"Realistically…" She said gently.

"I don't like that word, Helga." Arnold tried to look her in the eye, but she had turned away and her face was lost to him.

Side by side, their hips still touching, Helga felt tense next to him. Her anxiety was oozing from her like waves of dark energy. The room was bright with the sunlight. It was probably four in the afternoon now. Both were seriously hungry.

"I don't know if we can do what we want, Arnold." She said. "I've got nothing, no degree, no real job. I only have a little bit of money saved."

"Well…" He wrapped an arm around her neck and drew her to his chest. He needed to think.

"I don't know what Jimmy would say." She said.

"I don't know either. Does he love you?" He found himself missing the unibrow, but when she frowned and looked up at him, he could almost see it there.

"Jimmy loves my dad, and my family…" She drew a deep breath. "We don't love each other really."

"That's all I needed to know." Arnold sprang up, startling Helga who scrambled to cover her chest with the blankets he had disturbed.

This made him laugh, and he came down on his knees again to kiss her.

"Get dressed, let's go." He said.

"What do you mean?" She sounded confused, but did as he said, carefully trying to retie her tangled hair. He put a hand on hers, and smiled, so she let it down, combing through the curls until it had calmed down a little.

He liked the way it looked, a little bushy, and thick, but it hung past her breasts when it was down, and was the perfect honey gold. She smiled when she saw him looking at her, and his heart warmed.

They rode the bus back to the city, hands clasped tightly, talking like they were kids again. Helga explained the circumstances behind her failed college attempt, Arnold admitted that he had never even tried to go to school. She showed him poetry that she had written and saved in crumpled heaps of paper in her purse. He showed her some scars, and permanent marks from his time living with his parents.

"This one was from when I slipped on a rock edge by the river, but I was holding a penknife."

She winced. "I never want to think of that again, ugh."

"Now really…" Arnold said. "What did happen to your hands?"

"I smashed a mirror up." She said. "And I held the straightener until it was too painful."

It was Arnold's turn to wince.

"Sometimes I try to feel again, but nothing ever works." She curled and uncurled her fingers and the bandages crinkled and smoothed out.

"What do you mean?" He asked. He didn't understand this girl, this Helga. The Helga he knew was tough, and witty. She could face and handle any kind of weathering, better than anyone else he knew. He had watched her face, and fight her family, stinging quietly in the shadow of her elder sister. Even under the perfect guise of Olga, Helga had been strong, content with herself. She always knew who she was and who she wanted to be.

The woman next to him had lost the flare and the wit. She felt hollowed out, like a watered-down version of her childhood self. He could remember how feisty she was before he left. He tried to recall when this change had happened; a catalogue of pictures had arrived in the mail over the years, detailing the lives of his friends. Helga never sent him anything herself, but she had shown up in the pictures over the years. Particularly, she was the star of Phoebe's photos.

When he really thought about it, Arnold could see the changes over the years. The year after he left, Helga was not present in any picture. Then, when she did reappear, her pink bow was gone, replaced by a dark knit cap. Her unique hair hung low, burned straight. She wore black, and plaid, and brown. Make up appeared and got dark and heavy. All the other girls around her changed too of course: Phoebe started smiling more—thanks to the relationship with Gerald—Lila grew her auburn-red hair out long and wore brighter colors. Even the fancy Rhonda grew even more sophisticated. She ended up the tallest of the group, with a promising career in modeling. No one was prepared when she started dating Harold.

But Helga never seemed to recover from her childhood. The moxie she had always sported was gone by the time they were seventeen, and Arnold started receiving less and less letters from his friends.

On one occasion, a letter from Phoebe arrived, asking him to contact her about something serious. But before Arnold had time to get to a working phone—there was only one that operated well enough for long distance in San Lorenzo—another letter arrived from her, ordering him to ignore the first letter.

In hindsight, he realized that this awkward event occurred about the same time as Helga's mother's death, and Phoebe was most likely reaching out for the sake of her friend. Jimmy appeared and rescued her though, before Arnold even had a chance to try.

He couldn't even be upset about it. He knew he hadn't tried to contact her. The pictures told the story enough. Helga had given up on herself. He had given up on her too.

"I think that I developed the habit of breaking things a couple years ago." Helga's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh?" He came back to the present.

