Let me tell you a little story, ScottyMo. About 350 years ago, when I was still just a pupzilla, back in college, I dated this guy for about a year and a half. The last six months or so, I could see the writing on the wall: This was not for the long haul and would need to end. I tried breaking up with him, several times, in different ways. You name it, I tried that approach. It wouldn’t “take.” He couldn’t respect me enough to even accept a breakup from me (until he was good and damn ready to be broken up).
He lived several hours away from me and came down to my campus to visit one weekend. A guy friend stopped in and invited us to go see some Pink Floyd cover band that he’d seen the night before. My BF was tired and didn’t want to go. I wanted to go, so he said, “Eh, go with your friend, I’ll just chill out here for a while.” Cool. I tell him if he changes his mind, he knows where we’ll be, so he should come on out.
So I go out with my friend and end up getting hammered and making out with the guy in this bar. Imagine my horror when I look up over the dude’s shoulder and see my BF standing there, looking like someone just punched him in his nuts. :: face palm :: Realizing that I am a total jackass, I quickly explain to makeout dude that my BF just showed up and spotted us and I better go handle that business. He agrees, as our little makeout session was just harmless drunken fun and meant nothing much to either of us. He even walked me home to make sure I got there okay, and graciously refused to come in and invite confrontation. I found the boyfriend in my bed, cuddled up with my roommate, crying his eyes out. A slow, protracted, painful breakup ensues, but this time, it takes and we’re for realz, broken up. I was so relieved, I wasn’t even pissed off at my roommate for crawling into my bed with him to comfort him. They were both fully dressed, but still. That was a bit of a slap in the face, but I thought (and still think) I kinda had that one coming.
Twenty years later, I get this email from my nephew, who is by now 20 years old. He says “Aunt Dogzilla, some guy named [BF’s name] PM’d me on FB and wants to know if I’m your nephew and he wants your contact info. Do you know who this guy is and should I give it to him?” I’m thinking, “Oh shit, I am finally going to be called out for being a slimy cheating bitch.” So I tell my nephew if he can confirm that exBF still lives in a state 1,000 miles away from me, then sure, go ahead and give him my email address. (He also wanted to know how the hell my exBF knew who he was. I explained that, he was born while I was dating this guy, and he has a very unique, distinctive name. My name is like “Jane Doe,” so it would be easier to triangulate and find me through my nephew than directly, if you know my nephew’s very unusual name. It was a big deal at the time because my nephew was named after a car and this exBF was into cars, so he really liked that name and thought my sister was The Shit™ for naming her kid after a car.)
The very next day, I get a very long email from exBF. The very first line is, “I should have apologized to you a long time ago, and I’m so glad I tracked you down so I can, finally.” Turns out, he finally realized I’d been nice and kind and had tried a few times to break up with him the right way, and that he was so obtusely stubborn about always being right, he admitted he wouldn’t hear of it unless it was his idea. So he apologized to me for being a dick and for forcing me into acting like a skanky slut in order to demonstrate to him that it was over. And we’d even tried to be friends post-breakup, but he was a dick to me then. I put up with it because I’d felt so guilty that I let him catch me making out with someone else rather than put on my big girl panties and stand my ground on the whole “we should break up” thing.
I was shocked. Here I thought I’d been the asshole all along (and still think I behaved in an assholey way right there at the end) and would owe him a profuse apology, should we ever reconnect. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t 100% to blame for every damn thing and that he might eventually notice his dick moves and feel compelled to apologize to me.
So I say send it.