PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: So the birthday breakfast has started. We had a prolonged discussion between Chemeray about a coffee theory. Don't you just love reading this when its a draft?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
emeray
Despite being no different in grandeur to any other large meal I've attended in my time as a Famoux member, the setup of my birthday breakfast momentarily takes my breath away. It isn't necessarily the food that gets me, but the concentration that went into putting everything together.
Among brimming platters filled eggs of all styles, pancakes drizzled in colorful syrup, and several other staple breakfast foods, I notice red streamers and confetti pieces and little cakes with my name drawn out on them in elaborate icing. By my seat I even find a few notes from Famoux staff members––most of whom I haven't even personally met. Somehow, they still have something kind to say that's probably more genuine than half of the celebrities I meet at after-parties and events.
My eyes are scanning the other seats merrily when a realization washes over me. I count once, twice, and then one more time to be sure. There's a table setting for each of the four other members and I, and nothing else.
No spot for Norax.
As such a profound figure in my newer life, Norax's inability to be here to even greet me before running off stings quick and deep like a second abandonment. Half the time I dread coming downstairs to see her, and I've pondered her choices for my life plenty in those hours where I can't seem to find any sleep, but for a hint of moment I find myself deeply longing for her to be here. It doesn't have to be grand, just here, like usual, crisp in her blazer and modest heels and clipboard full of my daily obligations.
My mother always used to button my coat before I left for school and tell me that today was a new day, and that there was always a chance that today could be different. I'm sure she never realized that by routinely starting the morning by promising me that change is coming, her words were, in a way, always contradicting themselves. How were things supposed to change at school if they weren't changing at all in the morning at home?
But I didn't realize that either until now, and either way, I didn't mind. There's a part of me that has always been a big fan of taking part in routines, and seeing patterns, and viewing the world as a generally unchanging entity as a whole. The very nature of my existence was a shift from the routine Eldae citizen of my age's appearance, so I suppose a subconscious part of me wanted to work at falling into line as much as possible to make up for that. It even comforting, so comforting, to listen to my mom's pep talks about my potential to be loved as she made sure my scarf was settled just right around my neck. There's simply something about doing the same thing everyday that makes change seem all the more delightful and all the less daunting.
