Defense Mechanism

Nia leaned against the counter of the coffee shop. Her oversized sunglasses hiding the existential dread that seemed to seep into her life whenever she was single. 

“No, seriously, he’s perfect,” she declared to Phoebe, her best friend, who was half-listening while stirring her oat milk latte. Nia was on Week Three of dating Joe, a guy whose most distinguishing feature was that he was available.

“Perfect? Like, what’s his thing?” Phoebe asked, her tone laced with suspicion. “Is he funny? Into niche vinyl records? Does he rescue dogs? Or humans? Please tell me he rescues something.”

Nia hesitated, her fingers fiddling with her straw. Joe was...fine. He liked podcasts about productivity and owned an air fryer he was unreasonably proud of. But if we're being completely honest.... she wasn’t with him for the sake of romance. She was with him because the silence of her own thoughts was deafening, and being alone felt like willingly entering a haunted house.

“His thing is...he’s stable,” Nia said finally, grinning like that was the ultimate prize. “Stable is sexy, right?”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Stable is boring. He sounds like a guy who keeps Excel sheets for fun.”

“He does! Isn’t that cute?” Nia laughed, a little too loudly, deflecting the pang of unease rising in her chest. Joe was a human shield against her own insecurities—one of those shields that looked sturdy but probably couldn’t stop a marshmallow.

***

Two weeks later, Nia found herself sitting across from Joe at a sushi restaurant, nodding as he explained something about his "bulletproof morning routine." It hit her then—this wasn’t love; it wasn’t even infatuation. It was a cleverly disguised escape route. A defense mechanism with a charming smile and an impressive knowledge of kitchen gadgets.

As Joe enthusiastically detailed his plans to optimize their date nights, Nia blurted out, “Do you ever feel like you’re dating someone just to avoid yourself?” The words hung in the air like an overstuffed balloon, ready to pop.

Joe blinked. “Uh… I guess I don’t think about stuff like that.”

Nia smiled, this time for real, and flagged down the waiter for the check. It wasn’t Joe’s fault, but she was done pretending she was fine with being her own project manager. Maybe it was time to sit with the silence and see what it had to say.

“Thanks, Joe,” she said as they walked out.

“For what?” he asked, puzzled.

“For being a great distraction,” Nia replied. "But I think I need to work on, you know, being alone without spontaneously combusting."