Mismatched

Ch. 7

"So, you expect me to believe that you just dropped him off at his house, you didn't go inside, and nothing happened?" Lesley recounted.

I dropped the stack of papers I was carrying onto the desk loudly in frustration.

"For the millionth time, I still don't like Riley like that," I said.

"You cleaned his car!" Lesley huffed in response.

"Yeah, so what? I already told you it was a mess."

Okay, maybe cleaning the car was a little overboard. But he seemed so embarrassed about it, and I had felt bad for pointing it out. Plus, his garbage can was right there when I parked the car in the driveway. It was just two quick swoops, and it was all taken care of. It wasn't like it required any real effort on my part.

"Your entire apartment is a disgusting mess, and I don't see you running to go clean it up," Lesley countered, scrunching up her face just thinking about it.

It was true, my apartment was a huge mess. Every so often I found moldy food where I shouldn't, became disgusted with myself, did a deep clean, and then let it fall into despair for the next three months.

It was a vicious cycle.

"You know, every Friday I start dreaming of Monday when you go back to the miniature human tornadoes with crayons, and I get to sit here for just three hours of peace and quiet a day."

"Well lucky for you it's almost Monday. And maybe if you get even luckier that crotchety old hag will either retire or drop dead and I'll be out of your hair all day," Lesley retorted. She dramatically turned the page of the romance magazine she picked from Judy's large stack of subscriptions for clients.

"Wishing on the death of a sweet old woman is not a good look for you," I joked, sitting back down at the desk and pretending to do some work.

"Whatever," Lesley scoffed.

Lesley was only three years into her teaching career, while the afternoon kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Bianco (or as Lesley lovingly nicknamed her, the crotchety old hag), was a well-loved pillar of the community at the ripe age of 82. She had taught the whole town kindergarten, us included.

It was a fight for Lesley to even take the morning class from her, despite the fact Mrs. Bianco could barely walk five steps without sounding like she may just keel over right there in front of all the kids.

A few minutes of silence passed, filled by the sound of Lesley flipping pages and me clicking the mouse and computer keys.

"So, has he texted you since last night?"

"Lesley, I have work to do."

"Right, right," she said.

She kept flipping through the magazine until it reached the end, then she slapped it down on the bench next to her.

"So, he hasn't texted yet."

"Lesley!" I exclaimed with annoyance.

"What!" she said defensively, raising her hands up as if I had her held at gunpoint.

"I'm just saying, maybe you should make the first move," she stated simply, flipping back through the stack of magazines to find her next victim.

"I won't be making the first move, because, again, I won't be making any moves."

"Cleaning his car was a move."

"It was not a move!"

"Then go clean my car." She nodded towards the door with a smirk that made her nose twitch. "I've been saving your ass on a semi-consistent basis now. If you're handing out pity car cleanings, then I should definitely be on the receiving list."