"Monica."
The sound of her name caused Monica Doyle to look up from the envelopes she'd just removed from the mailbox and glance past the open vestibule door into the hallway beyond. The twenty-four year old smiled when she saw the white haired septuagenarian stepping out of the front apartment, but delayed a response until the woman closed and locked her door, taking those few moments to lock her mailbox as well.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pulaski," Monica said as the woman turned back in her direction.
"Good afternoon, Monica," the building owner echoed as Monica stepped into the hallway. "I'm so glad to see you. I was beginning to worry that you might have gotten stuck at work again."
Monica glanced at the watch on her wrist, noting that she was indeed running about a half hour late, but confused as to why that would've worried Sylvia.
"I would've been so disappointed if you had to miss our dinner tonight," the older woman said, almost as if she had heard Monica's unanswered question.
"Dinner?" Monica said, making it more of a question than a statement.
"You haven't forgotten, have you?" Sylvia asked, a touch of disappointment clear in her tone.
'Oh God, was that tonight?' Monica asked herself, having so put the invitation out of her mind that she had indeed forgotten it.
The brown haired veterinary assistant was just finishing up what had indisputably been an extremely trying day, made all the more so by one of her co-workers at the Westside Animal Clinic going home sick after lunch. It had been too late in the day to call in a replacement, so Monica had to do double duty for the rest of it. All she wanted to do now was have a bit of dinner and crash in front of the television.
That notion, however, vanished in the wind as she saw the look of expectation on her landlady's face. She had indeed promised Sylvia that she would come and didn't have it in her heart to disappoint her now.
"Of course not," Monica lied, putting on a look of expectation even as she tried to imagine an excuse she could use to make only a abbreviated appearance at dinner. One that wouldn't hurt the old lady's feelings.
"Excellent," Sylvia said her smile returning. "I just have to run around to the corner grocery for a minute, but dinner should be ready about six-fifteen."
With that she was gone.
-=-=-=-=-
Monica had lived in one of the second floor apartments of the two story walkup seven months now, and up until six weeks ago had little contact with the owner other than dropping off her rent. In fact, that was what she had been doing the night the elderly widow had come to the door in a state of panic. Her beloved poodle, Puddles, had gotten a small bone stuck in his throat and was choking. Reacting instinctively, Monica had picked up the small dog and used a technique she'd learned at the clinic to safely dislodge the bone.
From that point on, Mrs. Pulaski never missed an opportunity to show her gratitude. Every simple hello carried an inquiry if she needed anything and, more days than not, Sylvia would just show up at her door with a treat from her kitchen. Monica didn't mind too much, especially since the treats were usually delicious. At least she hadn't minded until two weeks ago when Sylvia's desire to do something nice for Monica expanded to include an interest in her love life. Or more precisely, her lack of one.
"No one should be alone," Sylvia had told her one night over tea and cookies, "especially not someone as young and pretty as you."
Monica tried to explain that her work schedule allowed little time for dating. In fact, it had been her work hours that had been a primary cause in the collapse of her last serious relationship - just before she'd moved into Sylvia's building.
"Nonsense, if something is really important, you make the time," Sylvia insisted, thinking that a poor excuse.
Thinking that agreeing with the older woman was the easiest way to put the subject behind her, Monica promised to make more of an effort to meet someone. No sooner had those words left her mouth than she realized her mistake.
"Wonderful, I'm so glad you feel that way," Sylvia pounced with the intensity of a jungle cat, "because it just so happens that I have a very nice grandson, Andrew is his name, and I think the two of you would really hit it off."
Before Monica could say a word to discourage her, Sylvia was expounding a well practiced litany of the virtues of her only single grandchild. Including the fact that he was thirty-two years old, quite handsome, in her unbiased opinion, well educated, and a partner in an up and coming accounting firm.
"He does sound quite nice," Monica said as she tried to think of an excuse that would express her disinterest without hurting Sylvia's feelings. Finally she settled on the fact that the clinic was understaffed at the moment and she didn't know when she would be able to find the time to meet Andrew.
An excuse that was repeated each time Sylvia brought the subject up. Eventually, Monica hoped, the older woman would decide it was a lost cause and give up on it. What she didn't realize was that women like Sylvia Morgan thrived on lost causes.
After two weeks, though, Andrew's name stopped coming up and Monica erroneously concluded that Sylvia had finally gotten the message. With the matter no longer on her mind, Monica didn't think twice when she replied to a casual inquiry about her weekend plans from her neighbor across the hall, Jane Walsh.
"No plans at all," she told the curly haired blonde as they passed each other on the stairs. "I'm just glad to finally have a weekend off."
It wasn't until she reached the base of the landing that she saw Sylvia standing by the basement door, a basket of laundry in her hand.
"Did I just hear you say that you were off this weekend?" Sylvia asked, the excitement in her voice quite clear.
"Well, yes," Monica said after a brief hesitation, adding in way of explanation, "there was a last minute change in schedules."
"Wonderful," Sylvia beamed. "because it just so happens that Andrew has Broadway tickets for this Saturday night. He originally asked me to go, but I know he'd much rather take a pretty girl instead."
Taking a breath, Monica glanced up the stairs where she saw that Jane had lingered just long enough to have overheard the exchange. The blonde gave Monica a look of sympathy, then vanished into the front apartment. As she closed the door behind her, Jane was thankful that she had a steady boyfriend and her days of being fixed up were long behind her.
