Our outing to the park, intended as a serene diversion, had turned, as they say, a trifle more involved. Jessica, after much cheerful persuasion, had convinced me to accompany her to a cinema after our luncheon—a modern establishment specializing in obscure films that I daresay would confound the keenest minds of the previous century.
As we approached the concession stand, the air thick with the mingling scents of buttered popcorn and soda syrup, I observed Jessica reaching for her purse. Naturally, I could not abide such a sight. With the speed and decisiveness of a gentleman warding off imminent disaster, I swiftly placed my hand over hers, halting her mid-reach.
“Jessica, please,” I murmured, with all the gravity of one who has narrowly thwarted calamity. “It is unthinkable that you should deign to finance our refreshments.”
She blinked, taken aback but clearly amused. “Percival, it’s only popcorn.”
“Ah, but to a gentleman, there are no trivial gestures,” I declared, slipping my billfold from my pocket and nodding to the young cashier, who was eyeing us with the dull curiosity of one who has observed humanity’s quirks too often to be surprised by them.
“Your finest popcorn,” I intoned, “and whatever beverage the lady prefers.”
Jessica smiled tolerantly and gave her order, though I noted a slight tightness in her expression. She turned to the cashier, but as she began to reach for the popcorn bag herself, I intercepted it, plucking it from the young man’s hand and proffering it to her with a gallant bow.
“There we are,” I said, offering the popcorn with a flourish. “One must not strain oneself with such burdens.”
Jessica’s mouth quirked as she took the bag, but as we stepped aside, she halted, casting a mildly exasperated glance my way.
“Percival,” she said, voice laced with a hint of weariness, “you don’t have to do everything for me, you know.”
I straightened, perplexed. “Jessica, surely you cannot mean that. It is my duty—nay, my privilege—to relieve you of any and all unnecessary labor.”
Jessica halted, her exasperation finally bubbling to the surface. “Percival,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the hum of the concession stand, “would you stop treating me like a child?”
I stiffened, the words striking with unexpected force. “A child? Jessica, surely you cannot mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she replied, her cheeks flushed. “Every time we go somewhere, it’s the same thing. You won’t let me carry anything, you won’t let me pay for anything, you won’t even let me open my own damn door!”
I glanced around, vaguely aware of the few curious glances we were drawing. “Jessica,” I said quietly, striving to maintain composure, “it is not my intention to belittle you. On the contrary, I see it as my duty to—”
“To what?” she interrupted, her voice rising slightly. “To protect me? To pamper me? Percival, I’m not some damsel in distress who needs rescuing every five minutes! I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own popcorn and carrying my own bag without you swooping in like I’m about to keel over.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. Her gaze softened slightly, but the tension in her voice remained. I could feel the subtle shift in the air—curious glances brushing against us like stage lights before a performance. Of all places, a theater lobby to have this quarrel. And yet, what stung most was not the attention we drew, but the quiet finality of it: a public rejection, not of affection, but of the very principles I had once considered my finest virtues.
“I know you mean well,” she said, her tone quieter but no less firm. “But you’re not listening to me. I don’t need someone to take care of everything for me. I need someone who respects that I can take care of myself.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. I felt a peculiar sinking sensation, as though the very foundation of my gentlemanly creed had been shaken.
“Jessica,” I said finally, my voice faltering slightly, “I… had no intention of making you feel this way. I only wished to—”
“To what?” she cut in again, her frustration giving way to something softer—fatigue. “To help me? To honor me? I get that, Percival, I do. But you’re not honoring me if you’re not letting me be myself.”
I confess, I was taken aback by her temper. Never before had I been spoken to in such a way—far less in public—and I would be lying if I said it didn’t weigh on me. Her words echoed through my thoughts. My sphere and her sphere would not naturally mix, but I had hoped, naively perhaps, that we might find harmony where they intersected. Yet, in my earnestness to present myself as a proper suitor, I had unwittingly kindled her anger. If I could not be the genteel man I have always been, then who was I to be? Was I truly capable of becoming someone who could inhabit her world while staying true to mine? The question lingered, heavy and unresolved.
“I never meant to stifle you,” I said finally, my tone quieter now. “If I have… I am deeply sorry.”
Jessica sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back at me. “I know you didn’t mean it,” she said, her voice calmer now. “But I need you to try, Percy. I need you to meet me halfway.”
“Jessica,” I said, after a long pause, “I… may have been rather overzealous in my attentions. It was never my intention to render you… incidental.”
“I know, Percival. And trust me, there’s a time and place for your kind of chivalry. But sometimes, maybe, let me carry the popcorn?”
I glanced at the bag in her hand, realizing with a reluctant smile that she had, indeed, already taken charge of it. “As you wish, Jessica,” I said, bowing my head. “Henceforth, I shall endeavor to measure my gallantry in more… palatable doses.”
“Thank you, Percival.” She squeezed my arm, her smile as radiant as the autumn sun. And as we walked into the cinema, side by side, it occurred to me that chivalry, like any art, must occasionally bow to adaptation.
Yet even as her fingers rested lightly against mine, a shadow of doubt stirred. Could her world and mine ever truly meet? And if we each stepped into the other’s, how much of ourselves would we leave behind?