The clock struck six, and Harold was already out his door and down the hallway, with a bottle of wine he had sitting in the cupboard of his old home. Harold wasn't much of a drinker, but he always kept a bottle of wine in hand. Although Arianna had told Harold to come around six, Harold had interpreted this as precisely six. Though Harold was not one to believe in mantras, he did believe in punctuality. And that was something he would never forego.
Harold was about to knock on the door of the apartment when it abruptly swung open. Harold was met with that familiar grin.
"You're late," Isobel said.
A brief moment of panic took hold of Harold until he glanced at his watch to confirm the time. "No, I'm not," he protested, offended that anyone would question his punctuality.
"I know," Isobel smiled. "I just wanted to say that."
Harold was not amused. "You shouldn't joke about things like that."
"Why?" She asked.
"Stop asking so many questions. Don't you have anything better to do?"
"No," Isobel paused, thinking about the question. "Why shouldn't I ask questions? It's good to be inquisitive. By the way, I just learned the word inquisitive. I'm trying to use it more."
Harold lowered his head and walked briskly into the apartment, ignoring Isobel's ramblings.
"Mr. Fr... Harold!" A voice from the kitchen called out. "You're early." Arianna walked out of the kitchen while drying her hands on a towel.
"What is with everyone bothering me about being late and early, when I'm neither of those things right now?"
Arianna's brow furrowed with confusion. She glanced toward Isobel, who shrugged and shook her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm happy you came... and with wine."
Harold emphatically placed the bottle of wine in her hands.
"I hope you're ready for a big dinner. I made gnocchi with kale salad," she said, as she walked over to the dining room table – a small wooden table with a white tablecloth draped over it.
"That sounds great," Harold said politely. "What's kale?"
As the three of them sat around the dining room table, Harold stabbed at the green thing they called kale. He most definitely did not like kale. The more he ate the thing, the more he felt like a rabbit or some other woodland creature.
"Would you like a glass of the wine you brought?" Arianna asked, gesturing with the bottle in Harold's direction.
"Oh, God no. I hate wine," Harold said, as he stabbed a piece of kale and forcefully placed it into his mouth. He could feel his stomach rejecting the mysterious plant. Harold was convinced most things could be eaten, but some things definitely should not.
Arianna paused momentarily, the bottle of wine still grasped firmly in her hand. Isobel began to chuckle, which caught Harold's attention.
"What's funny?" Harold asked.
"Mom doesn't drink wine either," Isobel said with a smirk.
Harold immediately felt embarrassed for bringing the wine. He knew he should have brought a dessert instead. Dessert was still an acceptable offering, wasn't it? He was sure that everyone liked dessert. Harold didn't, but then again, Harold was not like everyone.
"Sorry. I thought that..." Harold muttered.
"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it," Arianna replied politely, waving a hand to dismiss Harold's apologies.
YOU ARE READING
Death and Tea at Three
General FictionSince Julia's passing, Harold had been feeling like he didn't have much to live for. He's a retired music teacher with no wife, no children, no purpose. He's not suicidal - in fact, as much as he is ready to die, the thought of taking his own life s...
