It was with no small amount of trepidation that I prepared for this New Year’s Eve gathering, an informal get-together of a combination of my friends as well as Jessica’s friends and castmates. This was a venture so profoundly outside my usual realm of gentlemen’s clubs and hushed parlors that I found myself rehearsing conversation as if I were an actor in her play. And yet, I was determined. The thought of Jessica, her face lighting up with approval for my efforts, was an image I couldn’t easily cast aside.
At the appointed hour, Jessica arrived at my home with a few of her friends in tow. They filled my drawing room, a vibrant and varied assembly, with personalities as animated as their modern clothing and jubilant voices. I must confess, I was not entirely sure what to make of it all — the colors, the loud laughter, and the general ease with which they roamed my space, as if it were not meticulously curated for a quiet evening with brandy and cigars but, rather, a stage set for revelry.
Still, I persevered. I poured drinks, albeit uncertainly, and made small talk, albeit awkwardly. Jessica, ever perceptive, seemed to appreciate my efforts, and I could sense her patience whenever my speech slipped into its usual lofty cadence. I was even starting to relax a bit, pleased to see her enjoying herself in my space — until my three chums, Alistair, Cecil, and Reginald, strode in.
They entered with the pomp of officers arriving at a scene of disorderly conduct. I could see Alistair taking in the company with raised brows, the faint curl of distaste on his lips. Cecil murmured something, and I caught the words “bohemian rabble.” They settled into a corner, exchanging judgmental glances over their glasses, clearly at a loss in the company of Jessica’s friends.
Jessica, noticing the simmering discontent between my world and hers, gamely attempted to bridge the gap. She came up to me with a soft smile and whispered, “Do you think your cousin Alistair might like a gin and tonic? I’ll make it for him.” I nodded, grateful for her grace, though I feared the impending storm.
As she and Alistair moved toward the kitchen, I allowed myself a moment to take in the room. The air was charged — both with the energy of Jessica’s lively friends and the unmistakable tension radiating from my chums. I was so distracted that I almost didn’t notice when I caught sight of Jessica’s face again, visible just inside the kitchen doorway. Her expression was stricken, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Her lips parted, but no words emerged. Her cheeks flushed with unmistakable hurt, and without meeting my gaze, she excused herself quietly.
“If you’ll pardon me,” she said, her voice trembling, “I need a moment.”
She disappeared down the hallway toward the powder room, the soft click of the door echoing behind her.
My heart sank. I followed her out, only to find Alistair standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, his drink untouched, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
“Alistair,” I said, my voice colder than I had ever heard it, “what on earth did you say to her?”
He gave a dismissive shrug, swirling his glass. “Only the truth, Percival. I merely suggested that our dear Jessica was perhaps overstating her importance in your life. Surely you don’t intend to keep this… dalliance going indefinitely. She’s a pleasant enough distraction, but hardly worth all this fuss.”
The room went still around us, and it felt as though the walls themselves closed in.
“Alistair, you’ve overstepped,” I said, barely containing my anger. “Jessica is neither a dalliance nor a ‘distraction.’ She is — ” I faltered, the words foreign on my tongue. “She is… important to me.”
He chuckled, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Important? Come now, Percival. She’s a novelty at best. Surely, you’ll see that before long.”
That moment seemed to last an eternity, the whole gathering had ground to a halt, everyone focusing on Alistair’s abrupt and scorching diatribe.
Alistair wasted no time filling the sudden void. “You see what I mean?” he pressed, leaning back in his chair with a languid wave of his hand. “Her sensitivity alone proves the point. She doesn’t belong in this world of ours, Percival. Lovely as she may be, she lacks the constitution for it.”
Cecil chimed in, swirling his glass with an air of mock gravity. “A spirited woman, no doubt, but one can hardly build a future on… theatrics.”
Reginald snorted. “Theatrics, indeed. Percival, you must realize the disparity here. She’s delightful, but hardly a match. These little dalliances are entertaining, but not lasting. Think of the family, the name.”
Their voices blurred together like a droning chorus, each remark layering upon the last until it felt as though the room itself were suffocating. I opened my mouth, prepared to counter, but faltered. The truth was, I didn’t know what to say. Not yet. Was Jessica — her modernity, her independence — truly incompatible with the traditions I had so long upheld?
A pang of doubt gripped me.
I hesitated.
It was only a moment, but it was enough.
“Ah, there it is,” Alistair said, his smirk widening triumphantly. “You see? Even you can’t deny it. She’s simply not… suitable.”
“Enough,” I said quietly, my voice strained. But it was too late.
