Maybe I’m avoiding it because I’m not sure who I’ll find there.
…………
The next morning, Ellie’s waiting by the coffee machine like she’s been planning this ambush since last night. Her arms are crossed, mug in hand, expression too casual to be casual.
“You actually went home?” she asks, one brow raised.
I grab a mug from the cabinet. “Define home.”
She snorts. “You and your technicalities. I’m proud of you, though. Look at you, leaving the office before midnight like a functioning adult.”
“Barely,” I say, pouring coffee that tastes like regret. “Don’t expect it to become a habit.”
Ellie leans against the counter, watching me over the rim of her mug. “You know, you’ve got this look sometimes. Like your body’s here, but your head’s halfway across the state.”
I stir the coffee I don’t even like, watching the swirl.
“Like you’re somewhere else,” she says, tilting her head. “As if you’re chasing something that’s long gone.”
I laugh softly, but it sounds forced even to me. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “But you forget—I’ve seen you at your worst.”
“My worst?” I repeat, giving her a look. “A bit extreme, don’t you think?”
Her smile fades a little. “You’re not over him, are you?”
The words hang between us, soft but solid. I grip the counter a little tighter than necessary. “I don’t know who you mean.”
“Yes you do.” Her tone isn’t cruel, it’s simple, like she’s stating a fact. “The one who won’t be named but made you swear off anything that doesn’t revolve around work.”
I take a slow sip to buy myself some time. The coffee burns going down. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“Am I?” she asks quietly. “Because every time his name circles the conversation, you get that look. The one that says you’ve already left the room.” She looks at me over her glasses, “You tense up. Every. Single. Time.”
I keep my eyes on the mug. “It’s been a long time, El. He’s part,” I force out a breath. “Part of my past… that’s all. I’m not—” I stop myself before the next word.Broken.
Ellie stays quiet and just waits, the way she always does when she knows I’ll talk eventually.
“I’ve moved on,” I say finally. “Or at least, I’m trying to. Still trying to… I don’t know.”
“Trying’s not the same as doing.”
I laugh again, sharper this time. “You’re really going for therapist of the year today, huh?”
“Someone’s gotta call your bluff.” She takes another sip, eyes softening. “He’s still in your heart, no matter how much you try to move on. I know he’s still on your mind more than you’d like to admit.”
The comment lands right where it shouldn’t, right in the middle of my chest, where I keep everything boxed up.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
Ellie exhales slowly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I interrupt. “It’s fine.” My voice sounds steady, but it’s the wrong kind of calm—the kind that only comes from practice. “You’re not wrong. I just don’t see the point in unpacking something that shouldn’t exist anymore.”
“But it does, doesn’t it?”
I meet her eyes for the first time. “It can’t.”
