Spilled Milk

On any given day I know you’d drive an hour and a half out of your way just to buy me milk. Not just any milk, the highest of quality, non branded, ultra creamy farmers milk. Milk like no other just as you’re like no other.

5:15pm, 15 minutes ahead of schedule, but it was a long enough day to feel like you were late. Still a good day, always a good day for you, you’d say since we found each other. “We could run the bath, or maybe we should feed the chickens first, or maybe I’ll watch you dance around the kitchen while we forget to make dinner.” Always we. It’s always and always will be about us you always tell me. We decide on pancakes for dinner. Bacon, eggs, blueberries, and pancakes. We decide after the chickens, we’ll prepare dinner while we dance in the kitchen and then a bath. Our perfect evening with my perfect Michael, my perfect match. The evening is perfect, so close to perfect with one small misstep, we were out of milk. We could do without I discuss, but he knows me so well that he knows I’ve been thinking about pancakes all week. Specifically fluffy chocolate chip pancakes with the right amount of maple syrup. Pancakes that will need the highest of quality non branded ultra creamy farmers milk. The decision is made, he says, he’s going out to buy the milk and then we’ll have our perfect evening. He doesn’t want to trouble me with an hour and a half drive. I tell him it’s only going to make our perfect evening even more perfect. He calls the farmer to explain the situation in hopes he’ll be around to help us with the creation of heavenly pancakes, it always feels like a moment in heaven when I’m with Michael. George is his name, they’re relatively good friends now since we got the chickens from them, George and Lacy, and he was more than happy to help.

“An hour and a half away,” he tells me, “You better bring a coffee.” Anyone else would question coffee after 5pm but he knows a warm beverage is all I need to keep me content. He’s also prepared for the inevitable bathroom break at about half way there which he always calls our mini adventure during our adventures. I make a coffee while he quickly feeds the chickens, which he still calls a “we” activity because “together we are getting ready to head out, not separately.” Never separately, I respond, in my head and in my heart and out loud. I blow him a kiss and he catches it every time. He stares at me debating why there is even any space between us in the first place and quickly strides over to me to pull me in. And just like that, we’re ready to leave.

He always drives and I always make the playlist, it’s our preferred routine since I made him a CD and he realized that I might have a better music taste than he does. His old car did not have an aux cord, only a CD player. He has since graduated to a Bluetooth connection radio that I had to strongly encourage. To compensate, we have strictly CD Saturdays where we listen to nothing but his CDs and he says it brings him back to who he is sometimes. He knows I love him in any form though, he knows he loves like that too. With our favorite 25 songs chosen for the ride, we were finally on the road.

After about 30 minutes of jamming out to our kind of rock music, he asks me to turn it down because he has something to tell me. I’m always excited when he has something to say. It’s always something important, always something genuine and loving. Even if it’s something minimal, it’s something important to us. He realizes he didn’t have something to say, but rather something to ask. He asks me “Do you know how happy I am?” I smile conforming the yes but I tell him he should elaborate because I would love to hear more about his happiness and how I played any role in being a part of it. He grabs my hand to kiss it. “You are the complete reason it even exists.” He reassures me. Something he tells me often in many different ways, but I never tire of hearing it. I know I never will. I explain to him I exist to experience our happiness, because if it were just me alone it wouldn’t exist at all. He says “we should have a baby”. My smile grows a little bigger. “We should have a baby.” I say back to him in conformation. “Do you think we’re ready?” I ask him already knowing the answer. “I think we’ve been ready the whole time, but I think now we’re more ready than we’ll ever really need to be. So, yes, we should have a baby. We’re definitely ready to have a baby.” Without a second thought he pulls the car over just so he can kiss me. “We’re having a baby.” I tell him smiling with my eyes while he looks into them. “We’re gonna have a baby.” He smiles back.

6:45pm, 10 minutes earlier than expected, we arrive at the farm. George greets us with a warm welcome, we know we’re his favorite customers to see. After a short conversation we tell him we have to hit the road again as we have a special evening planned for just the two of us, but we tell him how grateful we are to know the best farmer around. He gives us a pie that lacy made, fresh apple pie with a homemade tub of vanilla ice cream to go with it. The best farmers around.

As we’re driving back I feed Michael a slice of the pie that he says might be as heavenly as the pancakes were going to make. I tell him it’s still not as heavenly as he is. I watch the crumbs fall on his shirt and he jokes that he is saving it for later. I wiped them off or they might have remained there all night. He tells me we’ll just have to have another slice as a midnight snack and I just know it’s going to be a late night. “I love you, My E.” he says to me. “I love you my Michael.” I say back. “Enough to feed me some of the ice cream?” He asks. “I love you just as much as you know and a little extra.” I say back to him as I start to scoop out a spoonful from the tub.

When we finally get back we go right to the kitchen to start dinner. He puts on a CD, some of the songs we played at our wedding. He cooks the bacon, I cook the pancakes, and we crack the eggs together. Always together.