Before I could change my mind, I grabbed the keys and went down the narrow stairs to the backdoor. As soon as I pushed it open, the smell of dust and stale air hit me like a wall. Probably not ideal if I wanted a high selling price. I propped open the back door and went straight to the front doors to open those too.
I stood in the doorway for a moment and took it all in. I’d done it. I took the first and hardest step.
It was smaller than I remembered, or maybe I'd just been picturing a grander version of it in my head. A version that included Rand and me running it together. Rand would be behind the counter, looking up from whatever he was doing while I brought out muffins and cookies from the back.
The shelving Rand built along the east wall was still bare. The fancy espresso machine was in its crate against the far wall, and only two walls had a coat of primer on them while the other two were still patchy sheetrock. We'd been arguing about paint colors because Rand wanted something warm while I wanted to go with something cool and bright.
With a slight breeze hitting my back from the open doors, I allowed myself to grieve this dream separately from all the grieving I’d done about Rand. My knees buckled, and I dropped down on the floor just seconds before full-body shudders wracked through me.
I cried for a long time, finally accepting that it was over. I could finally say goodbye to The Daily Grind and the life we'd been building toward.
2
KYLE
As always, I was up before six. My body had its own schedule, and it didn't much care what time I'd gone to bed. Unfortunately for me, that was only five hours ago. But I could already smell the coffee brewing in my automated pot, so I dragged my ass to the shower and quickly washed up to fully wake up.
By the time I got into the kitchen, the coffee was ready. Thank gods. Today I really needed it. I poured a cup and then moved to the table where my chest pump was always set up.
My morning routine was set on autopilot. Pumping was always my first priority once I had grabbed my mug of coffee. It took about twenty minutes to fully empty, as long as I stayed on my schedule. If I was traveling or unable to empty before 7AM and 7PM, I paid for it for a week, a lesson I learned the hard way.
The new pumps were great, and unlike when I first started using them, they didn’t take forever. Back in my early twenties it took forty-five minutes just for the pumping, and now, in my late thirties, I could be out the door within an hour of waking up.
Only today, I didn’t need to rush out. With two months off for summer break, I didn’t have anywhere to be.
While the pump did its thing, I picked up my phone and started checking my inbox. The Milkman app had been busy with a few messages from existing clients to confirm their weekly orders. The Lactin Brotherhood office was also asking if I'd be at the drop-in session on Thursday. I didn’t love live sessions with strangers, so I responded that I couldn’t make it but I'd send product. There were always first-timers who wanted to take a few pints home with them after.
It was a cottage industry that most people didn’t realize existed, but selling milk through the Milkman app was extremely lucrative. I'd been on the platform for years and had built up a steady client list of both seasonal and long-term customers. Sometimes families with infants needed my help for a few months at a time, but most of my milk went to adults using it for health or kink purposes.
As the director of Family and Consumer Sciences at the local high school, summers were a blessing and a curse. I thrived on helping others and teaching life skills to the students, so teaching was the perfect career for me. But I was officially vested in my retirement now, and part of me had been thinking of trying something different for my second act. Maybe becoming a docent at the museum or trying my hand at selling some of my dry-wear designs would be interesting.
With more men lactating than ever, the need for clothing that protected against leakage and chaffing was only getting stronger. I wore a lot of Xander’s Dry Wear, and it was great quality. Xander was OG in the brotherhood and a pioneer in designing clothes specifically for men like me. But having spent most of my life behind a sewing machine, I’d always imaginedhaving a clothing line of my own. And now that I had some time on my hands, it was something I might play around with.
When I finished pumping, I labeled each bag and packed them into my cooler in delivery order. I was about to close out the app when a message came through from a potential new client.
The new father named Joel had sent an unusually long first message, which usually meant something was wrong. According to his request, his wife was on post-partum medication that could transfer through milk to their newborn. They'd been using formula, but the baby wasn't tolerating it well, and their pediatrician had suggested trying donor milk. He’d found me through the Lactin Brotherhood referral page and was desperate. He offered to pay any amount for enough milk to feed his daughter.
Well, damn. I couldn’t exactly ignore a plea like that. I quickly responded that I could provide a gallon a week if he didn’t mind some frozen mixed with fresh and promised to have his first delivery done before noon. I kept several gallons of frozen milk in my freezer for unexpected requests like this.
It took some rearranging to Tetris everything into the rolling cooler, but I got it all in and was on my way a few minutes later.
Most of my clients were as routine based as I was, so I made all my usual deliveries first before heading to Joel’s house on the other side of town.
He answered the door before I finished knocking because he’d been bird-dogging the driveway, waiting for me. “You must be Kyle.”
“That’s me.” I opened the cooler and pulled out the individually portioned bags of fresh and frozen milk. “Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.”
“No, don’t apologize.” He watched me with a weary stance. “I’m just glad you were able to bring me anything at all.” As if on cue, a baby started crying in the background. “Shit, I’ll be right back.”
“No worries.” I stayed on the porch for a minute until he returned with a tiny bundle in his arms.
He looked at all the bags and up at me. “Um…”
“I can put these away for you.” I smiled. “I can even prepare a bottle for you if you show me where everything is.”
The look of relief on his face made me wish I’d come first. “I’d really appreciate that, man.” He held the door open so I could enter, and I followed him to the kitchen. There was a burp cloth over his left shoulder and a tension in his movements that conveyed sheer exhaustion. Poor guy.
I washed my hands and then put the frozen bags in the freezer in order of when they should be used and did the same with the fresh milk in the fridge. “How much does she take?”
