The Milkman

by Tabatha Kiss

  “I haven’t touched another woman since you left and that kiss meant more to me than our first one,” I tell her. “Complex, meet complicated.”

  Jovie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. “I have to go now.”

  I step to the side to let her pass, far too beaten down to argue with her any further. Her boots stomp through the house and I hear Tucker greet her in the living room.

  “Hey, Jovie!”

  “Hi, Tucker.”

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The door opens and closes just as fast. I wait a few moments, listening to Jovie’s boots as they stomp down to the sidewalk, before following into the living room.

  Tucker stands by the door, awkwardly chewing on his thumbnail. “So, uh…” he chuckles, “did I interrupt something here?”

  I toss his phone back to him and it bounces twice in his hands before he finally catches it. “I’ll see you at work, Tuck.”

  “See ya…” He nods slowly and backs up toward the door. “Hey, Will.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.”

  He shakes his head, laughing quietly as he walks outside. “You two really need to get your shit together.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say. “Hey, Tuck…”

  He throws up a scout’s honor. “It dies with me.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  Tucker closes the door behind him, leaving me to my own pathetic misery. I stare at the floor, feeling a strange, overwhelming sensation creeping up my ankles, taking hold of my legs and spine all the way to my forehead.

  Jovie Ross was in my house.

  She slept in my bed.

  I kissed her. She kissed me back, whether she wants to admit that or not.

  The last time we were together like this, I didn’t know it was going to be the last time. If I had known that, I would have stopped and taken the time to memorize every second of our last kiss.

  I had her in my arms again after spending years without her. There’s no way in hell I’m going to never let that happen again.

  Plain, meet simple.

  Fourteen

  Jovie

  Fairy tales are stupid.

  They’re just not realistic. I’m not just talking about the personified animals or the magic fairy dust or anything like that. Just the idea that someday, a handsome prince is gonna show up out of nowhere, solve all my problems, and whisk me away to some kingdom somewhere where I’ll want for nothing for the rest of my days.

  It sounds awfully similar to what people say life in Clover is supposedly like.

  Welcome to Clover, Kansas! The Forgotten Paradise.

  Move here. Fall in love. Get married in the town square.

  Buy yourselves a two-bedroom bungalow on First Street and nine months later, fill it with a baby or two. Or three.

  Kick back. Relax. Because nothing bad ever happens in Clover freakin’ Kansas.

  This is Paradise.

  But what do Clover and fairy tales really have in common? They’re both fiction.

  And who the hell looks this good in a bright blue dress, anyway?

  I flick the toy box and it tumbles off the shelf to the floor.

  Take that, Cinderella.

  Also, your shoes are ugly and unfeasible.

  Okay, I might be projecting some issues on innocent cartoon characters right now but it’s a hell of a lot better than obsessing over that kiss.

  I bend down to pick up the box, casually turning it over to check for any noticeable dents before placing it back on the shelf.

  “Jovie!”

  I poke my head around the corner. “Yeah?”

  Mr. Trin holds up the phone by the register. “You have a call.” I walk over to take it but he pulls it out of reach. “You’re a little jumpy today,” he says.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He squints and drops the phone into my open palm.

  “This is Jovie,” I say into it.

  “Hey, ‘cuz. It’s Tucker.”

  “Oh, hi. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to let you know that that part finally came in and your car is ready.”

  I bite my inner cheek, suddenly remembering the crushing bill I’m about to stick on my credit card. “Cool. Thanks, Tucker. I’ll come by and pick it up on my break today.”

  “See you then!”

  I hang up and turn around to go pretend to straighten more crap as Mr. Trin speaks up.

  “You can go now,” he says.

  “You sure?” I pause. “You’d be the only one here.”

  He stares at his paper. “The only rush this place has had so far today is you stomping around the doll aisle talking to yourself.”

  “I wasn’t talking to myself.”

  His eyes peek over his glasses. “Boy trouble?”

  I sigh. “A little, I just don’t know how to deal with—”

  “That wasn’t an invitation to chat.”

  “Okay, fine.” I yank the strings on my smock. “I’ll go get my car.”

  “Super.” He folds the paper in half and leans back in his chair.

  I grab my jacket from the office and throw it on as I step outside. I shiver, just like I did earlier this morning while I was pinned to the wall. Will Myers. His lips on mine. His hands on my ass. Mine on his toned chest and yes, I’m pretty sure I felt his erection on my hip, too. If Tucker didn’t knock in that moment, I might have even reached for it.

  This is all my fault. My design, even. Part of me knew exactly what would happen if I came back to Clover and Will hadn’t have settled down with some other woman yet. I wanted this but I was never prepared for it, if that makes any sense at all.

  I pause in front of Marv’s, quickly scanning the open garage door for signs of Will but I don’t see him anywhere. Hopefully, he’s not working the front desk. I don’t really want to see him right now and I sure as hell don’t want him staring at me while I pay a bill I can’t afford.

  I walk inside and Tucker waves at me from the stool behind the counter. “Hey, Jovie!”

  “Hey, Tuck.” I shuffle over and reach into my coat pocket for my wallet. “How much is it again?”

