Page 15 of Butter You Up
When has Molly had our eggs? I told her one perk of the job was getting as many eggs and milk as she wants—she’s one tiny person. How much could she consume? I gladly send four dozen eggs a week home to Jesús’s family of five—but I was going to send Molly home with some today.
“We belong to a CSA in the city,” the woman says stiffly.
“Oh my god, that’s so cool. So, you knowexactlywhat I’m talking about. What other stuff do you get with your CSA?”
Ten minutes later, I’ve run another transaction for some milk and a T-shirt. Molly and the formerly surly woman have swapped recipes for garlic scapes, and Molly’s given her a flier about our CSA, even though it doesn’t service that far south.
“Bye,” she calls as they leave. “Enjoy the milk and eggs!”
The next customer is easier—a local I know who works as a nurse at the hospital in Climax and passes us on her way home. We chat for a bit—she eyes Molly but is more interested in the local gossip and takes all my grunts as interest. I think she’s also disappointed Kit isn’t here, because she looks around and asks after him.
She finally leaves as another couple comes in, this time a man and a woman who is, I’m pretty sure, but I know better than to open my trap, pregnant.
Like, she’s about-to-pop pregnant. Years ago, my kid brother Samuel, always super inquisitive, asked a lady in the grocery store if she was having a baby. Mom, harried from having to make an emergency trip to the store with five kids, gave him the dressing down of his life.
I remember her squatting down and gripping his little arms. “Unless you see a baby coming out or the woman says she’s pregnant or her water breaks—” Mom had stopped. Looking back, I wonder if she’d been thinking about how water breaking might look an awful lot like peeing your pants, and having to explain the differences to a five-year-old was probably too much to tackle on that day. “No, unless you see a baby or she says she’s pregnant, never assume.”
That was five years before my parents were in a freak accident. I was twelve when they died, and to this day, memories like this still catch me off guard with a deep ache of grief.
I turn slightly and nearly bump into Molly. This space behind the counter is too small for two. “Why don’t you take over?” I mumble.
She lights up. Man, making her smile is so easy.
“Welcome to Udderly Creamy,” she calls to the couple. “Can I help you with anything in particular?”
The woman puts her hands on her lower back and blushes. “Sorry, do you have a bathroom?”
Molly looks at me, and I lead the woman into the back. When I rejoin Molly up front, she’s come around the counter and is talking to the man.
“We saw a sign for a place called Climax and just had to stop. But we got turned around, and then we saw a sign for fresh eggs, and here we are.”
Molly turns toward me. “They’re on their baby moon!”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The last vacation before the baby is due,” she explains.
I’m pretty sure these people are here for the bathroom and not to make a purchase, so I leave Molly to chat with him. The woman comes out of the bathroom and joins in, and a few minutes later, I catch the phrase, “You might as well stock up while you’re here.”
Molly gives them a spiel about our farm— verbatim from the flier—and holds up a bottle of milk and some eggs.
“The eggs aren’t pasteurized,” I call out. “The FDA recommends pregnant women only consume thoroughly cooked eggs, especially if they are unpasteurized. But the milk is pasteurized.”
Molly grins at me. “Good to know.” She turns to the couple and explains, “It’s my first day on the job.” This time, it’s said with more pride and less embarrassment and received with even more warmth. She starts to ring them up and then freezes. “Oh my god, we have kid’s shirts, right?” She darts around the counter, nearly shoving me out of the way. She quickly sorts through the rack of kid’s size T-shirts and pulls out the smallest one she can find. It reads, “Grab life by the teats,” with a stylized cow on it.
“Oh, how adorable,” the woman gushes, and Molly finishes checking them out and even walks them to the door, waving goodbye as they drive away.
She skips back to the counter, her grin mischievous. “I’m good, right?” She sticks two thumbs out, all bluster and cockiness. “I’msogood. I’m gonna smash this job,” she sings, adding a dance to it, putting one hand behind her head and shuffling her feet.
Kit gets like this too, and when someone compliments him, he coasts for days on that high. I gruffly tell Molly, “good job,” and she beams at me. “Call me if you need anything,” I add.
Molly stops dancing. “Wait, what?”
“You’re ready. Give me a call if you have any questions.”
I’ve surprised her, and maybe there’s a flash of disappointment on her face. She’s probably still nervous, but I’m confident she can hold the fort down here better than I can. And on the farm, there’s always more work to be done, so as amusing as it is to watch Molly, I’ve got to get back to my real work before I discover just how much I could like her.
CHAPTER9
