Help! I get ghosted by my builder, but I’m so grateful to have a home to improve

That’s right, we’re getting spooky from our builder. It all started a year ago when he first agreed to see us. He should never have let us into his sphere. I’m sure he regrets the day he gave us his cell phone number.

It was the summer of 2021 and ours small Triad was in the first flush of a friendship. As at the beginning of every new relationship, we were nervous. On the first date we invited him to our house to have a look around. My husband and I were flirty – I threw my hair back and my husband (who has less) shook his.

Like any newly acquainted couple, we tried to hint at our plans and hopes for the future without putting him off. Instead of the usual questions (Any plans for a family? Where do you see yourself living?) we asked about the gas rerouting, cautiously trying to gauge whether he could be persuaded to check out the garden while he was here.

He left, and my husband and I analyzed every utterance he made. He liked the place, didn’t he? Did he like us? Do you think I came too strong? No, no, you were fine. Do you think I looked good?

Did you notice that when he was taking his measurements, he seemed a little disappointed with the size? Did he think we only posted photos of the best perspectives? Does he feel we lied? Did we house fish him?

Our job was small (fitting out an eight-foot-tall galley kitchen) and we worried from the start that we would have trouble keeping his interest. Anything could happen. An inner atrium in a spacious Georgian terrace. A light-flooded extension in a half-D from the 1940s. We were nervous the whole time, comparing ourselves to these other potential projects to come, batting our eyelashes and flaunting their cheeky dormer windows, ready to take him away from us.

Like many people who have vented their needy, suffocating love on an unwilling recipient, we likely played a part in the relationship’s downward spiral. Maybe we’ve supplanted it with our incessant calls, emails, and texts? It became clear that we were caught in a phase worse than the friend zone. He was clearly trying to keep us in the purely professional transaction zone by keeping us in check with suggested timelines and promises to “enroll” us.

Then came the usual death knell of an unrequited relationship — that moment when a crush, in order to break away from your pet cooking craze, starts suggesting to friends of theirs that you might get along well. To our desperation, he began giving vague references to other contractors needed for the build. “But we only want you!” We held back our whining. We wanted to be the cool customers. Easygoing, relaxed, not clingy.

“I’ll still be involved in the work,” he said made soothing noises. “I’ve got a foreman on site and I’ll get someone to do the electrics.”

It was obvious. He pawned us. He clearly didn’t see us as a long-term prospect. We were an affair and nothing more. In more rational moments, we admitted that it was a very small task.

Friends and family tried to comfort us. If you’ve ever had a friend go through a breakup, you no doubt know the Herculean effort it takes to not tell them to move on. It wasn’t my mother full of empathy. To be fair, we needed a slap. “Builders are notoriously reticent,” she advised me. “They treat you mean to keep you happy. He will come back to you. There is a pandemic and global shortages of building materials. You’re damn lucky to have a house that you can put a kitchen in.”

The fact that she was right on every count eventually came through our bullshit. And after we relaxed, the builder actually came back to us. And we’re damn lucky to have him – he’s the best and we’re so thankful to have this home that he’s improving for us.