"I liked to break things," She said. "And one day I broke a dinner plate in the sink and got a pretty bad slice. After that, it was less about breaking things and more about the way it felt to do… things."

"Right." He clenched his teeth.

"It's weird to talk about it. It's easy to just do it, but I don't like putting words to it."

"I don't like any of it at all." Arnold said, trying not to upset her, but trying to assert his feelings.

"I can't promise I will stop." She said.

"I know…" He sighed. "But we will work on it."

"Arnold, do you really want to marry me?" Her bright eyes turned up to him, and she looked fervent and terrified.

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "Of course. If you will have me."

"Yes."

For the rest of the ride, they both sat quietly again, pleased with themselves, even though they knew that hardship was waiting for them.

The very old man sitting at his breakfast table was curled like a question mark, age twisting him into this shape year by year, like a sliver of paper being burned. He was scratching his head, not to soothe, but because his hands were full of some kind of jitter because his grandson was sitting across the table from him, clutching the hands of a frightened looking girl. He knew that the girl was familiar, but she was missing very significant accessories to her being that made naming her difficult.

"Grandpa, will you be our witness?" Arnold was asking insistently, his wide eyes bouncing back and forth between Phil's and the girl's faces.

His eyes squinted and he stared at her. Her hair was the right color, but it was up in a disheveled bun. Her eyes were the right color and shape, and her nose was the spot-on snub that he could remember. The dress was the right color, and he thought he could see the slight impressions of a frown line between her thick brows.

That's what was wrong.

"Oh my…Pookie, get in here!" He yelled so suddenly that both grandson and fiancée jumped in their seats. "He finally brought his little eyebrow friend home!"

Helga blushed violently.

It was as simple as that, getting a witness, getting approval. But after that was all decided, they had to do something that wouldn't be quite as easy.

Hearts heavy in their throats, Helga and Arnold approached Helga's apartment building. It was dark now, and the evening lights on the streets did little to illuminate their way. Helga was shaking, but she led him inside, holding his hand tightly.

"He is home, you know." She said.

"I got it." He said, but felt less confident than his voice sounded.

"He won't be angry, I'm sure of it." She said.

But she struggled to unlock the door, and took a long time before she opened it. When she finally busted through, dragging Arnold behind her Jimmy was already in the front room waiting for her.

Arnold was surprised at how the man looked, even though he had seen him in pictures.

"Helga?" He had a strong voice, something like a grandfather would have, even though he was just about their age. He had tawny hair that bordered on brown, and rich olive skin. His eyes were big, blue, and covered in wire-framed glasses. Despite this, he was a well-built man, very tall and muscled. He looked like the kind of man Big Bob would like, nothing soft about him.

"Hey." Helga grunted a little, struggling to take off her shoes. Absently, Arnold leaned down to untie his, happy to have something to do in the awkwardness.

Jimmy did not wait to listen to what Helga was doing with Arnold. He didn't even need to ask who he was.

"So, Helga," Jimmy sat down on a bright blue couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's this?" He stood up before she could answer, and gestured for him to follow her into the bedroom. She gave one glance to Arnold who missed it since he was still untying his shoes, too slowly.

They vanished into what Arnold assumed was the bedroom, and he sat down on the blue couch where Jimmy had been sitting. He looked around the living room, trying to focus on anything but the muffled voices in the other room, but couldn't for a moment find something to keep his mind occupied.

He was finally getting his Helga. He was finally trying to make things right, and settle his stupid heart for once. But Jimmy was a force of Helga's life that he didn't recognize. What she was now was sculpted by the presence of this man in her life. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Jimmy had been there for her when she was at her worst. When her mom died, and when her life was falling apart. She felt like she owed him something.

Everything was riding on Jimmy in this moment, Arnold realized. Helga could decide to leave him and follow Arnold into a marriage with no real promises. Or she could stay with Jimmy, with the security and the mediocrity. But it wasn't fair of Arnold to think that, perhaps the relationship between them was mediocre. Maybe it was good, and Jimmy was helping Helga the best that he could.

Arnold didn't really know. All he knew was that he needed to wait, and let her make her choices. He had given her what he had to offer, returned after all that time. He needed to wait for her now, and let her decide.

The voices in the other room spoke softly, and he hoped it was a good sign for him. He hoped for Helga.