Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

  Dogs were my favorite of all animals. Once, in an episode of Where’s Rosie, my character found a stray dog and took him in. She named him and hoped to keep him, but his real owners eventually came for him. Rosie was devastated, and so was I. It was nice having a dog on the set. I remember trying to convince the director to make the dog a permanent character in the show, but nobody wanted to deal with that. After filming that episode, I tried for years to convince my mother to get me a puppy; but she said I didn’t have time to take care of one, and she didn’t want to get stuck with the burden.

  After I gave Gracie one last pat on the head, she scampered off to continue her guard dog duties.

  We entered the barn, and John grabbed an apron from a hook on the door, handing it to me. “Can’t be too careful.”

  I happily took it from him and wrapped the strings around my waist. “Yeah, I guess not,” I responded to his sarcasm too cheerily, and he looked at me quizzically. “So what are we doing? Feeding cows?”

  “No. We’re milking them.”

  I dropped my bucket. The noise disturbed the animals, and they rustled in their pens. I blushed as John reached down to pick it up for me. “Sorry. I don’t know why I reacted that way. It sounds so... icky.”

  “Icky?”

  Okay, maybe I didn’t want him to be this comfortable teasing me again. “Milking cows... that involves touching their... uh... underparts...?”

  John howled at that question, and the cows stirred again. “Yes. You will have to touch their ‘underparts.’ Or, as we farm-people call them, their udder and teats.”

  Like a child, I laughed through my nose at the word teats. “Will it hurt them?”

  “No, they enjoy it.”

  I must have looked even more disgusted because John shook his head and hooted again. He threw his hands in the air and said, “They’re cows, Chas. That’s what they were made to do.”

  Chas? Had he just called me Chas so easily, as if we were lifelong friends? The familiarity of the nickname took me aback for a moment. I liked it, liked the feeling that we were heading into a new level of friendship. I wished I could come up with a nickname for him, too, but what kind of nickname do you give a person named John? Wasn’t John already the nickname for Jonathan?

  John called to me from several feet away now. “Are you coming?”

  I really needed to be more aware of the present. How often did I find myself trapped in my own thoughts, completely missing what was happening in front of me?

  “Chastity? Are you okay?”

  Clearly, I was doing it again. “I’m fine. Hold your horses... er, cows.” His concerned look told me he thought I might have another episode. Although, I don’t know what kind of PTSD he thought the cows would trigger within me. As long as I didn’t have to deal with their fecal matter, I’d be fine.

  I strode up next to him too casually to make up for my momentary absence of mind. “Perhaps I can just watch?”

  Raising an eyebrow, John quipped, “I thought you said you wanted to help today.”

  “That was when I was on a sugar high. The thought of milking cows totally killed my buzz.”

  “It’s not bad,” he reassured me. “I’ll show you how to do it, and then I thought we could split up. You’ll take half, and I’ll take half. It’ll go quicker.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and exhaled loudly. “Well, I guess that cake was worth it.”

  John was all business now. He grabbed a stool from outside one of the pens and set it inside next to an unassuming cow. Really, this cow looked like it couldn’t be bothered—like it had no idea what I was about to do to it. “Now sit there on that stool,” John instructed.

  I hesitantly obeyed. “Okay.”

  He squatted behind me and placed the bucket under the cow.

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Bessie.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It is not.”

  John chuckled. “No, it’s not. We don’t name them all. We tag them with numbers. Why do you want to know her name?”

  “Well, we’re about to get sort of... intimate... and I would just like for us to be on a first-name basis. That’s all.”

  He was trying not to laugh, and it looked like it took some effort. I rather appreciated his attempt, though, as I was not joking. Sure she was a cow, but she must have had feelings.

  “Well, you can name her if you’d like. What would you like to call her?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Bessie. Bessie White. You know kind of like the actress, Betty White, but a cow name.” When he didn’t say anything, I continued, “I’ve always liked The Golden Girls.”

