Of Mochas and Macchiatos

three. melbournian toast

The storm has been relentless all week. Gutters constantly gush with water, flooded by the leaves that are swept into them, and I've learned the hard way not to veer too close to the side of the footpath that lines the road. Noah and I are about to have brunch at the Bluebird Café, a new establishment that we have yet to try. Hence the visit.

Also, it apparently sells 'authentic Melbournian smashed avo' toast unironically and so we're happy to be able to fulfil that trope of millennials not being able to afford to buy a house because of an addiction to hipster foodstuffs.

Well, I am anyway.

Noah's parents have houses all over the world, just ready for their kids to move in. Speaking of Noah and his abroad ventures, our breakfast today isn't just to satisfy our craving for overpriced Melbournian toast but to discuss the dinner his mother and father have invited me to. My best friend's going away to Europe with his family for twelve weeks to study. "Study". I do have no doubt that he'll be studying fashion relentlessly, but really, rubbing shoulders with celebrities doesn't sound very tiresome to me. Or maybe it is? I wouldn't know.

Anyways, his parents have invited me to dine with them at the Covington's Astoria Estate this coming Thursday night to say goodbye to Noah for the next few weeks and I am feeling a bit worried. I've only met them a few times and I've never spoken more than a few words to them. I don't belong here in Astoria and I'm scared that they'll be able to tell straightaway.

Noah chuckles at my anxiousness when I meet him at the café, hugs me and then lounges back in his seat telling me I'll be fine before forgetting my worries to flirtatiously raise his eyebrows at the bewildered waiter who greets us.

Nevertheless, my stomach churns with anxiety for the whole of the breakfast. I am starting to feel overwhelmed. It's not just all my stresses about The Dinner and Noah leaving, but also the very atmosphere of the café. It's so crowded, so full of people, the noise is dizzying. I try not to think about the masses crammed in the room and instead focus on my previous thoughts of my friend's imminent departure.

What will I do without Noah? I don't have many friends here. Actually, I don't have very many friends, in general, at all.

With a friend like Kiki, une étoile brillante, I'd always been in the shadows. The darkness to amplify her sparkling personality. Behind the bright and confident personality I project to the world, I am really just a sad, lonely girl. I'd always much rather preferred a quiet study night to the loud raucous parties that Kiki dragged me too.

The hours of contrived smiles and forced laughs at the drunken antics of my classmates in Reeves had always left me feeling a bit sick. Disgusted and ashamed with the way that I'd been too scared to just be myself, that I had to force myself to pretend to be something I wasn't. Funny. It seems I've managed to bring that pretence with me to Astoria. And even though I am no longer attached to Kiki's side, that false bubble of confidence still envelopes me. And with each passing day, I feel the growing pressure on it. And I know that soon it will burst. What will I do then when my façade falls?

Noah notices that I've only nibbled the crust of my 'Smashed Avo' instead of devouring it in seconds as I usually do and he squeezes my arm reassuringly, mistaking my identity crisis for apprehension about The Dinner.

"You'll be alright" he says, grinning. And, in an attempt to distract me, he swipes one of the marshmallows from the little saucer that holds my hot chocolate.

"Hey! Wait!" I yelp and he laughs loudly before popping it into his mouth and singing Nirvana, somewhat muffledly.

"I got a new complaint!" Before he can get to the remaining lyrics though, the young waiter returns, looking pained. He inquires as to what's wrong and his brow knits itself in distress. The other diners also look slightly distressed as if the food might be poisonous and they surreptitiously throw us nervous glances, whispering amongst themselves, like hissing snakes. Noah manages to smooth talk his way through the conversation after noticing the waiter's furtive glances towards the kitchen where a chef stands waiting, with a large berry stained knife in his hand.