All Apologies

X and I found ourselves washing hands in the ladies bathroom sink at work last week. Turning the water, ¾ warm to ¼ cold, a squirt of soap and a smile—at the same time I’m asking her about being a new grandma, which she confirms, shyly. X is quiet, serious, reserved. Though we used to work more closely, because I work in another division, I don’t see her often anymore.

“You look so young. No one would believe you’re a grandmother," I say, leadingly.

She turns inward, looks embarrassed, so I back off, ask details about the baby. A boy, six weeks old, not a fussy baby, but not super easy either. His name, L, is in vogue, but not the name of the day, nothing kooky. She’s very excited about her new role. She says she wants to make sure though she doesn’t overstep her bounds. It would be so easy to take over.

Another opportunity ripe for the plucking, so I jump in there.

“How old is your daughter?” I ask, gently, very gently.

“20,” she says.

“Are they with you?”

“They’re in between places, so they’re with me just for a short time.”

I back off, ask more details. We talk about the pleasure of babies, how they’re so warm in your arms, how familiar it is cradling them, how much easier when you don’t bear all the responsibility. How much hard work it is, mothering an infant. .

One more foray into nosiness and I have a few more nuggets, and I say a warm goodbye, and I’m back at my desk.

Only then, does it occur to me what I nosy jerk I’ve been, all in the guise of sympathetic caring, and I’m appalled. Why is it just when we’re the most proud of ourselves, that we’re often being the biggest jackasses?

I’ve got a ton of work to do, but I stop and send a quick apology via Outlook, telling X that I’d just realized that I was being much too intrusive, and would she please accept my apology; I offer my sincere congratulations on being a grandmother, speculate on how much joy she had ahead of her, etc., etc., etc.

Friday after 5, I see her walking down the hall toward me, and she visibly shrinks. I bluster through with a hearty wave, and a quick, “Enjoy your weekend, X!”

I get it. In some ways the apology was worse that the undue interest in her personal situation. I formalized an uncomfortable moment; put exclamation points around it with a big, fat sincere email.

And where will it end? Will I come in on Monday and send another email, apologizing for the apology for the inappropriate bathroom grilling? And then will there be another apology for apology number 2. Will I keep going and going, talking and talking, forcing an already introverted person deeper into her shell?

Will there be touching? Tears? Will the gassing on about the situation stretch on forever?
Will she ever be safe making a bathroom run again? Even if she sneaks off to another floor when nature calls, I could follow her, peek in between the cracks.

“I realize that the last time we talked about ‘the infamous bathroom debacle” that I was again inappropriate. I apologize again. I don’t know when I’ll get it. When your finished in there, come on our and give me a noogie. And tell me I’m an jackass. Please.”

The original nosiness was mine and the amends, it turns out, were solely for me, to absolve me, so I could only feel like a jerk for a quick moment and then get right back to work, pleased by the graceful email, something that was all too easy to write.

So I saw her again that week, and she was talking to someone, and she looked over and before she could react, I smiled and gave her a quick wave—the old we’re both so busy or we stop and talk wave.

I’ll need to do some version of that many times over before she’ll forget. The head nod, the quiet hello, some general talk about the weather. She’ll forget because she is busy and she has a lot to do, because we do have a decent history to fall back on nd she’s not a person who obsesses like certain people I could name, and besides she’s probably dealing with serious sleep deprivation at the present moment. Will she forget? Maybe not, but she'll move on.

And while I won’t say it to her, because it isn’t her lesson, I will in the future check myself the next time I feel that nosy streak burbling up. And if my smaller self takes over, I’ll make the apology less about me, and more about the person it’s intended for.