still without the perfect place to do my homework. We're walking together on the pavement, arms looped, threading our way through the oncoming rush of Astorian housewives, all dressed in designer activewear with tightly coiled up yoga mats hanging off their arms, as they make their way to a 9 AM Pilates session. As we pass The Henley Hotel, I pause to stare wistfully at the gorgeous Steinway grand piano in the foyer and long to play it. It's been forever since I last so much as touched a piano. A boy sits at the stool before it, his fingers dancing across the keys. His dark hair almost the same colour as the black keys of the piano. As if sensing someone watching, he ceases his playing for a second, catches my eyes and winks. I flush and clutch Noah's arm even tighter.

Eventually, we make it to Robinson's Bookshop, a quaint store with a kind of old fashioned charm and musty grandeur about it. It's also my place of work. Well, one of them anyway. From 9 AM to 12 PM on Tuesdays, as well as a few hours after class most afternoons, I work here. It's peaceful, quiet, empty of crowds and filled with books. The 'perfect place to study' as Noah says, and although I agree that it is a good place to get my homework done, nowhere is better than the Astoria Library.

But the bookshop sure does beat my scrubby little studio apartment. You get what you pay for, I guess. Although the rent isn't exactly cheap. It never is in Astoria; I was very lucky to find an apartment that I could afford to live in but it meant that I'd have to pick up an extra job, so in addition to working at the bookshop, I tutor a few students from the Astoria High School on the side, and that gets me enough money to pay the bills and rent as well as sustain my millennial lifestyle of soy spiced chai lattes every morning with Noah.

Noah leaves me on the doorstep of the bookshop and I tell him good luck for the date with the boy he's meeting. He laughs and winks. "Do I need it?" He calls out, and then he's swept into the cold mist and I enter the bookshop. Mr Robinson is in the back sorting out some new orders and I greet him, handing him the coffee that I picked up for him, as well as his glasses which I know he is about to ask if I've seen. His eyes crinkle as he takes both the drink and the glasses and he smiles.

"Oh Evie, what would I do without you?" The hours pass quickly enough. We do get a few of the yoga ladies who come in with the intention to buy a new selection for their reading club but spend twenty minutes gossiping and eventually only purchase a few cookbooks. No doubt, they'll be back tomorrow to actually buy some scintillating reads for the month. Other than that, business is slow, as it usually is. I finish off editing my Oscar Wilde essay and make a checklist of the remaining homework I have. At 12 PM, on the dot, Noah walks into the bookshop, the little golden bell above the door signalling his arrival, and we walk to the University together. Stuck in the endless banality of schools and schedules, I daydream about the day I finish my degree. In reality, I don't know what I expect to do with my life. Maybe become an anthropologist, or perhaps a historian or museum curator in a science museum or something - pfft who am I kidding; according to the internet, there are no long-term career options for someone with an arts degree- but I still don't quite know what I am doing with my life yet.