The Christmas Olympics

The Art of Apologizing - Part II

How do you say you're sorry?

There was never a specific way that I'd been taught, no correct formula, no perfect combination of words to string together. Instead, there millions of different ways to say sorry—and to mean it. I was left wondering why there wasn't a right way to say sorry.

The art of apologizing was a complicated endeavor, the artists toiling for years to perfect the art, and even then, after countless attempts, after countless exhibitions, still, the artist never felt like they fully understood how to create a proper apology.

I'd said sorry many times in life. I'd said sorry and meant it. I'd said sorry and not meant a word. As a woman, I'd said sorry for things I really shouldn't have been sorry for. All of that to say I was no stranger to the act; but as I lay in bed, Arden's face haunting every facet of my consciousness, I felt that I had never once had any experience saying sorry in my entire life.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the hollow look of utter disappointment in Arden's green eyes. While I watched the scene unfold in my mind once again, I'd come to the realization that Arden thought highly of me, thought I'd amounted to something big, something important, and in those few exchanges in the bar, I'd shattered all expectations she had about me.

Each time I tried to shut her out, to think of anything else, even going so far as to relive my breakup with Sarah, I heard her words echoing in my head, the confessions that brought her back home to Maple Springs, the confessions that I triumphantly thought made me better than her; how wrong I'd been.

Every assumption I'd made about her rattled around in my head, a constant gibe. Everything that lead her back to Maple Springs was enough to break enough the best among us, yet she held her head high. Meanwhile, I wallowed in my own self-pity because the worst thing that happened to me was my girlfriend dumped me.

I'd called Arden pathetic, but I knew between the two of us, I'd easily won that title.

When I'd thought I'd finally contended with the evening, forcing myself to relive every word and expression exchanged between us, my mind showed me our kiss, a kiss that twisted my stomach, a kiss that sent a jolt down my spine, a kiss I could never think about again.

But my stomach had filled with a burning desire when our tongues met, when she'd pulled me closer, her body flush against mine. And her face when I'd pulled away . . . Desire: she wanted me too.

I rolled over on my side, the air mattress protesting, my stomach twisting in knots. I shook away our kiss. It hadn't been anything other than a dare, a competition between us, one I'd been too stubborn to deny.

The kiss was the catalyst though. After the kiss, I'd exploded. After the kiss, I felt out of control.

The memory of Arden's eyes glistening with tears after I'd snapped flashed through my memory again. I smashed a pillow in my face and screamed.

My contemplation continued until the sun rose, the beams slicing through the shutters in my room, illuminating it in slashes of light.

I was, once again, back to the start: how do you say sorry? Arden made it clear she didn't want see or speak to me again. This was, I reasoned, perfectly reasonable. If I was in Arden's shoes, I'd hate me. Hell, I hated me, but she was owed an apology and a damn good one, at that.

Did you get a fruit basket? Flowers? A card? Write it in the sky?

I needed to swallow my pride, march down to the bakery, and apologize to Arden to her face, a thought that scared me more than anything I'd thus far done in my thirty-three years.

I sighed and pulled together all the courage I could muster and rose from bed. I did my best to make myself look presentable, but a complete lack of sleep on my part wouldn't do me much justice. I had bags under my eyes that no amount of makeup would hide.

I waited a few hours until the bakery opened, crossed my fingers that Arden worked today, and started my car. It stuttered a few times in protest. I smacked the dash.