Of Mochas and Macchiatos

thirty. all the wrong questions

Our presentation is pretty good. Or so I casually tell Noah, Mika and Maria. In reality, it goes brilliantly and I am ever so confident that we will receive a high distinction for it. I tell this to Rafe in the whispered snatches of time between classes and he laughs at how earnestly I assert the thought but agrees.

I feel a little bit sad that I won't have any more excuses to make time with him. But it is probably better this way, for the both of us. But then I strike upon a rather melancholic thought: will I be like this all my life? Constantly flitting away from people the second my heart opens up. Like a bee that deserts a flower mere seconds after it first blossoms. Rafe catches these expressions as they flutter across my face and asks if I am alright, and I tell him of course! He sees through the response though but is called away by that Chad kid and whatever train of thought he had drifts away. He waves goodbye at me before he is pulled into the churning mass of people in the hallways and unbeknownst to him, I tell him I love him.

And then I force myself to class. I meet Mika during English and she excitedly inquires about the state of my apartment. I texted our group chat yesterday, so Mika, Maria and Noah all know about my moving back in. We have a movie night planned. We keep changing our group chat name; right now it's Game of Phones. But I know that at any one moment I'll wake up to see that it's been renamed, that the colour will have changed from a millennially acceptable pale dogwood to a fluorescent green and that our emoji will become a poodle: all Maria's doing. I consider calling Rafe and asking if he'd like to join our movie night, but we've broken up. It feels inherently wrong to invite an ex-boyfriend over for Netflix. He might get the wrong idea. Might think I mean 'Netflix and chill'. And so I don't.

The day drags on and I huff through the rest of my classes, inconspicuously checking my email every few minutes, constantly refreshing it lest a scholarship offer arrives. But nothing comes. I am in the mood for frozen yogurt and when my classes finally end, I hurriedly buy a tub of the coconut froyo before making it just in time to meet Madeleine and Lucas. I feel like I haven't seen them in forever but before I can even begin to inquire about their lives, Lena asks why Rafe and I broke up.

"I mean, Evie, I know roughly when exactly you broke up, exactly what stretch of road it must've been and what must've instigated it -Archer's father, of course- but I just don't get why? You love him!" A frown crosses her face for a second and then it creases into deeper confusion. "... don't you?" Lucas swats at her, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, Evie. I'm so sorry to hear," I have no doubt he's been regaled by endless theories from Madeleine as to why we've broken up but I appreciate his sentiment all the same. "We're both very sorry to hear. Please just let us know if there's anything we can do. Actually, you know what, Del, I think I might know exactly what Evie wants- some privacy!"

Luke is actually angry at his best friend. He is shouting at her, and Madeleine, brave, obstinate stubborn Madeleine actually almost cowers away at his harsh voice. The last line, barked out in guttural syllables, makes her visibly flinch. "Why are you so insensitive?"

Madeleine falters under his glare and looks almost penitent. "Oh. Evie. I'm sorry. I... Just... why are emotions so difficult to understand? I just don't understand love. I'm sorry, Lucky- Lucas."

"I'm sorry too, Del... Madeleine, I'm sorry." Luke looks so genuinely sorrowful for a second that I am baffled as to why. Then I realise. It is an epiphany for me. My gaze flickers between the two of them: Madeleine with her melancholy gaze fixed upon the ground and Lucas with his eyes firmly upon Madeleine. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, almost protectively, and stares at her with an indiscernible expression upon his face and then it hits me.

Lucas Montague is undeniably and irrevocably in love with Madeleine Duvall.

I wonder, does... did Rafe look at me like that? Do I look at him like that?