Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 22

The days pass by, measured only by calls from lawyers and detectives. I apologise profusely to Gareth for ruining his holiday and even though he is weary now and has only a few days left with us, he hugs me and thanks me for making his visit so exciting. I call my parents but I don't tell them what happened. What can I say? I am an adult anyway, and they don't need to know. Eventually, everything settles. I discover that when you have enough money, you can buy silence and freedom and peace of mind. Elio is thrown into jail. It turns out that he's older than we thought. He's almost thirty. I have no idea what his job is; he told me he was a pianist at The Henley but there is no such position. His name is Elio Aylett and he is an Anna Sorokin-esque conman, trying (unsuccessfully) to seduce the upper echelons of society. I mean, why did he even pick me? Elio reminds me of a foreword to a copy of The Great Gatsby. One I read many years ago, about the patricians and illegal bootleggers coalescing to form the dilettante social group; a social standing which cultures pretensions of sophistication. He was pretending like he was some WASPy kinda rich boy. I tell Rafe about this one night. But I leave out the F. Scott Fitzgerald stuff. I don't think he's read the book.

Curled up in a cashmere blanket in front of the fire with my laptop on my lap and my literature notes sprawled around me, I wonder aloud as to who -what- Elio really is.

Rafe's studying his own work on his own laptop and when I ponder Three Sugar's true nature (even Rafe has taken to calling him that as it seems that nobody knows who Elio truly is), he sighs. His eyes wander towards the screen of the TV which is left drifting through a montage of shows to watch on Netflix. The sound is off and the light casts an artificial glow across his face as the screen flickers from show to show.

"Evangeline," He says as he turns to look at me, "We all wear masks around here."

I turn away. Because that is true. For me, at least. But I wonder, is Rafe different for me than he is with others? I finish my homework shortly and pack my books and things away. I remain on the couch though, rereading The Giver again. Until I get a message. My phone chimes. It's Charlie.

«Evie come visit! Your parents are harassing me now!

Hey Charlie? They saw me like, last week. I videochatted them!»

The question mark is a typo but it's too late now. The message has sent and I don't want to come off as a complete grammar freak- even though Charlie know that I am exactly that.

«What about me? I haven't seen you in so long! x

Once upon a time, that would have made my week. It would be the one thought I return to in daydreams during class. But now? I deliberate over what to say for a few seconds. Leaving him on read. Then he writes again.

«♥∞

Years ago, I remember having a discussion with Kiki and Charlie about how regular emojis are insincere when you're trying to convey love. I'd declared that the only emoji heart which really looked as if it stood for love was the deep red one, located in the deck of cards section. We'd discussed this for hours. At first, Kiki had obstinately declared that the pink heart with the yellow ribbon had epitomised love. Charlie and I had stared her down, until finally she relented, admitted that she'd only said that to annoy me. But she disagreed with the notion of the card heart being better. Eventually, we'd stumbled upon the Japanese Kana keyboard and had decided that the black heart meant a sincere love you and the infinity sign meant forever. Love you forever. Oh, Charlie. I tapped out a reply, taking too long deliberating over what to send. Eventually I send him the heart and infinity. Because it was true, I'd love him forever.

I'll call you sometime tomorrow»
♥∞»

When Rafe finishes his work, he picks up his phone, scrolling absently through social media, dismissing a few messages from Chad, leaving him on read, and glances over at me.