Violet
“Coffee pairs nicely with silence.”
There was a change. I felt it before I could explain it.
It wasn’t obvious enough to point out a single moment where everything shifted, but it was there all the same. A quiet space that hadn’t existed before. Something just felt slightly off.
Everett still texts. He still asks how my day was, still checks in when he knows I have early mornings at the café. Still says goodnight.
But the gaps between messages stretch longer than they used to.
Conversations that used to drift effortlessly throughout the day now stop and restart hours later.
He’s rescheduled plans. More than once. And every time he did, it never felt like he didn’t want to see me. It felt like he did, but couldn’t.
Like something heavier had taken priority. Like he was carrying something he didn’t want to set down near me yet.
I pour more coffee into my mug, watching the late morning customers trickle in and out. The espresso machine hisses behind me, the familiarity of steaming milk and grinding beans filling the room. Normally, the noise grounded me. Today, my thoughts are drifting.
I keep telling myself not to jump to conclusions. Absence doesn’t mean he’s not interested.
Not every man is like my ex.
I used to fill the silence with blame. My brain would race ahead of reality, building stories out of nothing until those stories started to feel real. Then I’d believe them. And once I believed them, it was a quick downward spiral.
So, I tell myself over and over that this is different. But telling myself something logically didn’t stop my body from reacting.
Because my body remembers. It remembered what it felt like to sit at home alone for days at a time when Ryan would be off partying on his “boys’ weekends.
” The way my stomach would twist every time I checked my phone and saw no messages.
The way my chest would tighten when hours turned into entire days of silence.
The quiet apartment would start to feel suffocating, like the walls were closing in with every minute that passed without hearing from him.
I remember lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I had done wrong this time.
Wondering if I had said something that made him lose interest. Wondering if he was already halfway out the door, and I was the only one pretending we were still together.
My body remembers that feeling so clearly it almost startles me sometimes.
The tension would start in my shoulders first. A tightness that crept up my neck and settled into my jaw. My stomach would knot so tightly that food sounded impossible. My heart would beat so fast for no reason, like it was bracing for something bad that hadn’t happened yet.
It’s amazing how the body latches onto things long after the mind tries to let them go.
I hand a latte across the counter to a regular and smile automatically.
“Have a good day,” I say.
“You too, honey,” the older lady responds.
The bell above the door jingles as she leaves.
My body remembers something else too.
The silent treatment.
My body remembers what it felt like when Ryan would give it to me after a big fight. The air in the apartment would change instantly. Heavy and cold, like something invisible had taken over the room.
He wouldn’t yell, wouldn’t argue. He just stopped talking. At first, I would try to fix it. Ask him what was wrong. Apologize even when I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.
But he would sit there scrolling his phone, acting like I wasn’t even in the room. And the longer the silence stretched, the more desperate I became to break it.
Eventually, my chest would feel tight, like breathing required more effort than usual.
My stomach would twist in sharp knots, my skin would feel hot and cold all at once.
The silence was punishment. He knew exactly what it did to me. And he used it anyway. Sometimes it would last hours. Sometimes days.
He would eventually come back, acting as if nothing had happened. Like I was the one who needed to calm down.
This thing, with Everett, it feels different. And I am holding onto that.
Just as I take a sip of coffee I hear my phone ding, pulling it out of my back pocket I see it’s a text from Everett.
Everett:
Hey, I know you have probably noticed that I have been distant. I want to make sure you know it doesn’t have anything to do with you, or us. I’ve had some news I need to wrap my head around, I’m not sure what to do yet and I just need a little time before I can talk about it.
Rereading what he wrote a few times, I trust him, he has given me no reason not to. He said this isn’t about me, or us. I believe him, but of course I still feel vulnerable.
Everett told me before that when something overwhelmed him, his instinct wasn’t to talk. It was to pull inward. To process things alone first. To understand what he was feeling before bringing it to someone else.
He said it as if he were apologizing for it. But when he explained it, it didn’t sound manipulative. It sounded honest.
My ex would use silence as a weapon. Everett uses it as a shield.
That difference matters more than anything.
Him pulling back isn’t about me. It’s about him protecting himself. He's dealing with something he’s not ready to bring to me.
He told me that when life throws something big at him, he needs space first. Needs quiet to sort through it before he could say it out loud.
Not because he doesn’t trust people. But because he doesn’t want to unload something heavy before he understands it himself.
And that feels like Everett.
Careful.
Thoughtful.
The kind of man who doesn’t say things lightly.
I wipe my hands on a towel and slip into my office for a minute.
The small room smells faintly like coffee beans and paper receipts. The hum of the café continues just outside the door.
I closed my eyes for a second. I kept replaying the time we’ve spent together.
Like he respected it.
Like he respected me.
I knew those looks. And they don’t disappear overnight.
I stare at the blinking cursor in the message box.
I type something.
Delete it.
Type it again.
Delete it again.
Finally, I force myself to stop overthinking, which is hard for me to do, and I press send on the last thing I type.
Me:
Hey, ya not gonna lie I’ve been worried and in my head. Is it bad, are you okay?
Everett:
I’m really sorry you’ve been worried, I promise we are good. And I’m okay, no one is hurt or anything. I’m just trying to process everything before I start saying stuff out loud.
Me:
Okay, I get it, I remember you telling me you pull away when you feel overwhelmed. I thought things were weird after the date, after you stayed over.
Everett:
No, not even a little. This is just really shitty timing, that’s all. And trust me, if I could have picked a different time for life to dump on me, I would.
A small smile tugged at my mouth, feeling less worried.
Another text comes though.
Everett:
I’m not pulling away from you, I am not changing my mind about you. I just need a little time to get my head straight.
Me:
Okay, I can give you time.
Everett:
Thank you.
And for the record, I still really like you. In case my most recent behaviour made you second guess my feelings.
Me:
Well that's good to hear because I still really like you.
I set my phone down, because if there is one thing I am determined to do differently this time, it is this.
Trust.
I am confident enough in us to know this was something he had to come to terms with first. He will tell me when he is ready.
I want to be the calming place for him that he’s already been for me.
Not someone who adds pressure. Not someone who demands answers before he understands them himself.
I trust that what we have built so far, even though it is new, is honest and safe.
Whatever Everett is facing right now, at least he knows one thing. He doesn’t have to go through it alone because he has me in his corner.
Always.
If he’ll have me.