Arnold's POV
The Blue Room feels alive tonight, humming with the kind of energy that always builds before an event. The exposed brick walls, low pendant lighting, and rich wood floors give the place a timeless charm—like it could exist anywhere, in any decade. After so many Friday nights here, it feels more like home than my apartment some days. Gerald's been hosting these events for years now—poetry nights, jazz sets, comedy shows—turning this place into the hottest spot in Hillwood. Not that I'm surprised; he's always known how to draw a crowd.
"Look who's finally gracing us with his presence," Sid calls out, tossing me a beer with that easy accuracy from years of practice. He tries to catch me off guard with a quick shoulder check, but I sidestep it—a game we've played since college.
"Still can't catch me off guard, huh?" I smirk. "Like those exclusive deals, you keep trying to sell the clinic."
"Hey, I got you those specialty meds at cost last month," Sid counters, but there's pride in his voice. We both know he gives my clinic better rates than his company technically allows, though he'd never admit it outright.
Gerald tracks our exchange from where he's setting up, his lips curling into that familiar crooked smile. It's the same look he wore when Sid and I used to compete for the top spot in biology class—half bemused, half exasperated like he's watching a scene play out that he's seen a dozen times before.
As I help Gerald adjust the sound levels for his set, the jazz quartet starts up "My Funny Valentine," and I freeze for a split second, my hand hovering over the lighting board. The melody takes me back to Gerald and Phoebe's wedding—Helga in that blue dress that was modest but still showed enough to make my head spin, her perfume ghosting across my senses as we danced. I thought we both felt it was more than two people feeling happy for their best friends. But then she was gone, off to chase bigger dreams while I stayed behind, collecting poetry books and what-ifs.
"Earth to Arnold," Sid's voice carries that normal blend of judgment and concern. He's sprawled in our booth in his backward cap, the same way he used to sprawl across my grandparents' stoop when we were kids solving neighborhood mysteries. "When's the last time you got laid?"
I lightheartedly roll my eyes. "Some of us have standards, Sid."
"Standards or excuses?" Sid grins, but there's something gentler in his expression. "Look, man, I get it. After Sarah..." He trails off, referring to his own failed engagement two years ago. "But you can't keep waiting for the so-called right moment."
"Oh, ease up on him, Sid," Lila interrupts, repositioning in the cushion. Her vintage dress and sophisticated bob cut are a far cry from our school days, but her protective instinct remains unchanged.
The door swings open, and Gerald glances toward it, his grin widening slightly. His barely perceptible head tilt—a signal we've used since junior high—tells me to look.
That's when I see her at the bar, bathed in pendant light. Helga. Five years haven't dulled her edges—if anything, they've sharpened them. She's leaning against the counter, her fingers delicately drumming as she speaks to the bartender. Her movements are measured and deliberate, like someone who didn't care whether anyone was watching—or maybe someone who knows exactly what kind of attention she'd attract.
"Who's that?" Sid asks, straightening with interest.
"That's Helga Pataki," Lila says softly, tapping his thigh but observing me. "Arnold, you should say hello."
"Maybe she doesn't want to be bothered," I hedge, though I'm already scooting forward.
"Then she wouldn't be here, of all places, silly." Lila's smile holds years of understanding. "Go before Sid decides to try his luck."
The old Arnold would've stayed at the booth, nursing his drink and waiting for a destined moment. But I've learned something over the years—sometimes you have to create your own storyline. I stand, wiping my hands on my jeans as though that would stop the tremor in my fingers, and make my way across the room.
"Helga," I say, her name foreign yet familiar on my tongue.
She shifts, raising an eyebrow, her lips curving—just barely—into the hint of a smile. But then something changes in her expression as her shoulders straighten. Her fingers stop their drumming, curling tightly around her glass.
"Arnoldo," she drawls, her voice dripping with that same mockery I'd grown used to as a kid. But there is a trace of something more delicate underneath.
"I didn't know you were back in town," I say, trying to keep my tone casual through the pounding beneath my shirt.
"Obviously," she replies, lifting her glass to her lips. "Otherwise, this would be a much less awkward reunion, wouldn't it?"
I laugh, letting the moment settle. "Less awkward, maybe. But then we wouldn't be us."
Her brows arch, but there is a hint of surprise she doesn't try to conceal.
"Speak for yourself," she huffs, briefly letting her eyes run up and down the length of me before angling away.
"I'm surprised to see you at a place like this…"
My nervous smile falters when she turns around, giving me the glare of the century. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not sophisticated enough to be here?"
My eyes widen. "No," I smack my forehead, remembering the last time I put my foot in my mouth by saying a similar thing. Damnit. "I didn't mean…" I watch her turn back around and catch a faint grin.
I feel the corner of my mouth curl up. "You haven't changed," I say, then shake my head after my eyes strolled down the length of her. "Well, I mean, you have, but you're still…"
The bartender sets down our drinks, and my attempt at smoothness falls apart as I reach for my glass too quickly. The whiskey sloshes over the edge, and Sid's laugh echoes from the booth behind me.
"And that's a fuuuumble!" he shouts, followed by his wheezing laughter.
One corner of her mouth tugs upward, her lips pressing together in a way that makes her amusement all the more biting. "Guess I still have that effect on people, Football Head." I think I see a wink before she moves away. But that could have been my mind playing tricks on me because Helga never flirts with me.
My eyes go to her long legs as she struts away. Despite her rough edges, she still has the grace of a gazelle.
It makes me think, what if people moved more like animals—you know, without caring about others' thoughts, simply acting on instinct?
If that were the case, I would be following Helga right now, taking her by the wrist and pulling her close. But that isn't reality, so instead, I find my head slinking lower as I walk back over to Lila and Sid.
"So, how did it go?" Lila asks, tilting forward with a curious glint in her eye.
"Fine," I say, though my voice comes out more breathless than I intended. "We just talked for a minute."
"She didn't throw a drink at you?" Sid quips, grinning. "That's progress for you, I guess. But you always lose all your game when it comes to certain chicks."
"Sid," Lila says, her tone light but firm. "You should worry about your own game because, as I heard it, your last set of adventures didn't go so well."
Sid mumbles something, trying to feign indifference, but I see his shoulders slump a bit.
Lila turns back to me, her features becoming more sympathetic. "You handled that well. Better than I expected."
I frown, though her words carry no malice. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she begins, reclining back with a content smile, "that you're not the same boy who used to freeze up every time Helga said something clever. And that's a good thing."
"No," I agree, watching a view I've seen at a million parties- Helga slipping out with Rhonda, her laughter trailing like a challenge. "I'm not."
I down my whiskey and start to pull out my phone, but Lila's hand covers mine. "Sometimes," she says with a quick wink, "the universe has better timing than we do."
I slide my phone into my pocket, but I don't sink into my usual spot in the booth. Instead, I grab my jacket. "I think I'm going to head out."
"Running away?" Sid calls out to me.
"No," I say, and for once, I mean it. "Just making sure I'm ready when the right moment actually comes."