The sound of light footsteps broke through the tension. I turned sharply to see Jessica standing at the edge of the room. Her expression — no longer soft with hurt, but hard with anger — stilled the air. She must have overheard them, and must have overheard me, or more accurately, not overheard me say much at all.
Her gaze cut to mine, searching for something — an apology, a defense, a denial of Alistair’s words. Instead, she found only my hesitation.
“You didn’t defend me,” she said, her voice low but crackling with restrained fury. “You just… let them talk about me like that. You hesitated.”
“Jessica — ” I began, rising from my chair, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
“No,” she said sharply, her eyes flashing. “You don’t get to explain this away.” Her voice was steady, but the hurt in her expression was unmistakable. “You said this was about meeting my friends, about stepping into my world. But instead, I’m standing here listening to your friends talk about me like I’m some passing amusement — and you just stood there.”
“Jessica, I — ” I began, but she cut me off, her voice rising, edged with fury.
“You didn’t even try to stop them,” she said, gesturing toward Alistair, who raised an eyebrow, unrepentant. “You stood there like a bystander. Like you weren’t part of this. But you are, Percival. You brought me into their space, their rules. And now I see why.” Her voice trembled, and she exhaled sharply, as if trying to keep her composure. “Because deep down, you’re still one of them.”
“That’s not true,” I said, stepping forward, desperate to close the widening distance between us. “You must know that I don’t agree with them. I would never think of you that way.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded, her tone fierce but tinged with disbelief. “Why didn’t you stand up for me, Percival? Why didn’t you tell them they were wrong?”
“I… I hesitated,” I admitted, my voice faltering. “I wasn’t sure how to — ”
“That’s just it,” she interrupted, her eyes shining with both anger and heartbreak. “You weren’t sure. You hesitated, and in that moment, you let them define who I am — and who we are. You let them decide that I don’t belong.”
Her words hung in the air like a challenge I couldn’t meet. I opened my mouth to speak, to somehow undo what had been done, but nothing I could say would erase that hesitation. Nothing would erase the way I’d stood silent as Alistair’s words poisoned the air.
Jessica shook her head, her voice softening but losing none of its conviction. “I thought tonight was about stepping forward, about us building something together. But all I see is you clinging to a world that doesn’t have room for me.”
Her words cut deeper than any insult Alistair could have offered. She turned to leave, but I reached out instinctively.
“Jessica, please,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t go. Let me fix this. Let me — ”
She stopped in her tracks and looked back at me, her expression resolute. “You don’t need to fix it, Percival. You just need to figure out what you actually want — and who you want to be.”
With that, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving a silence in her wake so profound it seemed to absorb the very air from the room. I stood frozen, watching her go, the weight of her final words pressing down on me like a crushing tide.
“Percival,” Alistair drawled after a beat, his tone laced with condescension. “Better to let her go now, don’t you think? She was never — ”
“Enough,” I snapped, my voice ringing out sharper than I intended. I turned to face him, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You’ve done enough.”
Alistair smirked, clearly unfazed. “Really, Percival. You’ll see in time. It’s for the best.”
I looked at him, at Cecil and Reginald, their expressions a mixture of pity and smug satisfaction. For the first time, I didn’t see them as peers, as confidants, or as part of my world. I saw them for what they were: relics of a life I wasn’t certain I wanted anymore.
It was in that moment, with an almost surreal calm, that I realized something irrevocable had shifted. Alistair, Cecil, and Reginald, their snide remarks and exclusive circles — this life I had so long defended suddenly felt hollow. They were relics of an age that seemed not dignified, but rather suffocating.
I took a breath, feeling as though I stood at a precipice. “Alistair,” I said, voice low but steady, “I must ask you and the others to leave.”
He looked stunned, as though I’d slapped him, and then broke into incredulous laughter. “Are you serious? Throwing us out over… this?”
“Indeed.” I felt no remorse. “Please take your leave.”
With muttered protests and disdainful glances, Alistair and the others retreated, their figures finally disappearing from my doorway. I stood in the wake of their departure, the remnants of the evening’s revelry fading, Jessica’s friends trickling out with polite murmurs of thanks and looks of concern.
When at last I was alone, the silence settled heavily around me. I felt as though I’d exiled a part of myself, cast off an identity I had clung to for decades. For the first time, I felt adrift — and yet, oddly liberated.
Without a second thought, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the device Jessica had once sworn would “connect me with the world.” I stared down at the screen, at Jessica’s number, and tapped out a message with unsteady fingers:
Please allow me to explain. I apologize for tonight… for everything.
I sent it, my heart pounding. There was no reply. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, the weight of it heavy yet reassuring.