Death and Tea at Three

25 Harold and the Ticket

It had been two months and thirteen days since he had last seen Isobel. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had seen her outside the building one evening. He had just finished grocery shopping when he saw her standing outside the building door, with her backpack in hand. Upon seeing her, he had quickly turned away in an attempt to hide, in the same way a toddler feels a parent can disappear behind their palms in a game of peek-a-boo.

Harold stood in front of Isobel's door. His right leg shook furiously as sweat dripped from his forehead to his upper lip. He wondered if Isobel ever felt nervous waiting outside his door. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. A girl with as much gusto as Isobel would never let something as silly as nerves get to her.

On the other hand, Harold could not properly process why standing in front of the door was so nerve-racking. He had, until recently, a non-existent relationship with doors. They did not bother him, and he did not bother with them. His life, however, had changed quite a lot, and it always started with the opening of a door. He could not imagine what life-altering event would unfold with the opening of this one.

Harold continued to wait for the door to open - his body hunched over, his right leg still shaking. Whatever nerves he had been feeling were soon replaced by annoyance and frustration. He could not understand why it was taking so long for Isobel to answer the door. Surely, he did not take this long to open the door for her.

To Harold, making someone wait was the ultimate sign of disrespect. Anyone willing to let someone wait clearly didn't care enough about that person to begin with. He had had this argument with Julia many times over. He was constantly waiting on her. Though waiting on Julia had upset Harold, he had always managed to find a reason to forgive her.

As Harold continued to stir in his emotions, something dawned on him: he had not actually knocked on the door.

Embarrassed, Harold knocked on the door. In a matter of seconds, the door swung open. It was not Isobel who opened the door, but Arianna.

"Harold... it's been a while," she said. "Did you need something?"

Harold's shoulders slumped as he stared awkwardly at the floor in front of him, silent. Harold noticed Arianna tilting her head, trying to catch his gaze. But he dodged her, staring at everything and anything, save, of course, Arianna's eyes. This quickly turned into what Harold could only describe as a game of eye tag.

After a few minutes, it was clear to Harold that Arianna was becoming increasingly frustrated. Most people would have noticed Arianna's incessant leg shake, or her occasional nail-biting. Harold did not care to pay attention to such things. It wasn't until she spoke that his attitude changed – slightly.

"Harold. You knocked on my door, and now you're just standing there. Do you need something? Is everything alright?" Her tone shifted from confusion to concern. She took a step forward. They were now both standing in the hall - the dimly-lit fluorescent bulbs flickering above them.

Harold could feel a strange lump in his throat. It was unlike him to hold his tongue, but what he had to say left him vulnerable. Any kind gesture did, but the kind gesture he was about to enact left him feeling more vulnerable than he had been for a very long time.

Harold placed his hands in his pocket. He could feel the thickness of the paper. He shuffled the tickets in his hands, desperately looking for the courage and timing to pull them out.

"I... just thought I'd drop these off," Harold said, producing two tickets for a flight to New York City. As he handed the tickets to Arianna, he turned his back toward her in an attempt to discreetly leave.

"Wait. What is this? Why are you giving me tickets?" Arianna exclaimed as she stretched out her hand, already trying to return Harold's gift.

Harold froze, his back still turned away from her. He let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly faced her. He wasn't entirely sure why he did. He could have easily left and gone into his apartment, but for some reason, he stopped.