  “Well, then,” he humored me, “Chastity, I’d like to introduce you to my cow friend Bessie. Bessie White, meet Chastity Sullivan.” He took my hand and placed it on one of Bessie’s teats as if it was a handshake.

  I gasped ever so slightly, but not because of the underparts. The touch of his hand stunned me for a brief moment, then filled me with... what? Joy? Anticipation? Whatever it was, I was suddenly a bundle of nerves. Well, maybe not so suddenly. Wasn’t I always a bundle of nerves?

  John mistook the gasp as a reaction to the contact with the udder. “Are you all right? Not too grossed out?”

  I gulped. Hardly. “I’m fine. Now, what do I do?”

  “Now, you gently squeeze and pull.” He had his hand on mine and demonstrated the action. Our close proximity made it a heady experience. How could he smell so good while surrounded by animals and hay and who knew what else? His face was so close to mine. Part of me wanted to lean in and kiss him. The other part of me thought kissing a man while holding a cow nipple might be the most unromantic first kiss in the history of kisses. Well, second kiss, technically.

  John had stopped talking, and I wondered if he was experiencing the same sensation. Did he want to kiss me? I wished he would. What would happen if I kissed him myself? I’d had the guts to kiss him when we were kids, but I didn’t now. Everything was different, and my confidence was shattered. My experience with Cooper had changed me; even my experience on the farm so far had changed me. And, anyway, I didn’t want the kiss to happen like this—if it was going to happen at all.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Uh...” I wasn’t sure what he meant. “Ready for...?”

  John took his hand off mine. “Are you ready to do this on your own? I’ll just be over there if you need me.”

  “Oh! Yeah. I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me. Or Bessie. We’re great.”

  He stood up and headed to the other side of the stalls. I was actually relieved to see him go. Had I really just considered kissing a man in a cow pen? What kind of weird, kinky ish was I into? What was happening to me?

  Now that I was alone with Bessie, I decided to give the cow a backstory. That would keep my mind occupied for a while. Judging from the look of her udder, I could imagine she was probably a mother. Maybe she was a single mother: four kids, a deadbeat ex-husband who never paid his chunk of child support. Calf support, I laughed. Giving her milk up was a respectable way to keep her calves fed and clothed. I thought about cow clothes. If a cow wore clothes, what would she wear? Bessie would probably wear a sundress and maybe a string of pearls around her neck. She was classy like that.

  A low groan from Bessie alerted me that I was tugging a bit too hard. There I was daydreaming again.

  “You can probably move on to the next one if you want,” John called. “What are you going to name her?

  “Rue McCownahan,” I called back, rather impressed that I’d come up with that so quickly. John’s lack of response told me he didn’t appreciate The Golden Girls as much as I did.

  We continued milking cows, occasionally calling out to one another from across the room with a joke or a snide comment. It was, remarkably, a very relaxing day. By the time we had finished and were walking back up to the house, I was starving. My stomach growled, rivaling John’s truck engine, and John said, “Sounds like it’s time for more cake.
You’ve earned it. All that squeezing... you definitely burned some calories.”

  He wasn’t kidding. My hands, my wrists, and even my shoulders were sore. It hadn’t really hit me until now when they were inactive. The offer of more cake was not appealing, though. After smelling the sweet and sour aroma of cow milk all day, the last thing I wanted was something sugary. “I think I’ll wash up.” Two pieces of cake for breakfast was far more than I should have had to begin with. What I needed now was a vegetable or two.

  I stopped at the back door to the house and thanked John.

  “Thank you? For what?”

  “For today. It was just what I needed.” I stepped toward him to go for a hug but chickened out and patted him on the arm instead. Could I be any more hopeless?

  He smiled genuinely and said, “I’m glad.”

  As I started walking into the house, John called after me, “Hey, Chas?”

  I spun around too quickly, and it made me dizzy, breathless. “Yes?”

  “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  Was “see you” code for “date”? My cheeks flushed. I responded too eagerly, “Yes.”

