Super Associated

Ghosting

Nine times out of ten, I have the world's best brother. I even bought him a mug that had that written on it when I was five and Dad insisted I get Michael something for his birthday. Like, he'll be there for me in an instant, usually with chocolate or ice cream, he will always be my Plus One to events if I don't have a date, he knows exactly what will make me laugh when I'm down, he takes me out go-karting every year for my birthday, he's the only one who is willing to watch football with me, he always answers his phone when I call, he's a pro at killing every single moth that flies around my flat, he accepts my cantankerous personality and more importantly, at Christmas, he buys me expensive handbags. Then there's that one occasion where he does something that will spectacularly ruin all that hard work. 

For example, he rings into the radio show where I'm being put on the spot for having a less than perfect track record when it comes to men. 

Michael Taylor, I've decided, is the world's worst brother. 

"Of course, any man would be lucky to have her," my brother says, continuing his dissection of my personal life. "But she really needs to be more open to the opportunities that are right in front of her face."

"Ok, I am sorry but I have to stop you right there, Michael," I say, leaning forward so that the microphone was practically in my mouth and not just near it. Gesticulating almost as if my brother were stood before me, I frown and say, "Are you seriously going to lecture me about opportunities that are right in front of my face? This coming from the bloke that has known the perfect girl for his entire life, had an office opposite her for over ten years and never bloody noticed her!"

Even Chelsea looked like she was loving this development, enjoying the dynamics between Michael and myself. Beaming from ear to ear, her eyes were practically dancing as she watched the comments fly in via Twitter, Facebook as well as the incoming texts. One of the boards in front of her was lit up light a Christmas tree from the sheer volume of callers trying to get through. 

"Yeah but we're not talking about me," Michael counters.

I scoff. "Maybe we should be. Your dating record is worse than mine. Listeners, did you know that he had a massive boner for this woman that was quite frankly never going to be good enough for him only to then come to his senses and start dating his perfect woman. Incidentally, the sister of the trainwreck that played with his head for years. Years, Michael. Even when you were loved up with whats-her-name, Lydia still kept you on the hook."

"At least when I'm with someone, I'm with them," I hear my brother almost shout down the earphones at me. I could tell he was irritated with me as I was with him. See, this is what makes out relationship equally amazing and terrible: Michael and I are too similar in some ways, too opposite in other ways. "You just ghost them when things get too serious. You like a guy, you keep him interested for a while but then suddenly, you disappear on them with no explanation. You are too afraid of commitment, Romy, and you know it."

If looks could kill and if Micahel was stood in front of me right now, I'd be looking at a life sentence in prison for murder. He had no idea what the hell he was talking about but here he was, passing comment as if he was some sort of expert giving his professional opinion. No, I wasn't going to stand for that. Insinuating that I bail out on a relationship when it gets too serious is unequivocally incorrect; I don't let relationships get far enough to even class it as being semi-serious. How can you ghost someone when you're not dating them? 

Too fuming to continue arguing with my brother for the listening pleasure of complete strangers, I impatiently tap my fingernails on the table and start jiggling my leg up and down. Honestly, I wish there was a punching bag in here right now just so I could take my frustration out on something. 

"Romy, just be honest, ok?" My brother's voice calmly speaks. God, is he still on the fucking line? "Not every relationship is going to end up like Dad and Marnie's. Don't let their marriage be what you compare your relationships to. I love you, Rome. See you tomorrow."

My brother hangs up and Chelsea takes the opportunity to play another song. Through her mic, she speaks to Francis in the production room, asking for an update and what was next on the show. While they discussed how they were further going to humiliate me, I blinked my eyes, forcing the tears away. 

Of all the things Michael could have dragged into the public eye, he just had to mention my parents' marriage. Everyone knows my father's love life is a train wreck but when you're placed in the middle of a very acrimonious divorce, 'train wreck' doesn't adequately sum up what Dad's like in the matters of the heart. The man has cheated on every single one of his four wives, gone through costly divorces thrice over and is now keeping a girlfriend in the lap of luxury, seemingly unaware that any of us know about it. 

Why would I be stupid enough to compare my relationships to what my parents had? I know I'm a little bit kooky but I'm not a lunatic.  

Suddenly, a voice speaks into my ear. "How are you holding up?" Francis' calm voice asks me. From the way Chelsea was preoccupied with choosing more songs for her show, I guessed that Francis was only coming through, loud and clear, on my headset. "You look beat."

"You sound surprised," I say with thinly concealed annoyance. "What did you expect, Francis?"