“My first date got crashed by my mom, three neighbours, two dogs and a parakeet”

Welcome to Kiss and Tell, a series about the steamy, surprising and frequently absurd world of Toronto dating. Send your most memorable stories from the pursuit of love and lust in the city to submissions@torontolife.com.

—As told to Juliann Garisto

I live in a building full of eccentric personalities with small-town syndrome: everybody knows your name; everybody knows what’s going on. There’s a certain somebody on my floor I’ll call Sarah. I’ve known Sarah since I moved into the building over twenty years ago. We’re close, and I have a lot of love for her, but she drives me nuts. She talks non-stop, half of what she says doesn’t make sense and I’m almost certain she’s in love with me. Maybe that’s why, when I brought home someone I was actually interested in, Sarah just had to get in the way.

The first time I saw Anika, it was in passing. I’m a musician, and she and my bassist were standing in line at a Rogers store near Keele and Bloor when I happened to be walking past the window. I thought she was very cute. She had long dark hair and—I’m not sure how else to describe it—a soft, feathery feel to her. She dressed like a hippie freak, but I found her balloon pants and camisole endearing. More than anything, I was attracted to her smile, which was warm and inviting.

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I waved hello to my friend and watched through the window as he turned to Anika, likely to explain who I was. I almost went in, but I was smoking, so I carried on my way. I didn’t think about her too much after that. At my ripe old age of 64, I don’t allow myself to get carried away by romantic fantasies involving women twenty years younger than me. For all I knew, my buddy was already planning on calling her. As I continued across Bloor, I let the feeling of attraction fade away.

A few weeks later, I saw Anika again. The band and I were at the bassist’s place after a practice. As it turns out, Anika was renting a room upstairs. Imagine my surprise when she came downstairs to join us in the living room with, of all things, a sewing machine. After saying hello to everyone, she plugged in her machine, plonked down next to me on the couch and got to work.

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She smelled like clean laundry and real perfume—not the cheap drug-store poison half the women in my building douse themselves in. Everyone in the band was just doing their thing: the guitarist was practising, the bassist was assessing some tees we’d just had made and the vocalist was asking the bassist if he could open another bottle of wine. I introduced myself to Anika and asked what she was making. It was a square canvas tote bag with bright pink stitching. She told me she was a designer and a seamstress and that she made all her own clothes.

I complimented her on the pants she had been wearing in the Rogers store, and she seemed to like that I’d remembered them. I offered her a glass of wine, and we kept talking, mostly about mundane things like the building she lived in, how she liked Toronto and what kind of music she listened to. As we spoke, she paid less attention to her sewing machine and inched closer to me on the couch. I couldn’t tell if she was coming on to me or just being friendly, but the band seemed to be picking up on something themselves—they’d politely migrated to the kitchen, where I could hear them faintly murmuring.

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I vacillated between “She loves me” and “She loves me not” until it was time to go home. I had a gut feeling that Anika wanted me to stay, but my dog—an anxious Yorkshire terrier—was waiting for me, as was my bedridden mother. My mom lived in the unit next to mine, and I regularly took care of her. On my way out, I suggested to Anika that we exchange numbers, which we did. Then I went home and wondered why I hadn’t just asked one of my neighbours to take care of the dog and my mother.

Two weeks passed. I thought about Anika here and there, but I didn’t feel confident enough to call her. I figured it was a one-off flirtatious moment fuelled by the wine and the spontaneity. She had probably forgotten about it by now. Then I got a phone call. It was her. She was hoping we could spend some time together. I was like, Are you kidding me? I couldn’t believe it.

We set a date for later that week. She suggested that we hang out at my apartment. “My place?” I repeated. If I had her over at my place, someone in the building would likely catch wind of it. The last thing I wanted was to have a run-in with any nosy neighbours. On top of that, my mother, as I mentioned, lived next door. But what would I tell Anika? I didn’t want to turn her down. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time. So I said, “Sure, why not?”

In anticipation of her arrival, I took my dog for a long walk, hoping it would tire him out. Then I cleaned my apartment, took a shower and made sure I smelled nice. Anika arrived in a taxi with a couple of bottles of wine and a tray of charcuterie. I went down to meet her in the lobby and let her in. She looked so pretty, like she had dressed up for an actual date. I was trying really hard to play it cool, but I was very excited. Then along came Sarah, back from walking her dog.

“Johnny!” Sarah exclaimed as she sauntered into the lobby. On cue, she said something totally random: “The sidewalk pylon is blowing outside. It’s not nice.” I took a deep breath and tried to say “Hi, Sarah—bye, Sarah,” but she was following us into the elevator with her geriatric chihuahua. I introduced the two women. Anika smiled her beautiful smile; Sarah pursed her lips. I prayed that, when we got to my floor, Sarah would go her separate way, but I knew in my gut that it would all be downhill from here.

Sarah followed us into my apartment. Not only did she invite herself in for coffee, she also invited Toni, another chatty neighbour. So there I was, introducing Anika to both of them, hardly having a chance to talk to her myself. On top of this, my dog, despite the long walk, was acting like a psycho. He knew Sarah and Toni well since they’d been over many times before, but he smelled something on Anika that was driving him nuts. He kept jumping on her and barking, which made Sarah’s chihuahua start barking too. Sarah yelled at her dog to quit it, then took him back to her apartment. Now it was just me, Anika and Toni. Unlike Sarah, Toni was at least friendly to Anika, but not without a presumptuous smile. “So, are you guys dating?” she asked. “She’s a friend!” I snapped, maybe a little too harshly.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, and not alone. She had Shadi with her, who had one of her dozen or so parakeets chirping on her shoulder. I introduced Shadi to Anika, who had taken a seat on the couch in front of the TV. Sarah was in the kitchen making coffee, loudly talking nonsense to herself. Toni and Shadi were admiring Anika’s long hair when there was a knock at the door: it was my mother.

“Ma, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” I protested. “You have everybody over and no tell me?” she said in her thick Slavic accent. “Who this?” She pointed her cane at Anika. “You have a girlfriend now?” I was vibrating and sweating by this point. Begrudgingly, I introduced Anika to my mother while Tony and Shadi helped themselves to the charcuterie Anika had placed on the table. Then, before I knew it, Sarah was pouring the coffee and all four of them—Sarah, Toni, Shadi and my mother—were sitting around the table.

I joined Anika on the couch, which was only a few feet from the kitchen table. Since my apartment is so small, there was no opportunity for me to discreetly tell Anika that I was sorry for the chaos. I could tell she was a little bummed by the intrusions, and I didn’t blame her one bit. Who in their right mind wants to meet their date’s mother when the date has hardly even begun? I blew it, I thought. She is never going to come here again. I opened one of the bottles Anika had brought and poured her a glass, but she was gone before it was finished. The second bottle was never opened.

The other ladies, however, polished off the charcuterie and stayed on until it was dark outside and it was time for my mother to be put to bed. When they finally disbanded, I took my mother by the arm and walked her back to her place. She was already half asleep, as was the dog. Perfect timing, I thought.

I texted Anika the next day to give a proper apology. I would have called, but I was so embarrassed and didn’t really know what to say. I asked if she would be willing to give it another shot—at her place this time, not mine—but she never responded, and I never heard from her again. Not long after that, I found out from my bandmate that Anika had left town. Not because of me, I hope.