Sorry(Stephanie McDonald) It’s always me who says sorry.
I’m not just the first one to say it - I’m the only one.
And I’ve tested it. She is an expert at the silent treatment. You get to the point where you think to yourself, ‘Come on, this is ridiculous now. She’ll have to talk to you soon. Surely.’
But she doesn’t. She barely even looks in your direction. I’ve felt invisible several times in my life, like when people in the shopping centre walk straight into you as if you’re not even there, or when you pull out onto a roundabout and the driver who should have given way careens ahead like you don’t exist.
But there’s no feeling like the chill that sweeps through your body when you smile at her, and she glides past you as though she’s in a different world, separated from you by a discreet pane of glass that allows no contact.
This time, it’s been five days.
I’m twenty-nine years old, for goodness sake, why don’t I just call her out on it; stand up to her? Why don’t I just say: “Look, this is ridiculous! Can you even remember what we were fighting about? Life is too short, let’s just put this behind us and get back to normal. Ok?”
That all seems perfectly reasonable, in my head.
So why don’t I say it? Why am I so tempted to revert to type and go and apologise, like I always do?
Deep down, I know I’m not the one in the wrong here. But I’ve convinced myself that I am. Or did she convince me?
Either way, it’s me who’s on a nightmarish guilt trip, while she is no doubt feeling every inch the injured party.
I’m scared to upset her, that’s the crux of the matter.
Yes, I know, she’s already upset with me, but I know if I only go and apologise, everything will be fine, and we’ll be back to normal in no time.
What would she do if I went in, guns blazing, with my ‘Let’s just get past this nonsense, shall we?’ approach?
That’s not going to make anything better. And who knows how much worse it will make it? I shudder to think how long it might be before she speaks to me again.
I’m so confused.
Relationships shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t have to be so careful all the time, walking on eggshells in case something I say is misconstrued. I try so hard not to do or say anything to upset her, but it’s literally like navigating through a minefield - one foot wrong and an explosion happens.
You might think it’s pride that’s made me hold off with my apology for five whole days (so far), and maybe it is, but maybe it’s more than that this time.
Maybe I’m realising that this relationship isn’t good for me. That I don’t deserve to be treated this way - blamed and vilified for things that aren’t even my fault. I mean, I’ve made mistakes, of course I have, and there have been times when I’ve apologised and meant it. But I’m not a bad person.
I don’t go out of my way to be mean, or cruel, or nasty. I don’t say hurtful things, or point out flaws, or get involved in issues that are none of my business. I actually think I’m quite a helpful person. I aim to please. Maybe I do that too much. Maybe that’s why I’m so terrified of her withholding her love from me.
I am terrified, but I can’t let her manipulate me like this.
I pick up my phone, but I can’t bring myself to type in the unlock code.
I bring the phone up to meet my lips, as though holding it against them will somehow bring forth some inspiration, and guide me in what to say.
I’ve got it.
My fingers are not quite so shaky, now that I’ve made a decision, and I unlock the phone first time, without making a mistake like I tend to do when I’m nervous.
I dial the number, and swallow loudly as I listen to the three rings that sound before the call is answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me”.
“Oh, hi.”
“Dean, I’m sorry to ask, but I need your help. I really need to sort this thing out with my Mum…”

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