More Than Neighbors by Isabel Keats

the bathroom mirror. For the first time, he noticed the subtle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he suddenly felt older than his forty-two years. Alarmed, he wondered whether Catalina saw him as a venerable old man; after all, he must be more than ten years her senior. Realizing where his ruminations were leading, he shook his head, annoyed with himself. What did he care what she thought? Catalina Stapleton meant nothing to him, so he’d better stop being a fool; it was late and he was catching an early flight in the morning. He rinsed out his mouth and climbed into bed, but his thoughts continued to stray, ungovernable, and it took a while for him to fall asleep.
     
    Over the next month, he and Cat crossed paths only on a handful of occasions, barely exchanging brief hellos. Leopold had decided that he shouldn’t get too close to his neighbor. Ultimately, nobody should make him feel uncomfortable, especially not an insignificant woman who apparently didn’t have a penny to her name. They would have continued like this indefinitely had not Catalina, determined to talk to him, planted herself in front of the main entrance to their building just as he was returning from a run, sweaty and panting. “Hi, Leo. It’s been ages since we chatted,” she said cheerfully.
    “Hello, Catalina. Yes, I’ve been incredibly busy lately. I was just about to have a shower—I’m worn out.”
    Leopold started walking again, but she blocked his path, stretching out a hand and grabbing hold of his sweaty arm. The gesture, as effective as being shot with a Taser, stopped him dead in his tracks. “Working so much can’t be good for anyone,” said Catalina, fixing her velvety brown eyes on his cool gray ones.
    “Nonsense,” Leopold said dismissively. Cat’s hand remained on his arm, creating an odd tingling sensation that made him stiffen up even more. As much as he would’ve liked to, however, he seemed incapable of detaching himself from her grasp.
    “It’s not nonsense, Leo.” The way she addressed him, as if she were speaking to a pigheaded child, made Leopold want to give her a good shake. “Life shouldn’t be all work, work, work.”
    “Why not? It’s what I like doing most,” he replied defiantly.
    “Poor thing . . .” The compassion in her voice seemed genuine, which only fueled his irritation.
    “For your information, Catalina Stapleton, I should feel sorry for you ,” he said gruffly.
    “Oh, really?” She gave him a smile that seemed to make her entire being light up and, dazzled, he had to blink.
    “Yes. A twenty-something woman—”
    “Thirty-three,” she corrected him, though the warm fizzle in her eyes was at odds with her apparent gravity.
    “Who squats in her uncle’s home,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “With a job that can’t bring in more than a thousand pounds a month—”
    “Nine hundred and fifty, to be precise.”
    The woman truly was exasperating. “What future do you have? What would happen if you became ill? Do you have any insurance, a retirement plan, a—”
    “For the love of God, Leo, stop. You’re depressing me.”
    “I wanted you to reach your own conclusions about which of us deserves pity. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said triumphantly.
    “But there’s one thing that’s makes all the difference.”
    “Oh, yes?” he asked. It was clear to him that she was refusing to give in out of sheer stubbornness.
    “I’m enjoying the present. I love my work, just as you do, but it’s not just about numbers—it’s about people. People I’m in contact with every day, who share their emotions and warmth with me. You have a big company, which I’m sure is getting bigger all the time, but all that effort—what’s it for? Who’ll reap the rewards of a lifetime of sacrifice?”
    “That’s all just sentimental rubbish. I work with people, too. Thanks to my sacrifice, as you call it, thousands of those people have jobs, which allows them to enjoy