  “Good, ’cause I’ve got another job for you.”

  My joy was instantly dashed. Not a date? Another job? Oh boy. What had I just agreed to?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning I awoke with thoughts of John, probably because I had been dreaming about him. In my dreams, we were living in the 1800s; I wore a gorgeous empire waist dress and a bonnet, and we both had fantastically posh British accents. He said things like, “Shall we to tea then?” And I said, “Only allowing that you bring that scrumptious pineapple decadence you brought last we tea’d.” It was all very proper and very silly.

  I had finally finished Jane Austen’s Persuasion the night before. The book gave me a lot to think about. It was about this man and woman who had loved each other once and were apart for a very long time, but when they came back together, they hated each other. Well, he hated her, at least. And they played a lot of games. Well, he played a lot of games. And finally, they realized they were meant to be together all along. Well, he realized they were meant to be together all along. She already knew. Basically, it was a book about how guys are pretty dumb when it comes to this love stuff.

  I wondered why John would have been the subject in my dream. Why couldn’t some handsome, older superhero-type have been the object of my affection in this dream? Maybe someone like Captain America. But it was John I spent the evening with, and it would be John I would spend the day with. Suddenly I remembered that I’d unwittingly agreed to do a job for him today. He’d seduced me with cake, and now I’d apparently say yes to anything he asked. I was still amazed that he’d gone to the trouble of making me a cake. No one had ever done that for me. John certainly didn’t need to do that. It wasn’t like I’d really done anything to deserve his kindness or friendship.

  Friendship. That’s what it felt like with him. Throughout the bickering and loathing, I liked him, and he liked me. He worried about me that day after my episode. He’d tried to boost my spirits by doing something for me that he knew I couldn’t do for myself. It was touching. I couldn’t believe it, but I was genuinely looking forward to seeing him again. I didn’t care if I ended up covered in manure. Just kidding, I did care about that.

  Feeling lighter and freer than maybe I ever had, I flitted down the hall to the bathroom and showered thoroughly. I used Aunt Martha’s special soap, feeling the luxurious suds wash away all the negativity that had been pent up inside me. After my shower, I decided to make myself look presentable, so I plugged in my curling wand and painstakingly layered on makeup while it heated up. I decided to go with a neutral smoky eye and a nude lip so it didn’t look like I was trying too hard. Then I curled my hair in mermaid-like waves and sprayed it down so that it wouldn’t dare move throughout whatever task John had for me. My biggest dilemma was in deciding what to wear for the day. Since I had no idea what the job would entail, I wasn’t sure how dirty I might get. Searching through my closet, I found a long, flowy tank top with a big sequined heart in the center and paired it with a pair of capri-length black leggings. With my new, crisp running shoes, the outfit would appear somewhat practical. Hopefully, that would make it less obvious that I was trying too hard.

  When I was finished getting ready, I headed into the living room. John was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. “Oh! I didn’t know you were already here,” I said, startled.

  “I’ve been here for a couple hours. Was helping Ken move some heavy equipment.”

  “Oh... is that what you needed my help with?”

  John shook his head. “I’ve got another project for you. Are you ready? Do you need to eat breakfast first?”

  “I’m not hungry.” This was a lie. In fact, my stomach had been growling all morning, which was disconcerting. I rarely ate breakfast, and when I did, it was very light—maybe a banana or some berries. Living here, my body was growing accustomed to eating more frequently and to eating, well, just more. After yesterday’s overindulgence, I intended to consume as few calories as possible today. That wouldn’t make up for my lapse in judgment, but it would be a start.

  John stared at me. At first, I thought it was because he doubted my lack of hunger, but I soon realized he was assessing my appearance. I was glad. His indifference when I walked into the room had me worried he might not notice my efforts. “You look nice today,” John spoke shyly.

  I twirled a piece of hair around my finger. “Thank you,” I said demurely, trying to subtly bat my mascaraed lashes at him.

