Coffee, With A Side of Emotional Baggage

I'm someone who enjoys her coffee, in pretty much any scenario. Whether it's my first cup in the morning while I listen to a happy Spanish playlist, or a more fevered cup that inevitably goes cold while I distractedly sip at it while I work on writing or photographing or some other such activity. And anyone who's ever been around me during this little ritual of mine will tell you that I savour my coffee --- slow sips, caressing the mug, the whole shebang. Never chugging, never rushing. 

So when I tell you that this story is about a time when I practically poured my (very hot!) coffee down my gullet, you know it’s something special!

Rewind to early 2020 — pre-pandemic — and a weekend of scrolling through Hinge. Amongst the profiles who had Liked mine, was a rather attractive young man with a very well-written profile. If you’ve been on dating apps, you’d know the latter is more of a rarity than the former (and I’m told this is across genders, before y’all think I’m bashing men!)

Anyhow, back to this great-looking guy. We matched, and got to texting. He had studied history in a very prestigious college abroad, but returned to India to pursue his dream of building a career in theatre. “Admirable”, I thought to myself. It takes cajones to try and make it in the performing arts in India sans a godfather, and I have a great deal of respect for anyone who does so. 

We texted a bit more, mostly the usual small talk about careers and such. While the vibes were alright (not quite fireworks, but not a dumpster fire either), he did quickly mention that he’s not big on texting and would prefer to either speak over a call or to meet in person. Not ideal, but I’ve come to realise that not everyone is able to express themselves as well over text as they do in person – and y’know, that’s perfectly okay. We can’t all be wired the same. How boring that would be!

I’m not personally a fan of phone calls with people I haven’t met yet (hello, social anxiety!), so I suggested we meet for coffee. He lived in the vicinity, so we agreed on a popular cafe that was sort of midway for us both. 

So on that warm and sunny afternoon, I prettied myself up and made my way to the cafe. I arrived first (as my obsessively punctual self usually did) and found a nice table away from the crowd so that we could talk without needing to shout over the rest of the chatter. He walked in a couple of minutes later, wonderfully punctual. We did the whole awkward-side-hug routine and sat down across from each other.

We were immediately hit by the Awkward Silence™. Literally immediately. We must have sat a couple of minutes just looking at each other and around the cafe, before I grasped at the menus like life preservers. For whatever reason, small talk didn’t come easily to either of us on that day. After spending an unnecessarily long time perusing the menu, we placed our orders… and settled back into our chairs for Round 2 of Awkward Silence™. At this point, I vaguely remember trying to crack some sort of joke to break the ice — though I couldn’t tell you what it was. I do remember it didn’t work, though. He cracked a smile and said maybe 2 words, but then we went back to silence.

At this point, I think we had been there maybe 15-20 minutes. Our coffees arrived, and he made an offhand remark about not liking “fancy” coffees — the context being that he had ordered an Americano, and I a latte. It was odd, but he wasn’t the first to have had some version of that opinion, so I didn’t dwell on it. What did strike me, however, was how he seemed almost sullen. As though he didn’t want to be there.

Not great for my ego.

So I’m sipping my coffee, and starting to wonder what on Earth was going on here. At this point, my Aries-ness was simmering and prepared to just address the issue head-on. After all, you’ll never know until you ask, right?

So, I asked.

Me: “Hey BeautifulGuy, I may be out of line here, but I’m sensing you’re not in a great mood. Is something wrong?”

Him: …

Me: …

Him: “Yeah, actually, I was thinking about my ex.”

Me: … Oh.

Him: “Yeah”

Me: …

Him: … 

Me (desperately trying to work through the awkwardness): “What made you think of her? Is this a place you used to come together?”

Him: “No, she’s back in New York.”

Me: “Oh. Did you break up because of the move?”

Him: “Yeah, sort of. She wanted to sleep with other guys since I was far away.”

Me: … Oh

Him: “I didn’t want to break up, so I said okay.”

Me: … Oh

Him: “But I can’t bear her being with other guys.”

Me: … Oh

Him: “Yeah. I still love her.”

Me: …

Him: …

Me: …

This time, the Awkward Silence™ lasted a LONG time! Well, about 7-10 minutes while I chugged my very hot latte.

Literally no other words were spoken on that date. I just finished my coffee, said bye, and left. He was still sitting there, staring into the abyss-like darkness of his Americano.

This was one of those dates that left me thinking — it’s not like either of us was really “at fault” when it came to how disastrous it went. We both struggled with conversation, and well, that would have meant no second date regardless. But I honestly felt kinda bad for the guy. He was clearly hurting, and trying to move on. 

Truth is, he isn’t alone in feeling that way. The pain of an unpleasant breakup can stick around for a while, and very often impact any attempts at dating for a while. Perhaps not necessarily in the form of a mini menty b on a first date, but it definitely rears its head sooner or later.

I should know, the aftermath of my divorce did have me making some… let’s call them “questionable” choices! And yes, that’s a story you definitely want to hear. (Coming very soon, I promise)

Have you had to deal with the Not-Over-The-Ex demon on your dating journey? Tell me how it made its presence felt.