How do I say it’s over

There have always been things that are difficult to relay to your parents: the A-Level B that should have been an A, especially considering the extra-tutoring; the piece of crockery from their perfect set of 24 that is now, sadly, 23; the cream carpet you spilt red wine on; the minor crash you had in your first car, or second, or maybe even third, or that horrendously awkward conversation when you inform your mum that you’re going on the pill.

But what I find hardest of all is the ‘relationship issue’. I absolutely hate telling the parents of relationship failure. Be it a friendship or the more standardised romantic relationship, I find it near impossible. The announcement almost always comes with my pause-stutter-blurgh-should-I-just-lie consideration moment on the end of the phone. But Lora, I hear you cry, the solution is simple – just don’t tell your parents of these ‘relationships’…

In case you hadn’t realised, I don’t really have any secrets. Half of them have been published in The Boar and the remaining 50% may as well have been for their nature of being common knowledge. Usually, this isn’t a problem. I like to think that in exchange for my openness and honesty, people will perhaps return the favour.

A problem that emerges from this is that if something vaguely exciting crops up – which includes meeting a tall (more often small) dark stranger – I kind of can’t not tell my mum. I obviously forge a no more than vaguely interested facade to the guy in question, and portray this to my mother in a similar fashion.

‘Yeah, just this guy, just drinks, probably nothing, p.s. he’s beautiful, but yeah, probably nothing.’

Now, my mum forgets a lot. She forgets when term ends, even though she’s asked for the date around twelve times, and written it in her diaries – work, as well as home. She forgets what she went to the supermarket for. But what she never forgets, is boy X’s existence.

From the moment I mention him, and forever more, I face inevitable, eternal questioning.

And all the time I tell her things are going swimmingly, it’s described as ‘yeah, great.’ She is naturally spared the details, especially if it turned into a more unconventional set-up. As far as Mum’s concerned, I am happily courting boy X, skipping merrily around campus, dreaming of a jolly good future. I need not mention that the reality is relatively far-removed from Mum’s ideal.

But anyway, there always comes the day when it’s over. This is when I regret ever having mentioned it. It’s almost worth lying next time I’m asked, denying the fact that it is no more, though this just leads to it being dragged out indefinitely.

I mean, what’s the alternative?

‘Mum. He doesn’t want to see me anymore.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because… well… I don’t know why not…’

I can already feel the disappointment down the phone. Sorry Mum. I’m sure it’s not that she intentionally tries to convey her disappointment. It’s probably just my own disappointment at my inability- yet again- to conduct a successful relationship, simply emerging in another form. But never mind. Next.