Page 40 of Butter You Up
“It’s a new program the school is doing, bringing in emotional support animals to help ease the stress of finals week. But there are a lot of other interactions, too—goat yoga, farmer’s markets, retirement communities. You could do something like this.”
“Like what, exactly?”
Molly tucks her phone back in her pocket. “Ask Ethan if you can bring a baby cow or two to the strawberry picking. Put them in a little pen and let people pet them. People eat that kind of stuff up.”
I rub my chin. That might work. Someone would have to stay with the calves, and we’re already a little short-handed on the weekends since Jesús and Perry alternate time off. It’s not quite farm tours, but it would help foster conversation about where the strawberry milk—and the regular, healthier kind—comes from.
When I return to the main barn—after almost getting caught by a customer with my hand up Molly’s shirt—Perry flags me down.
“One of the milkers is limping. I checked her hoof and didn’t see anything, so we might need to call Gavin.”
I follow Perry out to the cow that refuses to go down the hill. We encourage her to walk, which she does. It’s barely noticeable, but there is a limp. I call Gavin, the farrier in Climax who comes a few times a year to take care of our herd, who says he can come by around six.
By then, Perry and Jesús have gone home, and my night crew is here. Kit and I get the cow into one of the stalls to keep her separated from the herd and stay out of the way. That’s where Molly finds us.
I explain that we’re waiting on the farrier.
Molly looks at the cow with wide eyes.
“Want to touch her?” Kit asks.
Her face scrunches up. “I dunno. She’s big.”
“Scared of a cow?” Kit teases.
“Come on, meet Daisy,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her over to the cow’s head. Daisy—technically Daisy the ninth or something, because we have a lot of cows and don’t get creative, but it’s better than calling her 2/31, which is the number on her ear tag—is a brown Swiss, so she’s got a soft gray coat and a gentle face. I scratch her forehead, and her ears flick.
I keep rubbing her face while Molly gently touches her neck, flattening her palm along the soft hairs.
After a moment, Daisy lowers her head back down to grab another mouthful of hay. At my nudge, Molly moves farther to Daisy’s shoulder and keeps stroking.
Kit clears his throat. “While I have you two here, we need to talk about something.”
Molly gasps dramatically. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Instead of laughing, Kit winces. A knot settles somewhere between my heart and my throat.
“I’ve been talking to my parents, and they need some help with their summer rentals. The cleaning service they usually use raised their rates again and nearly doubled their travel fees.”
Kit’s parents own a slew of rental cabins in Here, and with summer ramping up it’s about to get busy. Unfortunately, there isn’t a cleaning service in Here, and they don’t have enough rentals to justify hiring someone, nor the business year-round to support it.
“I told my parents I’d come back home and help them out. Which means…”
“You’re leaving,” I finish.
“Yeah.” Kit’s voice is soft, sad.
It echoes my feelings. Having my best friend here for over a month has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I’ve gotten used to his laughter, his jokes with my staff, and him being the first and last person I see every day.
We clear the few feet between us and hug. It’s a long one; a good one. One we only break because I can hear the farrier finally arriving.
When we pull apart, Kit sniffs. “I don’t think I’ll like cleaning houses with anybody else as much as I like shoveling shit with you.”
Molly snort-giggles, and Kit turns and wraps her up in a huge hug while I go greet Gavin. When I return, they’re talking quietly by the wall, so I focus my attention on Daisy.
Once I explain what’s going on, I leave him to his work, and find Kit and Molly whispering to each other. Kit has a look on his face I recognize: feigned innocence.
“What are you doing?” I ask, already regretting the question.