  He sets my keys down in front of me. “Seven-hundred and nineteen dollars and thirty-four cents.”

  I groan. “Okay…”

  “But no worries,” he says, “it’s already been paid.”

  “Paid?” I blink. “It’s been paid?”

  “It’s been paid.”

  “I didn’t pay it.”

  “Well, it’s been paid.”

  “But I didn’t pay it.”

  “Somebody paid it.”

  “Then, who paid—” I deflate. “Where’s Will?”

  Tucker points into the garage behind him. “He’s under that Dodge over there.” I march around the counter. “But you can’t go back—”

  I bolt past him into the garage and beeline for the jacked-up car in the corner. Two legs poke out the bottom, connected to a man in a blue jumpsuit laying on a rolling creeper.

  “Yo, Will!” I kick his thick work boots.

  Will rolls out from beneath it with a small layer of sweat and grease covering his forehead. His eyes shift from surprised annoyance to casual acceptance as soon as he sees my face.

  “Oh. Hey, Jovie.” He lays a socket wrench on the floor and grabs a different size from the pile beside my feet.

  “You paid my bill,” I seethe.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  He kicks off the floor to roll back under the car but I bend down to grab his boot and yank him back out.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Okay, yeah.” He nods. “I did.”

  “Will, I can take care of myself. I don’t need your pity money.”

  He sits up. “It’s not pity money, Jove. I’m paying you back.”

  “For what?”

  His lips twitch. “Brown sugar Pop Tarts.”
>
  I stare at him. “Huh?”

  Will smiles and hops up. “Every day,” he wipes his greasy hands on a cloth from his pocket, “for four years at Clover High, you bought a pack of brown sugar Pop Tarts from the school cafeteria for breakfast.”

  I think back and nod. “Okay…”

  “You could never eat both of them at once but you didn’t want to let the pack sit open and go bad overnight, so you offered it to me because my locker was three down from yours. So, every day for almost four years, I ate one of your Pop Tarts.”

  “Right. And?”

  “Pop Tarts aren’t cheap,” he argues. “I mean, I figure a pack cost you a buck-fifty a day and I ate seventy-five cents of that. Kids are in school for about one-hundred and eighty days a year, so…”

  I fight the smile on my face. “Will…”

  “Seventy-five cents a day times one-eighty multiplied by four? That’s five-hundred and forty dollars I owe you. Factor in like five years of interest and that brings the grand total to about seven-hundred and nineteen dollars and thirty-four cents.”

  My annoyance wavers. “That’s some real coincidental math you got going on there. You’re not even factoring in vacation or sick days. I mean, I was out with mono all the time so there were plenty of days where you didn’t eat my tarts.” I lower my voice. “And I’m pretty sure like half of them were shoplifted…”

  “Jove…” He takes a step closer and shoves the dirty cloth back into his pocket. “If you insist on paying me back later, that’s fine, but if I never see a penny of it ever again, I won’t miss it. Okay?”

  I exhale from my quivering lungs. “Okay.”

  “Now…” he looks down, “I gotta get back to work. Mrs. Nelson’s oil ain’t gonna change itself.”

  I push up onto my toes and kiss him, instantly drawing a few whistles across the garage but I ignore them.

  Will wraps his arms around me and raises me up until my toes dangle an inch off the floor. A sudden rush of dangerous adrenaline fires through me but his embrace keeps me feeling safe and warm.

  He breaks our kiss and I lay my forehead on his. “Do you have plans tonight?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer. “Do you?”

  “Yeah, I’m picking you up at seven.”

  I grin. “Smooth.”

  He laughs and kisses me once more before setting me back down. “Wait, wait…” He grabs the cloth from his pocket. “You got a little…”

  I stand still as he wipes his dirty sweat off my forehead.

  “Sorry.” He chuckles.

  “It’s okay.” I pause and look into at his wide, hopeful eyes. “Thank you.”

  He nods. “I told you… if you ever need anything, I’m here.”

  I pull my eyes from his to glance around the now silent garage at the curious, staring faces of his co-workers. “Uh-oh…”

  “Just ignore them,” he says, refusing to look away from me.

  “Will, is this a bad idea?”

  “Only one way to find out. And I really want to find out.”

  My body twitches with familiar, almost forgotten, delight, but I can’t shake that feeling out of the pit of my gut. I chalk it up to being watched, as there are at least a dozen eyes still gawking at us from around the garage.

  “Hey, people!” Marv shouts from his office. “Let’s get back to work!”

  Will clears his throat and takes a step back as the others resume their work. “I should…”

  “Change some oil.” I nod. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He smiles as he lowers himself back down onto the creeper. I keep an eye on him as I walk away and he checks me out for a second or two before rolling back underneath the car.

  I turn my palm over to stare at my car keys.

  Okay. Maybe fairy tales aren’t so bad after all.

  Fifteen

  Will

  I’ve learned over the last several years that relationships aren’t black or white. They aren’t bad or good. No relationship in the entirety of human history has worked that way. Jovie and me included.

