Apology
The sender’s name Jarred, causing her heart to spasm. Could there be another Jake? Another Jake Hillier? And the subject line, ‘Sorry’. She’d read about this new phenomenon only yesterday. Ex-boyfriends, and it did seem to be boyfriends, faced with too much lockdown time, were revisiting old scenes of carnage – or, at least, it was carnage in her and Jake’s case.
They’d been together for seven months, six of which had been thrilling in every way. Then something snapped, broke. No. That wasn’t it. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression. He hadn’t snapped at her or broken bones. But break her heart he most certainly did, leaving her curled and sobbing on the lounge room floor.
She presumed it was about commitment. At six months, it seemed, Jake came to the conclusion it was time to leave, move on. She’d begged him to acknowledge how happy they had been, whilst aware of the appalling contradiction. In her effort to persuade him to see the good, the great things they had shared together, she was already part of his past, commenting on things that had been and not things that were. Her entreaties turned her into something unacceptable, clingy and emotional. The more she begged, the bigger the chasm. In the end, she’d drunk herself into a red-eyed mess of self-pity and he’d had every excuse to walk away, feeling vindicated.
Her finger hovered over the mouse. What would she gain by receiving a belated apology? They hadn’t been in contact for going on two years. Her brow furrowed. Yes, that’s right, twenty months, to be precise. What the hell would this achieve? Images of his body looped around hers, his breath on her neck, lips dragging across skin, made her stomach muscles contract. She breathed hard through her nose. No. No, he couldn’t come crashing back into her life like this. She wouldn’t let him. It was inconceivable. The corner of her mouth twitched.
She moved the mouse and hovered over the red bin. Click. There, gone. But her eye betrayed her by flicking to the Trash folder. Maybe there was a better way of letting Jake know she had also moved on? Her free hand was grabbed by something small, warm and sticky. Smiling, she reached down and lifted her little boy onto her lap. Her son, who had just turned one.
Lifting her phone she nuzzled into his neck and implored him to smile. Click. Upload. From Sarah Maitland. To Jake Hillier. Attach photo. Subject line, ‘Not sorry. End.’
THE END