  “Now I’m rethinking today’s... job,” he muttered as he headed to the front door.

  I followed him outside. “Don’t worry about me. Whatever it is, I can handle it. This is nothing. I just had all of these products going to waste. Figured I’d use them,” I lied desperately.

  “You’re sure?” John cocked his head.

  I nodded. He looked unconvinced but led me to his truck anyway.

  “Are we going somewhere?” I asked.

  “No. Just need to grab our equipment.” He opened the truck bed to reveal two extra-large Super Soaker water guns. “I thought you could use some fun for a change. It’s been dry lately, and we need to water some of the plants since rain isn’t in the forecast. Figured we could make it a little more interesting in the process.”

  “Huh,” was all I could muster. Honestly, I’d never used a water gun in my life, and I’d always wanted to. It had looked like so much fun on the commercials when I was a kid.

  “I set up zones around the farm with water balloons and more water guns and hoses.”

  “Oh.” I was having a hard time responding to this—maybe because it was such a surprise. This was literally the last thing I would have expected to be doing today.

  I think John mistook my quietness for disinterest or even revulsion. He looked sheepish now. “It was a gamble. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course.”

  “I want to,” I blurted. “I was surprised, that’s all. It sounds... fun.”

  John’s face lit up. He looked more excited about his idea now that I seemed interested.

  “Are the water balloons biodegradable, though? Because I care about the environment,” I amended.

  “Of course,” he said, feigning offense. “I, too, care about the environment.” He gestured around us at the trees and the general outdoors as if that should suffice as proof.

  I chuckled. “Well, then, I guess you’ve thought of everything. What are the rules?”

  “The rules are simple.” He began speaking excitedly now that he knew I was on board, and I wondered if this water sport was as much for his enjoyment as mine. “We’ll start at the first station over by the apple trees—that’s where the water balloons are—and we’ll work counterclockwise around to the three stations. Your weapons are labeled in blue, and mine are labeled in red. We will stay at each station until we run out of water supplies. Then on to the next, an
d so on.”

  “Wow. You’ve really thought this through.”

  John gave me a stern general’s look. “Yes, I have. We’re going into battle.” Then he cracked a smile and gestured to the water guns in the bed of the truck. “These are for the final round. Do you accept the challenge?”

  “I accept.” I put on a fierce face to rival his and stuck out my hand. He took it and shook once for emphasis. “And may the best woman win.”

  “Let’s go,” he said and instantly began running. I stood stunned for a moment but soon began chasing him. “And try to aim toward the plants and stuff if you can,” he hollered back at me.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” I yelled in response.

  Then we were off to wage our water war. As detailed, we started with the water balloons. John had placed two huge buckets filled with a mixture of red and blue balloons in the center of two rows of apple trees. I’d forgotten Kenny and Martha had apple trees. Dug into the ground was a tall garden hoe mimicking a flagpole, complete with white handkerchief. Clearly, he’d gone to a lot of trouble to set this whole thing up.

  Because he had a head start, he got to the balloons before I did but waited until I reached the bucket before mining for balloons. I, however, didn’t stop and ran straight to the bucket, digging immediately. We were a tangle of arms as we pushed and shoved our way through the bucket, grabbing the balloons in our designated colors. Several balloons popped in the chaos.

  John started running down the row of trees, his arms full of balloons, and I quickly threw one of mine at him before he could get away. I missed, and it landed next to him. It didn’t even pop! He skillfully picked it up and yelled, “I forgot to tell you, once the balloon is thrown, it’s fair game!”

  “That’s not fair,” I bellowed. “You can’t make up new rules once the game has started!”

  “Sure, I can! I made the game!”

  He had a point, I guessed, and I was pretty impressed that he was able to scoop my balloon up while holding all of his. Briefly, I wondered if he’d rigged all of my balloons so they wouldn’t pop. There was only one way to find out. I chased after him, my own arms full of balloons.