  It’s a spectrum. When things were bad with Jovie, they were bad, stretching all the way out to the far left side of the graph. But when they were good, the pendulum would sway in the other direction. Two extremes, both equally as crushing and passionate as the other.

  But, you know, Jovie’s passion is what drew me to her in the first place.

  I walk down Ninth Street toward the house she grew up in. A breeze passes by but it’s not biting and cold as it was this morning. It’s warm and tender; an early tease of spring. Is it coincidence that it’s here just in time for mine and Jovie’s date? Probably, but I’m not one to question nature’s way.

  No, I question people and I still have a few questions for Jovie Ross.

  I reach her house and the front door opens before I have a chance to knock.

  Jovie rushes out and closes the door behind her just as quickly. “Hey,” she says, flashing a smile.

  “Hey…” My eyes trail down her little, black dress. It’s tight around her hips with deep red lines along the seams. I raise a brow, searching my memory as she slips her jacket over her bare shoulders. “Is that…?”

  “Prom night, senior year.” She nods. “It’s the only thing casual date-like I had in my closet that still fits and doesn’t have sequins all over it. Honestly, what the hell were we thinking with all the sequins?”

  “No idea.” I shrug.

  “Oh, well.”

  The door swings open behind her and Hank sticks his head out. His black eyes land on me and he frowns before retreating right back inside and slamming the door.

  “I guess he remembers me,” I say.

  “He never gave two shits about who I dated my entire life. Now, all of a sudden, it’s ‘where are you going? Why are you wearing that? Who are you hooking up with now?’”

  “You think he might actually be worried about you?” I ask. “I mean, you were missing for a while…”

  “Not to him. I sent postcards.”

  I pause. “You did?”

  She nods. “Every few weeks or so.”

  “And you never thought to drop one in the mailbox for me?”

  Jovie takes a serious breath. “Listen, Will… before we go any further here, we should talk about that.”

  My chest skips with anticipation. Four years of waiting and wondering where she was. I might actually get some answers tonight.

  “Okay,” I say.

  She wets her lips. “I want us to start over with a blank slate.”

  “A blank slate?”

  “We’ve been through a lot together already,” she continues. “Things were said and done on both sides that we’d rather take back but we can’t unless we both agree to start over. We can’t make this work with the last few years hovering over our heads, right? I want to keep it in the past where it belongs and I…” she pauses, “I don’t want you to ask me where I was or why I left again.”

  I remember what my mother told me. It’s none of my business until Jovie makes it my business. The more I reconnect with Jovie, the more I understand that… and the more I hate it, too. I’m not entitled to the answers I want and Jovie won’t give them unless she trusts me enough to let me back in. If starting over is a step in that direction, then it’s what I’ll do.

  “Right,” I say. “That might be the best thing for us, I think.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I mean… I’m not the same person I was back then and neither are you. We shouldn’t try to pick things up where we left off. We should start over and, if I’m being completely honest here, I’m really intrigued by new Jovie.”

  Her cheeks blush pink. “What’s so great about her?”

  I step closer. “Old Jovie never would have asked that question.”

  She smiles. “That’s probably true.”

  I extend my hand and she takes it. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going? No Bolt?”

  “No Bolt,�
� I say, guiding her down the sidewalk toward the center of town. “I figured we’d take advantage of this good weather. Start out nice and slow with a walk and talk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And then, you have choices.”

  She feigns a gasp. “Oh, I like choices.”

  “They’re playing Fahrenheit 451 at the library at eight.”

  “Cool.” She nods.

  “Or, we can take over a pool table at Lucky’s and I can hustle you out of your Pop Tart money.”

  She cringes. “Eh, don’t mention money.”

  I laugh. “Okay. No evil gambling tonight.”

  “Thank you. What else?”

  “Oh, William! Is that you?”

  We halt our stride as Mrs. Clark cries out from her porch across the street.

  “Yeah,” I say, waving. “Hey, Mrs. Clark.”

  “Could you come here for a moment?”

  I stay next to Jovie. “I’m actually in the middle of something right now…”

  Her eyes shift between us. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Jovie shakes her head. “Just tell her no.”

  I hesitate, trapped between the seductress beside me and being the helpful good ole’ boy I usually am.

  I release Jovie’s hand and she tilts her head. “I’ll be right back. Just… hang on.”

  I jog across the street to Mrs. Clark’s porch. She smiles with delight, deepening the wrinkles on her cheeks and brow.

  “What can I do for you? Is something wrong?” I ask her.

  She latches onto my arm. “My granddaughter is staying with me tonight,” she says. “I want you to come inside and meet her.”

  I dig my foot into her porch. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I already have plans.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Reschedule. She’s only here for one night.” She pokes her head into her door frame. “Lillian! Come here, please!”

  I pull my arm free. “Mrs. Clark, I’m flattered. Really. You’re very sweet for thinking of me but I’m not interested in meeting your granddaughter—”

  “Here she is!”

  A young woman appears on the porch in jeans and a Kansas State sweater. Petite with blonde hair held back in a sloppy ponytail. She furrows her brow and her eyes bounce between us in confusion.