Myeyes are drawn to his lips as they curl into a smile. “Inoticed that as you flung me into the van door.It’senormous.Hilariousyou think it’s ‘only’ five acres.”
“Anyway,Ihave chores to get on with.And, you said you wanted to talk.”
Asmuch asI’dlike to stare at his lips and rest my arm against his for the next few hours, that is not the point of this exercise.
Hetiptoes around the muddy patches as he follows me to the goat enclosure.He’sputting on a good show of not being uncomfortable, though.Guessthat’s how focused he must be on buying me out of his way.
“Youhave a lot of sheds.”Isthat his best effort at farm-related small talk?
“Onlythree.Thatone’s a regular garden shed.Thatone’s for goat feed.Andthe big one has all my dad’s old tools and stuff in it.That’swhere he worked on my bus.”
Ileave out the part about the feed shed having a big rotten patch at the back that will soon serve as a second entrance.
“Doeshe still fix up old cars?”
Iusually say this more gently.Butwhat the hell. “Hedied.”
“Oh.God.Sorry.”He’sobviously mortified.
Maybethere is a human under there and he’s not totally a money-making robot.Perhapsit was cruel of me to be so blunt.
“Hewas going to build another shed with power and everything for my mom to make her soap in.Shewanted to expand into other goat milk products like lotions, bath soaks, and stuff.Buthe died, then she got arthritis.So, she just makes small batches of soap in the kitchen.Whenshe’s up to it.”
“Isthe arthritis what you meant when you said she’s not feeling good?”
Likeevery good salesman he remembers what you tell him.
“Yup.Itcomes and goes.Sometimesshe’s fine.Todayshe wouldn’t be able to carry the feed.”
Aswe reach the gate to the goats, the five girls and two babies run over, bleating, their little tails wagging like crazy. “Theseare the choresItold youIhave to do.”
Heleans on the metal gate and smiles, seemingly unworried about the rust marking his jacket.
“They’recute chores, though.”Ipoint at the older girls one by one. “MeetSara,Siobhan, andKeren.”
“Unusualgoat names.”
Ireach over and give them each a head scratch. “Namedafter the members ofBananarama.Mymom’s favorite band when she was a teenager.Thebabies don’t have names yet.”
Kerennudges my hand for more scratches.
“Theyseem like they behave more like dogs than goats.”Hisface is full of wonder, like he never gets out and the girls are the first new thing he’s seen in a long time.
“ThenIguess you’ve never met goats before.Thisis what they’re like.Andthese ladies need feeding and watering.”
“Okay.”Hedusts off his hands and is all business again. “Whileyou’re doing that, let’s discuss howIcan make your life amazing.”
Sohe thinks anyone who doesn’t live in a fancy house or drive a fancy car can’t have an amazing life?
“Mylife is great, thanks.”
Apartfrom the stress of the shop not making enough money, the rent going up, and the gut-wrenching fearImight have to lay off my best friend.Notto mention the sleepless nights over how the hellI’mgoing to take care of this place andMom.
Iswing open the door to the feed shed and point at the floor-to-ceiling pile of hay bales.Mr.Twinklesisn’t going to want to go near those things.
“Youcan make yourself useful and grab one of those.”
“Sure,” he says.
