“Since you're already here, you can help herd them inside.” Dad has reached Micah, pointing out where to direct the calves.
Oak stops next to my dad for a pat, taking in the situation by tilting his head from one side to the other. Then he trots off along the fence toward the back of the pasture, probably to look for stragglers.
“Ah, already? Thought they headed inside themselves?” Micah’s question floats over as I climb down the ladder. It was one of the first things he asked me about the cows: why they would voluntarily head toward the barn in the evening. Telling him about how cows enjoy having a set schedule and that they get antsy when milking is done too late or when they don’t get fed on time, was pretty funny. The next day, I found Micah watching the pasture at milking time, so he could see for himself just how punctual our ladies were as they trotted toward the barn.
“Yeah, but today they need to go inside earlier than usual. The fireworks, you see?” Dad explains, pushing the curious nosesaway as they try to search his pockets. “Don’t want them to get scared.”
I push the ladder back together and lean it next to the door so I can wander over and join them, raising my hand at Micah. He gives me a brief smile, then swings his long legs over the fence.
“Okay, so just get them back to the barn?”
Dad nods, nudging one of the bigger calves, as it headbutts its companions. “If you see one getting rowdy like that, send ‘em over to me so I can tag ’em.”
Micah eyes the blue plastic plaques Dad pulls from his pocket, frowning. “Doesn’t this hurt them?”
“Nah, see?” Dad chuckles as the calf turns to him and instantly starts to nose at his hands, searching for a snack. He shows the blunt plastic ends to Micah. “Doesn’t connect.”
Dad wrangles the tag into the calf’s nose, giving its rear a swat to send it prancing after its siblings, then raises an eyebrow at Micah. “Did you think I went around giving my cows nose piercings?” He chortles and looks over at me.
I don’t join in on ribbing Micah. Plenty of people think the calf tags are the same as bull rings.
“It’s so they don’t give their moms trouble after they’re weaned. It can hurt the udders when they still try to nurse. And sometimes they turn to their siblings instead, which canreallyhurt them, so they get these tags,” I explain, rubbing my hand along a brown calf’s back. Its fuzzy-ended tail swishes happily.
“Ah, I see.” Micah nods along, but doesn’t take the tag. “Okay, I’ll send them toward you then.”
“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a break first?” I ask, since Micah came straight from the orchard. And even if it gets him some points with my dad, I want to remind him that he isn’t here to work himself to the bone. This is only his second week here, and the first one didn’t go by without exhausting him. Granted, our experimenting might have played a part in that, keeping himup after the workday, like when he gave me my first blowjob—and several others since then. Even if it means fewer hours of sleep, both our skills have improved a lot.
I chase the errant thoughts away so I don't melt under Micah's easy smile.
“Nah, I’m fine.” Micah’s already walking toward the small group of cows that are hurrying away from Oak.
“Okay, but I’ll get you something to drink,” I announce, setting off toward the house.
“There you are.” Mom pokes her head around the corner, lighting the whole kitchen with her smile.
I quickly lower the bottle of juice that I was about to take a sip from. This is an Always-Use-A-Glass household, but living at the Nook, I've learned that there's something primally joyful about gulping down a sweet and cold beverage straight from its container—which I doubt my mother would appreciate.
“Did you need me for something?”
“Just seeing if you and Micah wanted to join in to see the fireworks. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
I can’t help but notice how naturally she named Micah and me in one go. Like it was a given that if I went, Micah would as well.
“No, you go ahead. But I’ll let Micah know. Maybe he wants to join.”
Mom hums, her brown eyes studying me closely.
I blink a few times, then huff. I can feel what she’s about to say. “He's just a friend, Mom. And we’re not glued at the hip.”
“Friends can spend time together too,” Mom trills, leaving me standing in the kitchen, flabbergasted and pink-cheeked. I shakeit off before I can think too hard about it, grabbing the juice bottle as well as a bag of crackers and some sweet popcorn, and hurry back outside. I throw the snacks into my truck bed, but take the bottle of juice with me.
I barely make it across the yard when Micah emerges from the side doors of the barn. Once again, the fluffy orange cat trails after him.
“Hey,” I call out, smiling when he swerves toward me.
“Hey, the ladies aren’t happy, but they’re all cooped up now,” Micah informs me, taking the bottle with a grateful smile.
“Good,” I hum, entranced by the way he tips his head back as he drinks. “Uhm, everyone’s going to town to watch the fireworks. If you hurry, you can still catch up.”
